National Poetry Day

do-not-disturb-390x285And Now For A Time of Silent Prayer

Today is National Poetry day here in the U.K. so no surprise on what I am blogging this morning!

As I listen to and read the fine examples coming over the media today I find myself again struck by the fact that poetry seldom needs introducing or explaining. If it ‘works’ as a poem it says enough.

Sometimes a little context can help – but not too much. The poem should say the rest.

So I shall be brief. I wrote this poem for a number of reasons: because I want to pray, because we all pray in some way, because I’m interested in what prayer ‘is’,  and because I find prayer to be – at its most essential – a reaching out to the divine.

But most of all, because I want to recognise that prayer is not peace-quiet-godliness-dignity‘easy’. Sometimes the last place and time I feel able to really pray is during a busy Sunday service….



“And Now For A Short Time of Silent Prayer…”


Suddenly I’m a man herding cats of consciousness,

Pinning tails on rampaging elephants of urgency.

I’m a crazy cyclist weaving across the crowded rush hour bridge;

A hyper-speed cashier desperately shifting un-called for thoughts past the red-eyed bleeper.


A hapless gardener with an instantaneous jungle of ‘to-do’ busy-life-11508notions,

 Blooming and burgeoning beneath my very feet;

A wide-eyed traffic controller at Psyche central,

Anxiously juggling a matrix of incoming signals…


“Silent prayer…silent…silent…prayer…pray…pray…” I repeat.


Oh boy.

Now the cats are on the bicycles, weaving between elephants of unusual guilt,

Tearing up the corners of my senses,

The Jungle is hot and close,

My scanner is about to jump from the bridge

And flight 302 from Prayer is still circling, circling, circling,

Running low on fuel.


“Pray…pray…pray…prayer…silent prayer…silent…silent…”



A moment.

An awkward pause in the conversation.

A gap in the traffic.

A break in the cloud.

A rest in the music.

Two lovers across a crowded room, two arrows shot through the dark, our eyes meet.

Just like the first time.

Everything drops, everything stops, everything else is on mute.

I lower my gaze and shuffle my awkward feet.


And you know…and I smile…and we know…and we smile…

For just a moment.


Then the cats are chasing the piranha of purpose (where did she come from?)

The commuters are hustling in,

The checkout queue is getting fretful and noisy and the Elephant’s sitting on something nasty…

But… it’s O.K.


Because you found me,



Now I’m a man watching not acting.

Now I’m a man listening not talking.

Now I’m a man seeing…and believing

 Now I’m a man praying.

I sit with my God.

One sweet moment of silent prayer.

Seex Dyer 2015



About Stuart Dyer

Stuart Dyer, Christian Writer and Musician living in West Sussex, England. Works in the hope of producing the worthy novel or solo; giggles at Oliver Hardy, Peter Sellers and Spike Jones; admires Hudson Taylor, Dickens, Salinger, Bill Bailey and Neil Peart; listens from Wagner to Miles with lots of stops in between; dances to motown and aims to achieve balance in all things.
This entry was posted in Poetry, Reflections, This week's thoughts and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to National Poetry Day

  1. I am so lucky having come here on the National Poetry Day in the UK.
    I did enjoy your Poems and shall come here as and when the lord sends me here.
    Please do visit my Blog to read some Poems I have written.
    I shall be overwhelmed if a person like you visit me and comment on them and that too on this DAY.
    Fondest Regards,


  2. Seex Dyer says:

    Thanks Shiva, glad you were here on such a good day for UK poems! Hope you visit again soon. All the best, Seex


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s