Tag: poem

Soul Sunday

Good morning, friends. Welcome to the most lovely, tranquil, peaceful day of the week – a day to just breathe and let go. On Sundays, I devote this blog to poetry. I either write a poem or I share a poem written by another writer. Today’s poem on the blog, is written by an extremely talented, inspiring person named Nightbirde. Nightbirde is a singer who despite getting a “golden buzzer” (from the finicky Simon Cowell, no less), had to drop out of the America’s Got Talent competition due to her battle with cancer. She recently posted the poem that she wrote (seen below) on her Instagram account. The poem is admittedly sad, yet achingly beautiful. Despite writing the poem, Nightbirde also posted a pretty picture of herself, and assured her fans this: “Not gonna die. Don’t worry. . . . . I know I posted kinda of like a little bit of a sad poem about dying, however, Im not dying, I’m doing great, I’m inching forward slowly.”

That’s all that is needed from any of us in our lives: “inching forward slowly“. It doesn’t matter how fast you are going, just keep up the forward motion. It’s not a race, it’s an adventure. Stay aware. Nightbirde also had this to say:

“What a miracle that the pain I’ve walked through can be reworked into beauty that makes people all over the world open their eyes wider.”

That is what I mean by my daily tagline: Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love. Don’t let the pain which you experience, go to waste, nor add to a bigger pile of stinkin’ pain, lying around this earth. We all have pain in our lives. That’s just part of being human. But our pain can be turned to good, in the forms of compassion, empathy, perspective, hope, inspiration, which all come together to form the highest vibration of Love.

Here is Nightbirde’s poem:

A Hero In Flames

I want to die while my heart is still a greenhouse for hope
All my wild dreams as seedlings in egg cartons
Reaching toward the window

I cannot die yellow and hungry
I will not die in sterile air

But I would like to die
While the fireflies are still glowing
Morse coding their poetry for a cynical earth

I would like to die like Joan of Arc
With dignity and urgency and stubbornness
A watercolor portrait in the night
A sight to behold, a hero in flames

Soul Sunday

Good morning, my beautiful readers. This is a beautiful morning in my parts. The sun is shining, the air is still, and the flourishing, lush, summer-grown plants are relishing the sunlight drying them off, from the good, quenching rains which we have been experiencing lately. This Sunday physically demonstrates peace and hope, right outside of my window. How fitting for a Sunday! My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted to poetry, here at Adulting – Second Half. I either write a poem or I share a poem that has moved be by another writer. Write a poem today. Get to know what is stirring you. Writing a poem is one of the best ways to get acquainted with your most intimate self. Here is my poem for today:

“Okay”

And then the question starts swirling, What space do I write from today?

My carefully constructed, detached, deprecating, sarcastic self? or . . .

My half-held together, desperately attached, questioning, depleted self?

In my core, my deepest self, holds all of it together, firmly threaded in love,

And lightly pulls my hair away from my ear and softly whispers,

“Honey, just write from your heart, and let the rest of it all fall away.

And then get yourself a cookie, and composed or crazy, just live your day.

It’s all okay. It’s all going to be okay. You, my love, are always going to be okay.”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Soul Sunday

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Good morning, soul mates. My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted to poetry at Adulting – Second Half. On Sundays, I either write a poem or I share a poem written by another poet. Have you ever heard the phrase, “Shakespeare’s a poet, and doesn’t know it”? To me, this phrase means that when you speak or write from the heart, in your own unique voice, you are creating poetry, often without even realizing it. You are a poet. Let the words flow on to the page, and read them to yourself. I think that you will be amazed. Please feel free and comfortable, to share the poems that you write, here in my Comments section. It is generous and brave to share what is written and transcribed from your heart. Here’s my poem for today:

Bromeliad

I purchased you for a few dollars, a little pink plant, in a little pink pot.

“Support Breast Cancer Awareness” the courageous sign read, and I thought,

“Yes, that feels right.”

I thought that they chose you, for your lovely color, to match their ribbon of pink.

But now I realize, like so many other times, I was wrong with what I think.

This is what I now know, from the deepest depths of my soul:

You were chosen for your health, vitality, fertility, resilience, strength and hope.

I can’t keep you down, my little pink plant, in a little pink pot.

You refuse to look away from the sun, you decline to rot.

Instead, you multiply.

You reach new heights.

You continue to grow, no matter where you are planted.

You are beautiful.

You are ALIVE.

You are health, vitality, fertility, resilience, strength and hope.

Thank you for being such a vital member of my garden’s colorful shower.

