Tag: poems

Soul Sunday

Good morning. I have spent a lot of time this morning, trying to best decipher what the well-known saying, “the rest is poetry” means. It is one of those sayings that I have said a lot in my life, but never really thought about it when I was using it as a form of dramatic flair in my speech.

“Experiments are the only means of knowledge at our disposal. The rest is poetry and imagination.” – Max Planck

This is what Chat GPT had to say about it:

“The rest is poetry” is a phrase that is often used metaphorically to suggest that the subsequent information or details are beautifully expressive, imaginative, or emotionally charged, much like poetry. In a literal sense, poetry is a form of literary expression that often uses heightened language and symbolism to convey emotions, ideas, or experiences.

When someone says, “the rest is poetry,” they may be implying that what follows is not just a straightforward or factual account but is infused with deeper meaning, creativity, or a certain level of artistry. It can be a way of signaling that the details or information that come next are to be appreciated for their aesthetic or emotive qualities rather than just their literal content.“

This begs the question, how much about our lives is really factual, concrete content, and how much of it is just pure poetry? Might I suggest remembering the old telephone game, where you whisper a short story, to be passed down through a line of people, each whispering the story to the next person. Rarely does the story told at the beginning of the line, sound anything like the version of the last person who shares it. My poem, written by me/for me, today, can be read below. If you don’t write a poem of your own today, at least enthusiastically live the poetry of your life. It’s epic, your life. It really is epic. The rest of your life is poetry . . . .

“Right in the Middle”

Focus on the center, she said.

Why the center?

The Center is the calm in the storm.

It is the place that everything else orbits around.

It is the heart, the hub, the place.

The Capital City of law and order.

Everything revolves around the center.

Where do I find The Center?

Go deep, deep, deep within.

You’ll find the Center there, contentedly,

steadily, beating the drum of your soul,

breathing life into your dreams,

and expanding your orbit outwards,

into the Universe of your own one Life.

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

Soul Sunday

**** Happy Birthday, BEB. I love you with all of my heart.

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Sometimes I sit and I try to wordle my words into a poem of my own, and sometimes I try to learn about new poets and then read and share some of their offerings. A British poet, named Benjamin Zephaniah passed away this month of a brain tumor at the age of 65. He was quite famous in the United Kingdom and he wrote poems for adults and children alike. I only learned about him because someone on X, posted a long, thoughtful letter which he had written back to her. This poster of the letter (Jess Green, @jessgreenpoet) enjoyed writing to her favorite authors, when she was a child, and she said that he was one of the few writers that ever wrote back. This is the letter that he wrote back to her:

I feel like I know Benjamin from just reading this letter, don’t you? I still have a hard time believing that Artificial Intelligence will be able to mimic “the voice”, of a heartfelt, genuine, authentic letter. Below is one of Benjamin Zephaniah’s poems. This short, direct poem struck me as a reminder of how much has changed since I was a child. We can argue that some of the changes that have happened over the years in society are puzzling, and questionable, but many, many of these changes have been good, and productive, and have moved the world forward. To change the world, we must change minds.

Who’s Who

I used to think nurses
Were women,
I used to think police
Were men,
I used to think poets
Were boring,
Until I became one of them.

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

Monday – Funday

Our youngest son was here at our house yesterday, helping us to put up Christmas decorations and to watch some football with his Dad. I asked him what he thought about yesterday’s blog.

“It was great,” he said.

“What did you think about the poem?” I asked.

“Mom, I didn’t read the poem. I consider you to be like a version of SparkNotes,” he responded.

That gave me a giggle, and then I started thinking to myself, wouldn’t that be a wonderful pseudonym to write under: “Spark Notes.” ” Sparky Notes.” “S. Park Notes”

In other news, I mentioned that I read a lot this weekend. An amazing artist and painter, Paul Lewin, was interviewed in Spirituality & Health magazine, and he was asked this question:

“What would you tell readers who are interested in making art but just don’t know where to begin?”

His answer: “I would suggest starting with something simple and enjoyable, something that is free from the pressure of needing it to turn out “good.” Learning to enjoy the process is one of the most crucial aspects of living a creative life.

