We’re happy to share poetry from ICNer Pete Armstrong, offered as invitations to guide us into deeper feet engagement. 

He says of his poetry:

These poems mostly arose within a space of meditation, of opening to All, and were shaped-up within that space. Only when they were more-or-less complete were they written down.

There are more poems in five books available on Amazon:

The Commitment of the Lark                 poems for looking deeply.
Target Practice                                            100 poems for your inner journey
The Words on my Face                              poems on opening to God in the silence
Of Love and Bent Nails                              poems on an Integral path
Some Palaeolithic Creature in me        poems on the Way through

For personal and non-commercial usage, please copy, use, and share these poems as widely as possible!

Contact: pilgrimpoems@gmail.com

You can also access the previous week’s poems:
Poems of the Heart

Poems of the Womb

Poems of the Mind

I wandered in your woods drenched in autumn colour

 I wandered in your woods drenched in autumn colour.
I walked a long way then found your door open to me.
I recognised your voice of welcome
calling me in, calling me in.

In your oratory of simplicity and rounded walls
I was bathed in the sweet voices of your Sisters
devoted to you, devoted to you.

I recognised your voice of wisdom and was at home.
I sat within your peace, within your peace.
When your bowl of mystery came round
I ate your bread and tasted the sharp tang of your wine.
I took them into my body and my blood.
I know nothing about you, nothing about you.

I wander in your woods drenched in love.
I give myself to your embrace, your embrace.
I wander in your woods drenched in love.
I give myself to your embrace, your embrace.


From: The Words on my Face

Here are three more poems of the feet:

Below, you can also download a pdf of 6 more poems of the feet from Pete

It’s hard work

I join the commuters on the early morning train.
While they go on to their work in shops and offices
in Skipton or Leeds I get off in Long Preston.
My work is to walk the earth on a clear autumn day.

I have to tread my way through a frozen morning
while the rising sun lights up the frosty grass
and beams on to the mist hanging over the stream.

I have to deal with patches
of multi-coloured dying beech leaves
shining in the trees
and catching at my moving feet on the ground.

I have to stand still and wait
while flocks of fieldfares swirl the air near me
and swoop to land chattering on the grass.

And I have to take my lunch break
sitting on a footbridge over a whispering stream
while delicate drifting spider threads
glisten in the low noonday sun.

I walk home through blue skies
and boggy moors
and over ground in the shadow of stone walls
which is still frozen in the afternoon.

It’s hard work walking the earth properly.
But someone has to do it.

From: Some Palaeolithic Creature in Me

Green Man’s hard task

Green Man prowling in the woods at midwinter.
Green Man dodging through the dripping trees.
Green Man alert, pausing to scent the air.

‘If I were a Christian, I would be sitting by a crib.
If I were a Quaker, I would be sitting quietly
opening to that of God within.
If I were a Sufi mystic, I would be dancing
crying out to God ‘Where can I find you now?’

‘But I am the Green Man
and I will not shirk today’s hard task.’

Green Man dressed in midwinter clothes.
Green Man shaggy with ivy, prickled all over with holly.
Green Man berries are white, Green Man berries are red.

Green Man explores his beloved’s body.
There is no part of her that he does not love
no part of her that does not inflate him with desire.

Her trees are infinitely branched
her bark is infinitely grained.
She drips with moisture, her streams run wet.

Her cover is gone, she is naked at midwinter;
she is quiescent and sleepy at midwinter.

When he is huge enough to match her
he knows her.
They have come together again.

The taste of her leaf mould is on his lips.
The scent of earth is in his nostrils.

Green Man is empty, and she is full.
All that is new for this year is springing in her.

From: Target Practice

And from this blissful meeting

Pilgrims walking the pilgrim route,
we reach a Holy Well along the way
and see the clear water
welling up into the pool.
‘We have travelled far to meet you,’ we say.

‘And I have come far to meet you’ says the water
‘travelling slowly for many years
filtering through the darkness underground
purifying myself, clarifying myself.’

‘Now you can take me into you
and I will take you into me
and from this blissful meeting
what miracle will not come forth?’

So we drank of the pure cold water
and took it into our bodies.
We took off our clothes
and immersed our naked bodies in the water
springing from the ground into the pool.

And the sharpness removed our breath
and the cold took away our thoughts
so that all that remained was purity and clarity
and into that liberated space
the grace of God poured infinite blessing.

From: The Words on my Face

About the Author

Peter Armstrong

I was born into 1950s England, the first child in a very loving family. But our lives were overshadowed by a serious accident that left my father paralysed, and led to his death three years later, when I was nine.

I grew up in the Anglican church, but, as is common, left in my late teens, when the mythological elements of religion became too much for my developing rational mind. I won a place at Oxford to study English, and my intellectual development continued there, but much less so with emotional literacy, or inner awareness, or spiritual connection…

I was determined to avoid a conventional career, and instead launched myself and my curiosity into the delights and flaws of the burgeoning alternative world. There was a lot to explore!

Becoming a parent to three children emphasised the need for greater stability rather than novelty…

Therapy took me further and further into an exploration of the inner life, and later on, serious meditation practices followed. I discovered Ken Wilber’s books and integral thinking, and was deeply grateful for those gifts, because they made sense of so much. His influence, plus that of Thich Nhat Hanh, brought me renewed perspectives on God, and gradually I came back to Christianity, particularly in its mystical guise. Paul’s book was a treasure, and ICN was another!

I had sometimes enjoyed writing creatively. In May 2010, my partner Mary and I, who had been together for many years, got married. It turned out there were to be some spiritual fruits of this new phase of our relationship. That same month, I found myself unexpectedly (and initially reluctantly) writing poetry…

I developed a way of sitting in meditation, opening to All, to God, and allowing new perspectives and insights to emerge. Then, sometimes, I would be able to shape them up into poems from within that space of meditation. Only when the poems were more-or-less complete in my mind did I write them down physically. This ‘poetry period’ lasted about five years.

Now, I continue to enjoy the pilgrimage of this gift of life, hoping to share more of the blessings with you, my fellow pilgrims!