Your lessons are as lovely as your grand, bursting, bold, pink flower.

Soul Sunday

Good morning, soul mates. I hope that this Sunday finds you tranquil and at peace. Here at the blog, Sunday is devoted to poetry. Poetry is a pouring out of one’s heart, and the seeping out of one’s soul. Poetry always evokes mood, whether it be funny or sad or reflective or passionate. Poetry is a great way to get to know yourself. Write a poem today. Share it in my Comments section, if you like. You’ll be inspired by yourself. Here is my poem for today:

I love that all of the roads that we take, are well worn by experience.

Every twist and turn has a memory of you and me tied with it.

Our nights are filled with remembrances of different stages of you and me.

And we laugh and we smile and all of our looks between us, hold so much knowing.

We are the shared holders and keepers of a lovely urn,

A conjoint container full of stories of life, and brimming with living.

May we each hold our own handle carefully and reverently,

That the vessel of our ongoing adventure, may not be shattered nor destroyed.

When it is time for our shared potiche to be shelved,

May it be a relic that deserves a spotlight for posterity.

May it be a holder of the highest form of love and unity,

Inside of it, two eternal flames forming one fire.

Until then, we carry it on together down the road.

It is my lightest, and my easiest, and my most precious load,

the love that has created, and continues to fuel, our shared story.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Soul Sunday

afaoipdvishuqb v4jlgbv sL (Kidding. If you read yesterday’s blog, you’d get it. Ahem.)

Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. On Sundays, I call it poetry workshop day and I share a poem which I have written or I share a poem written by somebody else, which has moved me. Poetry is mysterious, yet exposing, all at the same time. Like a painting, poetry allows you to bring so much of yourself and your own story, to the words and to your perception of the poem. It is possible to make a poem (whether your own words, or not) completely your own, which makes it such a deeply personal and profound form of writing. I would love to see your poems in my Comments section, but regardless, write a poem today. It will show you your heart and soul in written form. Here’s my poem for today:

Thanks for coming out with me last night,

I missed your fun and your free,

I missed the frenzied energy of strangers moving together,

Noticing each other’s beautiful humanity,

Without ever sharing words.

I missed that feeling of being fully alive,

And that aliveness coursing through my being.

Last night was a glimpse of the casually carefree,

A feeling which I had almost forgotten, even existed.

Reminder to self: It is a blessing to have fun,

And to feel fun fully. It is a blessing.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Soul Sunday

Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Good morning, soulmates. Welcome to Soul Sunday, when our precious little thought museum called Adulting – Second Half, turns towards the emotional conclusion of the week, with our poetry workshop, well into session. What poetry are you going to make with your life today? What stories are you going to add to the rhythm, and to the flair, and to the details of your most incredible, personal creation – the story of your very own, precious life?

My regular readers know that I make reference to “my thought museum” a lot when posting writings on my blog. I would love to have more of your exhibits on loan here. I know that I have quite a few creative, artsy types here, quietly reading. You’ve shown me some delightful glimpses of yourselves, here and there. I feel your presence. And I want you to know that I appreciate it. I appreciate you. Your presence inspires me. You inspire me. I love our warm connection. I love Adulting – Second Half. It is one of my most favorite places on Earth. So in extension, I love you. Please post your poems in my Comments section. Or show us your artwork. I would love to see an artistic rendition of what our shared thought museum looks like visually, or by having it described in words, or in music. Please share. Your outpours are safe here. We have good security guards. (they have white wings) If your ideas are still privately percolating, get them out somewhere, even if it is just in your own personal journals. Your creations deserve some space in this world. Your creations want to come to life. Bring them into the light.

Here’s my poem for today:

Good Riddance

I lost an hour today.

What can I do without an hour of today?

What does wasted time look like? Consider it.

Wasted time looks like a dusty little pile of pointless panderings,

Ruminations of the nasty, negative variety,

Often dwelling in the corners of the angry past,

Or in the entangled cobwebs of the fearful future,

Or in fruitless gossip and judgment, guises of my own insecurities.

I don’t have time for an hour of that dreadful dialog in my head.

I lost an hour today.

Good riddance.

