Poetry | Shawna R. B. Atteberry

Poetry: Hail Holy Mothers

Nov 012011

This is the poem I wrote for my spiritual foremothers: Mary, mother of Christ; St. Brigid of Kildare; St. Hildegard von Bingen; St. Teresa of Avila; and Florence Nightingale. It seemed appropriate for All Saints’ Day.

: St. Teresa of Avila by Janet McKenzie

Hail Holy Mothers!
Trail blazers!
Pioneers!

Women of fire;
Women of God’s Word:
Receiving God’s Word
Nurturing God’s Word
Giving birth to God’s Word.

Women of the shield:
Defending God’s Word,
Not with sword,
But with exhortation
With rebukes
With wise counsel.

Mothers, Defenders of our faith!
You stand around me–
Cheering
Encouraging
Showing the way
Praying.

Sisters, mothers, friends:
You wait for us
Bidding us come;
come take your hands
and enter eternity together.
(c)2008 Shawna R. B. Atteberry

All these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect. Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us (Hebrews 11:39–12:1).

Who are your spiritual foremothers? How do they draw you closer to God? How do they spark your creativity?

Originally posted on May 28, 2008

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Poetry: Daughter of Mary Magdalene

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Jul 222011

Today is the feast day for Mary Magdalene, the Apostle to the Apostles. This poem was inspired by Mary.

“Daughter of Mary Magdalene”

I want to be a bearer of the gospel.
It doesn’t matter if I bear children.
I want to fulfill my vows to God,
And not have my calling dependent on a man.
As Mary (who had no man) I want to proclaim
I want to shout and shine with love–
The love of a risen Savior
Who has called me as a person in my own right.
I hear the voice of my risen Savior:
“Come follow Me.
Follow Me away from the expectations
Follow Me away from those who limit you
Follow Me into glorious possibilities
Beyond your imagination.
I called you because I wanted you
Not a package deal.
Come, follow Me, and I will be your desire.”
As Mary I come to You
My risen Lord
My risen Lover.
I cast off the images of what I should be
And revel in the truth of who I am:
A bearer of Your good news.

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Requiem for Donna Carter

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Feb 262011

SHE died,—this was the way she died;
And when her breath was done,
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.

Her little figure at the gate
The angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her

Upon the mortal side.
~~Emily Dickinson

Donna Carter

Requiem for Donna

Donna died–this was the way she died:
In her sleep she smiled, reaching
For JoAnn’s hand one last time.
Letting go her hand, letting go life.

Wings unfurled to the skies
Donna was free, climbing higher
To her home and to her God.
Not to be seen on this mortal side.
~~Shawna R. B. Atteberry

Rest in peace my beloved cousin.

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Poetry Party 47: Companion

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Oct 052010

It’s Poetry Party over at Abbey of the Arts. This week’s theme “Ode to Animal Wisdom” is in honor of the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, which was on Monday. Many churches (including mine) have pet blessings on the Sunday closest to Francis’ feast. This week’s picture is of the paws of Christine’s doggie, Abbess Petunia.

“Companion”

I hear the soft pad of paws
on the hard wood floor
And know I’m not alone.

Here is a picture of me and my companion, Victoria, doing our favorite Sunday afternoon activity:

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Poetry Party 47: Remember

Poetry 4 Responses »

Sep 162010

Christine Valters at Abbey of the Arts has started her weekly poetry parties back up. Each week she posts a picture, and gives us until Friday to write a poem and link up. On Friday she draws a name to win a fabulous prize (normally one of her books or journals). This week’s theme is Autumn Blessings, and here is the hauntingly beautiful picture with my poem following.

“Remember”

Remember! The wind howls through the canyon of the city:
Remember the roads you traveled,
Who you were,
And who you are.

Remember! the wind whispers through the leaves and along the graves:
Remember where you came from,
Those you come from,
And those who came before.

Remember to honor the saints and your ancestors:
Remember to raise a glass,
Eat with them,
And pray with them.

Remember how the veil thins and briefly you see the unseeable–
Remember the old magic–
The Other World comes close;
Be quiet and listen.

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Poem: In the Beginning Was

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Sep 192009

I spent most of this week in the book of Proverbs. Dame Wisdom and the Wise Woman of Proverbs 31 inspired this poem.

“In the Beginning”

In the beginning there was

Silence
Chaos
Deep

In the beginning there was

Blackness
Void
Nothing

In the beginning

The Spirit brooded
Godde spoke
And Wisdom cheered

In the beginning was Godde

And Wisdom was with Godde
Before She was rationalized into

The Word

Before She was reduced to

A Housewife

In the beginning was Godde and Wisdom

Creating
Cheering
Saying, “It is good.”

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More Reflections on Mary

Feminism, Poetry, Theology No Responses »

Mar 262009

This is from Anne Fontaine writing at The Daily Episcopalian:

The current stage of my life with Mary began when I was teaching a class on the creeds. We were using Joan Chittister’s In Search of Belief as a basis for the study. I was facilitating the discussion and reading along with the class when we came to the chapter on “virgin birth.” Rather than explore the modern science or pre-scientific ideas about conception, Chittister spoke about the amazing story the creed tells about who are worthy to bear Christ into the world.

As I understand what she is saying, the fact that Mary was a young woman, a virgin when God called her to bear Jesus shows us the nature of God’s relationship to us. In Mary’s day she was seen as property. She was vulnerable in a culture that did not value women and especially not girls. Their value came from their connection to a man, first to their fathers and then to their husbands and their ability to bear sons. Today young girls are still at risk in many countries to be sold or bartered away. Even in the United States they are easily dismissed as less than anyone else. Although changes have been made – movies, popular music and media off all sorts views females as objects and not agents of their own lives.

This is why the creed’s affirmation of Mary is so amazing. God chooses the least in the social hierarchy to be the one to bear God into the world. It is a statement by the church of the worth of the individual in the face of cultures who say “not worthy.”

She ends with this incredible poem by Sylvia Kantaris.

It seems I must have been more fertile than most
to have taken that wind-blown
thistledown softly-spoken word
into my body and grown big-bellied with it.
Nor was I the first: there had been
rumours of such goings-on before my turn
came – tales of swansdown. Mine
had no wings or feathers actually
but it was hopeless trying to convince them.
They like to think it was a mystical
encounter, although they must know
I am not of that fibre – and to say I was
‘troubled’ is laughable.
What I do remember is a great rejoicing,
my body’s arch and flow, the awe,
and the ringing and singing in my ears -
and then the world stopped for a little while.
But still they will keep on about the Word,
which is their name for it, even though I’ve
told them that is definitely
not how I would put it.
I should have known they’d try to take
possession of my ecstasy and
swaddle it in their portentous terminology.
I should have kept it hidden in the dark
web of my veins…
Though this child grows in me -
not unwanted certainly, but
not intended on my part; the risk
did not concern me at the time, naturally.
I must be simple to have told them anything.
Just because I stressed the miracle of it
they’ve rumoured it about the place that I’m
immaculate – but then they always were afraid
of female sexuality.
I’ve pondered these things lately in my mind.
If they should canonise me
(setting me up as chaste and meek and mild)
God only knows what nonsense
they’ll visit on the child.

Sylvia Kantaris From Dirty Washing, Bloodaxe 1989. ©Sylvia Kantaris