Buckingham Monthly
Meeting
of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers)
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Buckingham Monthly
Meeting
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Art & Poetry by Our Members
For Peace is what
this valley brings to my soul, instantaneous Peace… By Laila W. Shadows of twilight deepen when the vastness of pale skies shade to purple blacks and stars twinkle and fireflies flicker. We give thanks for this lovely day. For the lake and her forestry remind us Peace does exist on
this earth and Peace is for
Evermore. Oh how this Beauty
melts my heart and nourishes my hungry soul… Lying upon the stones of this gnarled bridge I drink in the lullaby of a million crickets. Imperceptibly a coolness wafts across the water caressing my brow, my arms, washing my face with evening dew. Visitations of muted tones, shadows of coming night soften this penumbra light. Gazing across the lake’s breadth, I stare into her horizon without end. A world of pristine Beauty spreads gloriously, and calls us to the Valley of our Homeland. The sun sets. All hard thoughts and grating worries drop into the middle of the lake, vanishing forever. Greenness, water, pale skies, gentle evening song lulls me into unquestionable ecstasy… For Peace is what the
valley brings to my soul, instantaneous Peace. Published by Dove
Tails, a newsletter of
Cardinal By Hannah K. Snow falls lazily in no hurry to get Down to the ground There are snowflakes on the normally damp earth A cardinal sits on the branch of a tree It calls out a loud cheery note Its voice echoes through the still, chill forest Another cardinal answers it back and glides Gracefully over to join its friend In the dull, green forest, on one tree there are now Two bright red spots of color The cardinals hop to the ground and peck, Looking for seeds Leaving small bird tracks behind them. No winter is entirely silent and depressing With cardinals about! Dedicated to Grammy At Meeting By Pat G. I enter into the silence-or try to. I look out the upper windows and see sky, shift my gaze to lower windows and watch a soft wind playing with feathery branches of a Japanese maple, back and forth. I shiver at the sound of tires hurrying, hurrying along the highway outside, settle down to the cicada’s vibrating, here I am, here I am, over and over, listen to the doves mournful coo, a message of death and redemption. Then comes the soothing voices of gentle women among us-stories of children and dogs, each having their Quaker point. Then, the men rise, each asking the same question in different words- what am I here for? and answering it in different words, but the message the same. I am here to
do the good I
can. Cathedral Pine By John B. The outward green sways in The inward green dances out To the blue To the pink laced white, catching the setting sun No stain in this glass No diffusing of this light No filter to the spirit If peasants could have found this sanctuary No priest needed between us and the Spirit Their tithes could feed the child's aching stomach And the light's beautify their souls George knew this place And brought the seekers here These spires of pine are not mine All are welcome here |