My part is paltry.
My role is rest,
a test of poise,
of patience.
My role is recess,
a stepping back
not in lack
but release.
My role is repose;
to sabbath this moment,
to be full stop now
to draw breath, to respire.
My part is paltry. My role is rest.
stillvoicing 
I don’t remember ever coming across Sabbath used as a verb. Very interesting. I’m not sure how I feel about it. There’s an increasing tendency to turn nouns into verbs that irritates me, but here it might work. I suppose the parallel would be “mother” – commonly used as both noun and verb. There could be others, but I can’t recall any just now.
That aside, I think this is lovely. It has an easy rhythm, and certainly serves as a reminder that inspiration and respiration belong together – spiritually as well as physically.
Thanks for your reflections Linda. I was thinking of Sabbath as first being a verb in Hebrew (shabbat is to rest), but agree that I am playing a little fast while not exactly loose with this use in the poem. I decided to de-capitalize the word to bring attention to that, for those who might have eyes that are eagle sharp! Have a great Sunday. Allen
I love the ‘letting go’ idea. so hard to do yet so necessary. M
Amen and amen, Allen.
To be “full stop” now. I just returned from a concert of Bach and Beethoven. To be full stop, that silence when the music is still in the ears…thank you for this lovely and thoughtful, and to me, a bit disturbing, poem.
Thanks. I’m interested in the disturbing bit. Can you say more?
It’s perhaps not part of your intention in writing, but for me (and for entirely personal reasons), practicing “full stop” and repose/silence especially in All Saints is a bit of facing that darkness on the far side of our lost loved ones. Once our parents stood between us and the “otherness” of death, but they do no longer, and in faith, in doubt, in trust and sometimes in pilgrimage or in disturbing images, we learn to live with mortality. A good poem, that sparked all that in me! Thank you again!
OK, I get it. Yes, they are no longer between us and death, but death is now between us and them. The poem was actually written last January, and just felt right for yesterday. Disturbing is usually good and thanks for letting me know why it was thus for you.
I like the phrase “sabbath this moment”. While it isn’t necessarily healthy to dwell on the past (at the expense of the present), resting and taking in the moment makes us appreciate the “now.”
I agree. I wonder why we (or at least I) spend so little time doing precisely this?
See there, Allen. You make it look so easy to write poetry.
The pithy saying “Looks are deceiving” comes to mind, but thanks for the vote of confidence!