Soul Sunday

Good morning, loves. Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. I’m a little distracted this morning. My own words aren’t flowing. My husband just shared a video with our family, which was magically created by Apple. My family is outdoorsy. We have been blessed to have taken trips together, to some of the greatest natural wonders of our beautiful country. Big Brother Apple just made a lovely montage of our family, on the trails. (and thus, I forgive Apple completely for this intrusion of privacy) The video was pure poetry, in pictures and in motion. I think that poetry is honestly anything that makes you feel deeply. Poetry is not restricted to words. Poetry can be found in music and in nature, in pictures and in paintings, in expressions and in shadows. What makes you feel deeply? That is your poetry. Below are a couple of poetic quotes which I saw today on the internet, from some of my favorite writers. As always, please feel comfortable to share your poetry in my Comments section.

It’s less what the eyes see and more what the soul feels (Paulo Coelho)

Cave People

My darling,

Never decide to Dim your light Accommodating the Ones accustomed

To cages And caves (C. Joybell C.)

“Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.” (Khalil Gibran)

Soul Sunday

Good morning to my wonderful readers and friends! My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Poetry is alluring. It’s not always candid and direct. I think that you bring more of your own story and perspectives and thus, you often find deeper meaning and emotional movement in poetry, than any other kind of written communication. (Remember, most musical lyrics are actually poems.) Anyway, here is my poem for the day. Please write a poem and share it in my Comments section. This is a safe and loving place to share and to commune.

Our Christmas Tree

Each ornament tells a story, as it dances on the tree,

Trips taken, milestones made, loved ones longed for,

Babies born, pads purchased, merry memories, pets’ portraits,

Favors from friends, cherished children’s crafts, soiree souvenirs,

Team tokens, silly Santas, intriguing impulse-buys.

The tree is kind of messy. It won’t make a magazine spread,

Or an Instagram influencer’s grandstand play,

But it tells the meandering story of the fertile life of a family,

Like no sterile showpiece ever could.

The tree is alive with love, dangling from its branches,

And that makes it, breathtakingly beautiful,

The tree’s teeming tokens make it altogether, one-of-a-kind.

For each ornament tells a story, as it dances on the tree.

Our Christmas Tree is the bookmark of our ongoing epic adventures.

What new ornaments, will the new year bring, to next year’s tree?

I can’t wait to see. Ornaments are wonderful story-tellers.

Soul Sunday

Good morning, dear friends and readers. On Sundays, I devote this blog to poetry. I either write a poem, or I share a poem, and I strongly encourage you to share your poems in my Comments section. Poems have a way of broadening thought and deepening emotion, like no other form of writing can do. Today, I share two poems written by other people. The first poem, “Cranky Old Man”, is attributed to an Australian man, named David Griffith. David was living in a nursing home and this poem was found by his nurses, in his things, after he died. It has since been shared widely around the world. Thank you, to my dear friend, who shared it with me this week. The second poem, I found on Twitter. I am at the age when a lot of people who I know, are on their second marriages, and I thought that the poem was sweet and romantic and hopeful, for those relationships, especially. Have a restful, rejuvenating, reinvigorating, and restorative end of your weekend, as we enter into the holiday season. See you, tomorrow, my dear friends and readers.

cranky-old-man-poem.png (490×885) | Old man quotes, Memories quotes, Poems

Soul Sunday

Good morning, friends and readers. My regular readers know that I devote Sundays to poetry. I consider Sundays to be a poetry workshop of sorts. I share a poem that I have written or someone else has written, and I strongly encourage you to share your poems in my Comments section. On an aside, last night, during Halloween, we put our candy bowl out on a table, at the end of the driveway, but my husband and I sat up in chairs by our garage doors. We love to see the kids in costumes. I overheard one little boy say, “Wow, why are so many people giving out the big candy bars this year?” That warmed my heart. People are mostly kind-hearted, and we all want the best for each other. Most particularly, we want the best for our little children, the future of humanity. That collective desire for these children to grow up in a beautiful, thriving world is what makes me know that no matter what befalls us, we are all going to be okay. That collective desire and vision and hope for the future generations is an incredibly vital and strong force. It won’t be stopped. Here is my poem for today:

Just an Hour

Preparing and cooking an excellent, nourishing meal.

Giddily getting ready for a night out on the town.

A much anticipated episode of a favorite television show.

An invigorating, healing exercise class.

Staying in bed and sleeping in, with the comfort of pillows and peace.

A hopeful church service or a long, peaceful meditation.

A fun, relaxing lunch break from strenuous, meticulous work.

A long, luxurious massage and facial treatment.

A couple of chapters read in an excellent book.

A hearty walk with our beloved dogs, tiring everyone out.

A long phone call, catching each other up on our individual lives’ events.

All of these things take about an hour of time.

The gift of an extra hour in the day is magnificent.

It is truly striking what an hour of life can contain.

Do we realize it?