Tag: poems

Soul Sunday

******Dear Friends and Readers, I have an announcement to make. I am no longer going to be blogging on a daily basis. I have some fun, new personal projects going on, which are currently taking up a lot of my time and my attention. I made a vow when I embarked on our empty nest, to never have, nor make any relationships based on fear, obligation or guilt. And lately, bloggling on a daily basis has felt more like an obligation, and that has never been the spirit of the blog. I always want my writing to be done out of feelings: as an urgent need, or a deep joy, or an enticing pulling. At this time, I still plan to keep the blog open, so that I can make an occasional post here or there. I want to thank you all for your dedication to reading Adulting Second-Half and for your precious time and for your attention. Thank you for taking this journey with me, from the very beginning (summer of 2018!), or somewhere along the way. Thank you for your kindness and your validation and your thoughtful comments. Thank you from the deepest wells of my heart. Thank you for helping me to grow and for being a witness to my growth. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Sundays are devoted to poetry. Today’s poem by Mary Oliver is one of the best poems I have ever read:

Wild Geese | Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

2996. What do you think people undervalue today?

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to poetry day on the blog. Jane Hirshfield, a famous poet, says this is why we should write poetry: “One reason to write a poem is to flush from the deep thickets of the self some thought, feeling, comprehension, question, music, you didn’t know was in you, or in the world. Other forms of writing—scientific papers, political analysis, most journalism—attempt to capture and comprehend something known. Poetry is a release of something previously unknown into the visible. You write to invite that, to make of yourself a gathering of the unexpected and, with luck, of the unexpectable.” Below is my poem for the day. Write a poem today. I dare you.

“grief crests equally in times of joy and in times of difficulty . . . “ – Chelsea Bieker

Stirrings

Sometimes the ingredients get tossed about

When you had no desire to cook them in your mind

You are left to deal with the churning mess

Of things you thought you had left behind.

I cooked this already. I stewed in it. The meal is done.

Not really, though. It was only half-baked, silly.

In some ways, this recipe has only just begun. . . .

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

400. What’s your favorite accent?

Soul Sunday

Hi friends. Sorry to be MIA this weekend. I find myself distracted with researching a new project. I’ll be back in full form tomorrow. Perhaps on this Sunday (Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog) we should play around with haikus. Haikus are three-line poems with one line of five syllables, the next line having seven syllables and the final line having five syllables. Here is a good one:

I am distracted

Writing is good for my soul

So I will be back

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

1355. What is your favorite part of the weekend?

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Below is the poem which I wrote for today. Write your own poem today. Poems are secret messages from your soul.

When?

When will the world stop its tantrum of anger and fear?

When will the world settle into the stillness that’s here?

When will the world turn to the wisdom of the heart?

When will the world lean into intuition’s level of “smart”?

When will the world stop creating its own pain?

When will the world start behaving like it’s sane?

When I stop my tantrum of anger and fear,

When I settle into the stillness that’s here,

When I turn to the wisdom of my heart,

When I lean into my intuition’s level of “smart”,

When I stop creating my own pain,

I help the world turn “insane” to sane.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

1869. Where is the most magical place on earth, in your opinion?

Forgetfulness

I saw this poem the other day and I had the idea to keep it until Sunday (poetry day on the blog), but I feel like writing about this today. So I will. As I have entered into my fifties, I am more cognizant of everything that I forget. I’m actually pretty good with birthdays and anniversaries and taking out the trash days, mostly because I am obsessive about writing things down. I scare myself with the things that I do forget though. I instantly forget names of movies and books and the characters in them. I stumble with the words that I want to use when I am relaying a story in conversation, I forget the names of towns I have visited, I couldn’t tell you what cars my friends drive, and I often mix-up our kids’ and our dogs’ names when I am talking to them. But honestly, I think that I have always been that way. I really don’t believe that I am headed towards early dementia.

The things that I do recall clearly, are like they happened yesterday. I’ll recall a story someone had relayed to me years ago, and their mouths drop open. “I can’t believe you remembered that,” they’ll say. I remember the oddest things. I remember a lot of random moments, I guess because for some reason that moment struck me as emotional, or unusual, or important in some nuanced way. Most of us writers are curious. We are always looking to understand, to see the deeper meaning in things and experiences. Most of us writers are observers and “sensers” (not censors). We are always looking for the right words to describe the way things feel. We are a little possessed with the question, “Why?”

