travel – Rich Clarkson Poetry

Tetete Ni Kolivuti (which means ‘hill of prayer’) is the headquarters of the Community of the Sisters of the Church in Solomon Islands. I visited TNK back in September and this is a little ballad about this wonderful place.

The soldiers arrived in ’42
With their guns and their packs and their marching boots too
They unloaded their ships and they made their way through
In search of a place to call home
They built a new hill on a flat piece of ground
Cleared the coconut trees from the bush all around
Made a fortified lookout on top of the mound
At Tetete ni Leleu – the Hill of War

The sisters arrived in 71,
The trees had returned now the soldiers had gone
They faithfully followed as God led them on
In search of a place to call home
They built their first chapel up on the hill there
The community grew as together they shared
what little they had with compassion and care
At Tetete ni Kolivuti – the Hill of Prayer

The flood waters rose in ’23
Submerging the land all the way to the sea
And the people all round had to climb up the trees
In search of a place to call home
The hill was an island for several days
Like Noah and Jonah the sisters all prayed
In the swirling of waters as together they stayed
At Tetete lia Kokomu – the Island Hill

For nearly a century the hill has stood
Through war and disaster, through wildfire and flood
As a beacon of light and a wellspring of good
Tetete Ni Kolivuti
This community of sisters still hold on to the spark
in this hill which has been an island, a refuge, an ark,
In a turbulent world where so much is dark
From the hill of war came the hill of prayer
The island hill is still standing there
Tetete Ni Kolivuti (the Hill of Prayer)

I visited the Anglican Church of Melanesia this September, and while there were a lot of differences between life there and in England, I wrote this poem reflecting on some of the similarities

A mother anxiously comforts her baby
An old man groans as he sits on a chair
Children giggle as they enter the classroom
People are people everywhere

Schools that don’t have enough equipment
Farms that struggle for lack of rain
Big corporations that do what they want to
Ten thousand miles, and still the same

Birds sing out as the sun is rising
Stars shine brightly through gaps in the clouds
A cool breeze blows through an open window
At home or away these blessings are found

A helping hand from a kindly stranger
A wordless grin in a crowded hall
A moment of laughter that transcends language
The world is not so big after all

I visited the Anglican Church of Melanesia this September, and on the way spent a day in Brisbane acclimatising. I wrote this poem after visiting the Cathedral.

I wander, tired and worn, in search of silence,
a refuge from these jetlag laden days,
but Miner Birds and traffic horns and sirens
and the busy city sounds get in the way.
The doors to the cathedral all stand open
and, with relief, I gently enter in.
Though if it was for quiet I was hoping,
even here I’m followed by the city’s din.
Frustrated by this, prayer feels hard to come by
then slowly something changes as I see
the noise of vehicles, voices, planes and drums might
be exactly where they’re meant to be.
Drawn through open doors into this haven,
the city, and I, are lifted up to heaven.

The train is crowded with people and bags.
Some off on holiday, some off to work,
Some are just wearily journeying home.
3 hours of travelling, hot stuffy trains,
And stations, and benches, and no room for knees.
I’d give anything for a breeze.

Shotton, Flint, Prestatyn, Rhyl,
All doing nothing to ease the congestion
As more and more bodies and cases and bikes
Optimistically seek just the hint of a space.
Then, gripping my bag, I head for the door.
A traveller no more.

I’d hoped for a breeze.
A breath of fresh air.
And for a moment on the platform it was there.

Then stepping out from the station’s shelter into the helter-skelter of a howling gale I see clouds, pale with fright, taking flight and even the sand tries to flee from the land and I wonder what danger lies over the hills…

Shoulders. hunched. Pressing. On.
Every. step. hard. won.

As I make my way along the shore,
Steadily gaining ground against the wind
In the distance caravans lie, pinned
Like specimens in some museum drawer,
Neatly lined and labeled. That is where
I’m heading, if the air allows me through.
A sanctuary. A haven. Overdue
Respite from the burdens of elsewhere.

Into the sea the sun quietly slides
And, for a moment, I see its treasure glinting on the tide.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2016

Tag: travel

The Ballad of Tetete Ni Kolivuti

Parallels

Brisbane Cathedral

Abergele

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