Good morning, friends. I’ve experienced a lovely weekend. I hope that you have, too. Today, I decided to stop slacking, and I finally wrote my own poem for today. (Write a poem today. If I can do it, you can do it. Trust me. I consider poems to be messages in a bottle sent from the deepest recesses of your heart, up to your head to be translated, with understanding and resonation.) Baudelaire once wrote, “Always be a poet, even in prose.” Here is my poem for today:
Light breezes, finding the perfect seashell,
puppies, babies, foreign lands, spicy food,
the joys and angsts of raising children,
flowers, books, singing robustly when driving my car,
laughing, playing, loving with intimate vigor,
sunny, clear days, and calm, fire-lit starry nights,
As I ponder of what trinket of beauty to write a poem about,
I ask myself,
If I were to be thrown into a small, dark, dank prison with iron chains,
Or I found myself tied to a lonely hospital bed for the rest of my days,
would have I let myself experience enough life and unbridled emotion,
from my vital, gifted, assumed days of freedom and health,
to fill those lonely, lost days with poems of lush and vivid memories?
Am I living the poetry in my heart that is begging to flourish right now?
There is nothing sadder than a heart without poems.
Living life is what beats a heart.
Poetry flows from the beat.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.