When I was growing up, the concept of having hobbies was much more popular, something that you did for pure self-enjoyment either by yourself or with friends for a fun time. Nowadays it feels like there is a constant pressure to make everything “good” enough to post on social media. I couldn’t imagine having such high expectations for my art during my early years of creating art.”

The author Matt Haig talks about his when he came back to playing the piano after years of staying away from it, because he felt that he would never be a good enough pianist to become famous. He writes this:

” . . . I have access to the ability to play music, and enjoy playing music and that is enough. The joy of the music is in the music. The playing of it. The listening to it. And it is a joy with a wide open door, welcoming all.”

I have recently started taking art classes after a long hiatus of doing any type of visual art. It was something that I dabbled in more when I was younger, but then I became a mother of four and that’s when I put my focus more on my children’s art and their creative abilities. (and this is not something that I say with pride. If you are a young mother or young father, keep up with your own creative pursuits and interests, as well as you can, despite your busy schedules. It is honestly not fair to yourself, nor to your family, to “lose yourself” in them and their pursuits.) I honestly started taking the painting class that I take now, out of curiosity and for the excitement of lighting up my creative spark. And I love the class. But I have noticed that there sometimes is an air of “I must achieve” in the classroom. Comparison of end-products happens. People discuss their art backgrounds, and art degrees, and level of competency, and ability to sell paintings, and making “framable” works, and I’m not immune to this underlying feeling of competition, and also insecure feelings of inadequacy. Interestingly, it is the days that I go to art class, feeling just the vital need to get “lost” a little bit in a creative pursuit, with no thought as to the outcome, and no notice of the distractions outside of me, that I often produce my best work. And the end-product doesn’t even matter at that point. Usually I just smile down at my painting, and it smiles back at me and it seems to say, “Yep, you enjoyed the process of getting lost in making me, didn’t you? Wasn’t it fun? Wasn’t it magical? Isn’t life just grand?”

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to poetry day on the blog. I like to think of poetry as the secret code of our souls. In order to write poetry, you have to put your most sensible, guarded, orderly part of yourself aside and let the poetry write itself. It is the one form of communication that you come to as blankly and open, as someone else who is just reading it for the first time. How many times have you written a poem and thought, “Oh wow, I wrote that?? That’s what is stirring deep inside of me??” Get to know yourself better and write yourself a poem today. I wrote this poem about a lovely bridal shower which I attended yesterday:

“The Elders Table”

We watched the beautiful young bride excitedly unpack each gift,

Clean, shiny, unmarked, powerful tools to create the sustenance of a fairy tale.

We reminisced of the days when we sat in her seat and her spotlight.

So full of hope, and promise, and energy, and expectant excitement.

We marvel at the versions of ourselves who long ago, once sat in her seat,

Radiant and innocent and ambitious and determined and clear.

We still have many of the tools showered upon us, on those days, long ago when we were the brides.

The tools are well-used, scarred with marks, some almost broken, but determined to continue their purpose.

We, who are intently watching the bride, are now the continuance of the women who bestowed these gifts upon us.

And it is only now, that we deeply understand why it was so imperative for our elders to impart these gifts upon us.

The gifts weren’t just pots and pans and knives and nightgowns and a little wad of money for extras.

They were the tools that helped sustain the hope, and the excitement, and the energy and the promise,

When life’s storms were determined to make their marks, sometimes gashes, all to test our tenacity and plans.

Would the inner gentle flower of our young bride’s heart wilt under the load of life?

Or would the dried, sustained, circle wreath arrangement of our elders, be our borrowed strength,

When we decided to fondly pick up a remembered tool, from a lovely little bridal celebration, and to calmly use the implement, so to carry on with life . . . . .

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to poetry day on the blog. I’ve been sitting here for a couple of hours, not allowing myself to leave my writing nook, until I wrote a poem. I felt like a child, who in her defiance, did not want to eat her peas, but was being commanded to stay at the table until she ate all of her peas. The last few weeks, I’ve been dodging my own heart and my own deep feelings, by publishing other people’s poems on Soul Sundays instead of my own. Poetry gets to the feels and lately, it’s really hard to feel the gush of feels coming from everything that is happening around us, isn’t it? So, I finally “ate my peas” and my poem for today is below. It felt good and nourishing to write it. “My peas” added to my vitality. Add to your own vitality today, and write a poem. Stay at the table and eat your peas. You won’t regret it.

