Four diverse poems from our French Pantoum experiment. Enjoy!

Anger

Anger grips my heart
Anger makes me see red
Words will not express it
I scream in frustration

Anger makes me see red
It fuels the pursuit of change
I scream in frustration
Change takes too long

It fuels the pursuit of change
Words will not express it
Change takes too long
Anger grips my heart

-Tonya Hyde

Bon’s Song

Morning sunrise
Kissing her good morning
Sharing the drive
Evening sunset

Kissing her good morning
Holding her hand
Evening sunset
Kissing her goodnight

Holding her hand
Sharing the drive
Kissing her goodnight
Morning sunrise

-Timothy Ray

mama god papa god

skin like ebony —
or is it alabaster?
clothed in saris airy white
shot through with color
they come

laughing on bare - - or sandaled –feet
bejewlled and painted
strong arms of sculptor’s sinew
now outstretched,
now clapping

their mouths sweet with cream
and honey
tangy of … {read more…}

Rebecca mentioned to me recently that my ‘voice’ on this blog is fluxtuating wildly between “priestessy mystic person” and “sassifrass jones who worships at the throne of Heather Armstrong.”

I know! I know!

The girlie girl in me who loves a good lipgloss tip (Almay whipgloss in raspberry is my pick of the week) has been intermingling a lot with the wise pre-crone I am aging-to-be.

I’m trying to solve the rapid back-and-forth of my writing voice by opening a new blog at magpie-girl.com (not live yet.) However, because I can’t afford a graphic designer so I’m learning how to:

1) illustrate
2) do webdesign

…you know, in my “free time.” Given that the children haven’t had a full day … {read more…}

We are dogsitting Sammy. Sammy is a bichon frisse, which is one of those totally ridiculous dogs you just can help but love because he looks like you could wind him up with a key. This is what Luna, our three year old neighbor, had to say when she came over to spend the day with her nanny and our housemate, Sharon.:

Luna: “Sammy has a pee-niss.”
Sharon: “Yes. Yes, he does have a penis.”
Luna: “Sammy’s pee-nis is in a furry place…..Sammy’s penis is cozy!”

Yesterday I caught Eden staring out the window with her hand over her heart, waiting to see if the lightening would strike the Space Needle and reciting this:

I pledge alligance to the thunder storm,
They give me laughs
And times to run to the windowseat with my sister.
Amen!

Given that most Christians in America today consider the Pledge of Alligiance a prayer second only to the Our Father, I figured this little ditty to the power of mother nature would convince everyone that we are raising a fine littlr batch of pagans.

P.s. When I typed this up Eden read it and asked, “Mama, are we pagans?” — which reminded me of yet another kid-and-mother conversation which made Paul clap his hand over … {read more…}

seeing fall birds
eating pumpkin pie
snow (sometimes)
jumping into leaf piles

eating pumpkin pie
new clothes
jumping into leaf piles
going to school

new clothes
snow (sometimes)
going to school
seeing fall birds

by Eden Claire Mee Chapman, age 7

Wish you were drinking cafe in Paris, writing ever-so-wonderful poetry in your journal while you wear your beret? Get a little taste of the writer’s life by trying your hand at a French pantoum. Feel oo la la and tres intelligent by using this pattern to turn simple phrases into a surprisingly good poem.

Send me your results and I will put them all up ina virtual poetry reading post — with a link to your own website or blog, bien sur! You can reach me at urbanabbess@monkfish-abbey.org.

Many thanks to Christine Valters Paintner at Sacred Center for introducing me to this art-as-spiritual-practice technique.

French Pantoum

STANZA 1

Line1:___________________________________________________________

Line 2: ___________________________________________________________

Line 3: __________________________________________________________

Line 4:____________________________________________________________

STANZA 2

Line 5 (repeat of … {read more…}

When we can’t even decided whether:

a) men and women are equal under the eyes of God

–OR-

b) women are weak, dangerous, and incapable and must be taken care of by men

then, I don’t think we could call Christianity an organized religion.

What’s the best way to get the gunk out of the bottom of the tall vases that held the dia de muertos flowers?

I’m opting for soapy water and a paper towel swirled aournd the bottom of the vase with the long searated bread knife. Any other ideas?

Also, here’s good tip for getting the cooked-on soup out of the bottom of your stock pot after feeding your church or somewhat-church-like community. You know those scrapers that come with the Pampered Chef baking stones? (Why, you might ask, do I, the urban abbess, own such a high flauten’ thing? My in-laws lovingly gave it to me for Christmas, back when I liked to pretend that I would cook after I … {read more…}

(Picks from a morning after a ‘typical’ Monkfish Abbey gathering, two or three weeks ago.)

After a full week of Monkfish Abbey — by which I mean a week in which I both cook and provide an art-based practice — the house looks like a hurricane. Though I had to do neither last night (thanks for dinner Jen R!) I’m still thankful to the monks who stayed late last night and helped clear the kitchen and dinning room. Thanks Rebecca, Ammelia, Daniel, Lindell, and Darlene! And of course, thank you to Paul, the long-suffering ‘pastor’s husband’ who cleans the kitchen nearly … {read more…}

There’s a lot of activity in Seattle right now around Mars Hill Church and its leader, Mark Driscoll. I’ve been watching it all with deep sadness and concern. As a Christian, I’m saddened that Jesus, a man I deeply love, is being misused and maligned at Mars Hill Church. As a pastor, I’m concerned for the many women – along with men, marriages, and families — that have been damaged by Driscoll’s extreme theology.

As a former abuse victim, I know the power of telling my story. When you tell your story, you take the power of your life’s tale back into your own hands, and you diminish the power of the person who abused or misused you. Secrecy and silence … {read more…}