I wish that I could remember names and numbers and historical facts better than I do. But I’m grateful that I can remember how a moment felt, what was really being said behind what was being said, tiny trinkets and plants and artwork that marked both sets of my grandparents’ homes, and trivial stories told to me by strangers that turned out to have a lot more meaning to them, when I was willing to explore the plot twists.

My memory is fickle, but it is deeply entrenched in what is really important to me- the heartfelt connection we have with each other and with the Life Experience in general. My heart remembers better than my aging computer of a brain ever did, or ever will. And honestly, that’s all that really matters to me.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

1394. What sound relaxes you?

Soul Sunday

Happy Father’s Day!! Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Write your dad or your husband a poem today. They’ll get a charge out of it. You’ll get a charge out of it, too.

“Dads are most ordinary men turned by love into heroes, adventurers, story-tellers, and singers of song.” – Pam Brown

“Superman”

When she called you “Superman”, she saw what I already knew

Not just to the broad shoulders and the handsome face, she was drew,

She saw the big heart beneath it all, the part that really makes you, you!

When it comes to devotion, rock solid reliability, and to your word being true,

Not many can even dare to compare, I imagine that there are very few.

You are my greatest love. My love for you will forever ensue.

For all the gifts you’ve given me, I am most grateful for our “crew.”

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love you.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

174. If you could be a bird, which would you be?

Soul Sunday

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Sometimes I write a poem and sometimes I share a poem that has deeply moved me, written by another writer. Today, write a poem. And if you can’t do that, at least read someone else’s poetry. It will stir something in you. Today is a poem written by the poet Angi Sullins. Isn’t it inspiring?

the next time

by Angi Sullins

the next time
you refuse to sing
because you’ll never
fill a stadium
or decline the joy of dance
for fear of looking
ridiculous
or you resist risking
the new adventure
because you’re
not entirely ready or
you dim your shine
because you’re not
completely healed and whole

the next time
you hold yourself suspect
because you’re not
entirely qualified

just remember

a bird doesn’t sing
because it’s talented
a bird sings because
it has a song

the moon doesn’t only shine
when it’s whole
it can show up with
a single sliver of itself
and still light an entire
night sky

show up. sing. shine.
the world needs you
as you are.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

920. Have you ever gotten majorly lost trying to get somewhere?

Soul Sunday

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Today’s poem is written by Nathaniel Bard:

Quiet Gratitude

Fields of white stones, each a silent tale,
Flags flutter softly in the mourning gale.
Honor their memory, sacrifices cast,
In quiet gratitude, forever vast.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

2158. Do you think a person can always depend on the kindness of strangers?

Soul Sunday

Good morning. I hope this Sunday finds you well. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Write a poem today. It will help you to get to know yourself. Sylvia Plath said this: “Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You’ve got to go so far so fast in such a small space; you’ve got to burn away all the peripherals.” Here is my “burning away of the peripherals” for today:

Sometimes the surface of the water is still as glass.

Nothing breaking in, disturbs its placidness for long.

Sometimes the surface of the water is flowing.

It has direction and purpose and aim.

Sometimes the surface of the water is choppy and topsy turvy.

It doesn’t know which way to turn.

Interestingly, everything underneath the surface is the same stuff.

It’s the conditions outside of the lake that tend to ruffle the surface.

Underneath the surface, the fishes swim, the rocks lie still, and the algae grows,

Always just being the flourishing interior life of the lake,

totally and blissfully unaware of any disturbance outside itself.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

858. What do you find monotonous?

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to poetry day on the blog. My friend, who is an English teacher, texted this poem (shown below) to a group of us who have been friends since we were eighteen years old. It is one of the most lovely poems I have read in a long time. Enjoy.

BENEATH THE SWEATER AND THE SKIN

by Jeannette Encinias

How many years of beauty do I have left?

she asks me.

How many more do you want?

Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.

When you are 80 years old

and your beauty rises in ways

your cells cannot even imagine now

and your wild bones grow luminous and

ripe, having carried the weight

of a passionate life.

When your hair is aflame

with winter

and you have decades of

learning and leaving and loving

sewn into

the corners of your eyes

and your children come home

to find their own history

in your face.

When you know what it feels like to fail

ferociously

and have gained the

capacity

to rise and rise and rise again.

When you can make your tea

on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon

and still have a song in your heart

Queen owl wings beating

beneath the cotton of your sweater.

Because your beauty began there

beneath the sweater and the skin,

remember?

This is when I will take you

into my arms and coo

YOU BRAVE AND GLORIOUS THING

you’ve come so far.

I see you.

Your beauty is breathtaking.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

2899. Have you ever wished upon a star?