Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Faith

Sunrise in Standing Rock, photo by Alana Quintasket:  
"In our cultural teachings we are taught that the sunrise represents the Creator's promise of a new day and a chance for a new beginning. Everyday we wake up grateful for that new beginning. This is what we pray for every night - that sunrise. We wake up every morning with that sun and give thanks to it for blessing us with a new chance at life.  
Much love, #NoDAPL for the love of the culture.

M i d w e e k  M o t i f  ~  F a i t h 

I picked this motif because officially this is the UN World Interfaith Harmony Week.   I shortened it to "Faith" because my underlying thematic question truly is:

"What do you ~ what can we ~ 
have faith in these days?"

And faith is "trust" with the implication that proof is illusive.  Or faith is a "system of belief" such as a religion.  

Your Challenge: Write a new 

new poem that finds faith 

(or not) 

or reveals interfaith harmony 

(or not). 

Let this poem be of this moment!

“I talk to God but the sky is empty.” 

― Sylvia Plath

“Believe there is a great power silently working all things for good, 

behave yourself and never mind the rest.” 

― Beatrix Potter

“... All the major religions of the world taught the worship of God 

and love and compassion for mankind in their original form. 

If these original teachings were upheld today 

it would lead to a harmonious society, 

free from conflict and war…” 

~ His Holiness Mirza Masroor Ahmad 

2016 World Religious Conference 

"You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; 
if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty. "
--Mahatma Gandhi

 Breaking the taboos of interfaith dialogue,
TEDxDU The Interfaith Amigos

"Faith" Is A Fine Invention 
by Emily Dickinson

#185

Faith" Is A Fine Invention

When Gentlemen can see—

But Microscopes are prudent

In an Emergency.

Faith by Ada Cambridge

And is the great cause lost beyond recall? 

   Have all the hopes of ages come to naught? 

   Is life no more with noble meaning fraught? 

Is life but death, and love its funeral pall? 

Maybe. And still on bended knees I fall, 

   Filled with a faith no preacher ever taught. 

   O God -- MY God -- by no false prophet wrought -- 

I believe still, in despite of it all! 

Let go the myths and creeds of groping men. 

   This clay knows naught -- the Potter understands. 

I own that Power divine beyond my ken, 

   And still can leave me in His shaping hands. 

But, O my God, that madest me to feel, 

Forgive the anguish of the turning wheel! 

Dover Beach

Related Poem Content Details

BY MATTHEW ARNOLD

The sea is calm tonight. 

The tide is full, the moon lies fair 

Upon the straits; on the French coast the light 

Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, 

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. 

Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! 

Only, from the long line of spray 

Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, 

Listen! you hear the grating roar 

Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, 

At their return, up the high strand, 

Begin, and cease, and then again begin, 

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring 

The eternal note of sadness in. 

Sophocles long ago 

Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought 

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow 

Of human misery; we 

Find also in the sound a thought, 

Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 

The Sea of Faith 

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore 

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. 

But now I only hear 

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, 

Retreating, to the breath 

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear 

And naked shingles of the world. 

Ah, love, let us be true 

To one another! for the world, which seems 

To lie before us like a land of dreams, 

So various, so beautiful, so new, 

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, 

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; 

And we are here as on a darkling plain 

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, 

Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Making the House Ready for the Lord

by Mary Oliver

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but 

still nothing is as shining as it should be 

for you. Under the sink, for example, is an 

uproar of mice--it is the season of their

many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves

and through the walls the squirrels 

have gnawed their ragged entrances--but it is the season 

when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And

the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard

while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;

what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling

in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly

up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will

come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox,

the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know

that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,

as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.

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Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—

                (Next week Sumana’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Space)