Poetry – Rachel Yarworth, Writer

One thing about poetry – although i love it for its free-flowing and slightly anarchic disrespect of the usual rules of good writing – that same freedom often means I’m never 100% sure what makes a poem – well, a poem. Take this morning’s offering. It came out of my own prayer time with God. He had been speaking to me about the need to be FILLED with the Holy Spirit, and as I pictured my lungs being filled with good rich air and felt all the emotions involved, I wrote down my response. It didn’t follow the rules of prose (full sentences, proper grammar, paragraphs etc), and was much more a kind of creative representation of the thoughts and emotions of my response. So I call it poetry, because that seems the closest I get to expressing feelings in words. But even then – is it really poetry? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just call it writing…

Ruach, Breath of God

Holy Spirit in this quiet place,
breathe on me…
Like the first divine breath that gave life to mankind,
Essence of life,
breathe on me again…
Be the breath filling my lungs, that keeps me alive,
the wind filling my sails, that keeps me moving forward,
the air filling my tyres, that protects me from bumps in this road.

Fill me with your breath, your love, your presence, your empowering grace,
that I might live Your life abundantly.
Let my spirit breathe deep, lungs FILLED with you –
not gasping, expiring, fading away as one who forgets
to breathe.

Holy Spirit, here and now I breathe you in as the very oxygen I need to survive,
And exhale the cares of this world that tighten my chest.
I breathe in your grace…
and let go of shoulds.
I breathe in your acceptance…
and let go of rejection.
I breathe in your love…
and let go of fear.
I breathe in your mercy…
and let go of shame.
I breathe in your presence…
and let go of self.

Let my every breath be filled with you.
May I never forget to keep breathing.
Inhale…
and exhale…
Keep breathing
my Ruach.

Today is National Poetry Day!

I confess, I didn’t have time to write a new one, so am sharing one from my archives. It was important to me to do so today because although I loved poetry when I was younger, for many years I have not written many poems. Child-rearing and the general busyness of life have a way of stifling creativity and consuming any time that might otherwise have been used for self-expression. But since publishing my first book (and approaching the end of my child-rearing days), I have been trying to embrace a wide range of writing, and have rediscovered my old love of poetry. And recently I have been pushing myself to share it publicly. Not for acknowledgement or recognition – it’s been so long that I doubt there is much merit in it – I just want to share my love of it and encourage myself to do more.

Because poetry rules. In prose, starting a sentence with the word ‘because’ as I just did is usually frowned upon (apart from the few occasions when it is legitimate). But (the same goes for ‘but’s) I prefer to write informally, so I tend to rebel against such rules, as you can tell. And (ditto) yet despite my rebellion I can’t quite ignore the nagging voice in my head reminding me that a decent writer would not commit any of the above crimes of syntax. However in poetry, that nagging voice is beautifully silenced. Linguistic anarchy rebel is not only permitted, but encouraged. Rules of structure take second place to effective expression.

Well that’s my take on it anyway. I know that good poetry is not just flung together haphazardly: there is real craft involved – and I’m nowhere near mastering it yet. But for now I’m just rediscovering the joy and freedom of expression that made me fall in love with poetry in the first place. So here it is, a poem that I wrote many years ago, in response to an assignment back in my student days. When my English lecturer read it he encouraged me to pursue publication, and although I did not do so at the time, that kind of encouragement never leaves. Happy National Poetry Day!

Speculation

In trying to write this little rhyme,
I found with great frustration
There were no subjects in my mind
That offered inspiration.
I could not write an epic verse –
My strength is not narration.
I realised, to be a poet
Could not be my vocation.
But after spending half an hour
Of solid application,
I suddenly found inside my head
A major transformation.
And now, although this verse of mine
Would not earn publication,
I’ve realised the only way
Is verbal lubrication.