In times when we must face the barbarism that lies within all of us, in pure sight for all to see,

the poetry does not flow. The heart wants to stay in its safe room, pretending that it is safe.

It is the heart who writes the poetry, but the heart is numb, beating in its anesthetic of desentization, which finally arose from the overflowing, salty mix of blood and tears of despair.

Hearts can only hold so much pain, until they turn into hard, lifeless stones which makes them the hearts of monsters.

Monsters don’t write poetry. They coldy snuff it out with their hearts of stone.

We must give our hearts life. We must bravely let our hearts leave their safe rooms, to breathe in the fullness of life. We must never let the poetry die.

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

Soul Sunday

I was unexpectedly delighted yesterday when I opened up my Kindle app. A while ago, I had pre-ordered a children’s book of poems by Bob Odenkirk (of Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul fame) and it had just been downloaded to my Kindle. The book is called Zilot & Other Important Rhymes and it is adorably illustrated by Bob’s daughter, Erin. The book is engaging and silly and creative and fun. It’s a book that reminds me very much of Shel Silverstein’s offerings. Children and grown-ups alike, will delight in reading Zilot & Other Important Rhymes.

I devote Sundays to poetry on the blog. Here is “Lollygagging”, one of the poems from Zilot. I hope that you get a chance to do some real lollygagging of your own this Sunday:

“Lollygagging”

There’s not enough lollygagging

going on around here,

and daydreams are in short supply.

The whole week is jammed

with to-dos and to-don’ts.

No one is gazing at clouds in the sky.

THERE’S SO MUCH NONSENSE TO ACCOMPLISH!

I simply can’t do it all alone . . .

I’ll think stray thoughts and you mutter drivel.

You walk in circles and I’ll tunelessly whistle.

We’ll pandy about the most pointless of piffle

and cram this day full

of jabber and jibble.

We’ll aim to aim aimlessly

and traipse about spaciously

and fart around graciously

and fritter tenaciously.

Let’s not focus nor work

on what’s “necessary” or “needed.”

Let’s get down to beeswax

and get our lollygagging completed!

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

Soul Sunday

It’s poetry day on the blog. The finalists for the National Book awards were announced early this past week. John Lee Clark, a deafblind poet is one of the finalists for his book, How to Communicate. John Lee Clark says this:

“Slateku is a form I invented. It’s simple: It is a poem that is written, or could have been written, with the classic Braille slate and stylus. The slate has four rows of twenty-eight cells each. Some think of it as writing backward, pressing down right to left to make dots stand up on the other side, but I think of it as writing forward in a different direction.“

How wonderful to not only write poetry, but to have created a whole new style of poetry! This is inspirational and challenging. Why do all of your stitching in only classic stitches? Is there a dance you could create that wouldn’t fall in the traditional dance categories (hip-hop dancing only came about in the late 1960s)? What about art? Is it possible to do an acrylic-watercolor fusion? What would that look like? What would it be called? The fusion restaurants are everywhere these days, mixing all kinds of traditional food recipes, with other completely unique cultures and traditions. So today, don’t just write a poem, think about creating a whole unique form of poetry. Here are two of John Lee Clark’s slatekus:

What is the point of travel

For a DeafBlind person

Other than the food the people the shops

And all that

And here’s another kind of cheeky one:

The mutant four-fingered carrot

Is in the pot and growing

Sweeter as it relaxes

Its grip

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. I became a big fan of Jane Marczewski, also known as “Nightbirde” when a friend shared a video of Nightbirde’s performance on America’s Got Talent. Nightbirde was an extremely talented singer and songwriter who performed so movingly and remarkably well on the show, that she got “the golden buzzer” from Simon Cowell. (no small feat for anyone who knows the show). Nightbirde bravely and beautifully performed her own song, “It’s OK” while she was dying of breast cancer. She passed away from cancer in February of 2022. It turns out that Nightbirde’s family found that Nightbirde had written notebooks full of poems during her fight with cancer and they are publishing some of these poems as a book of poetry this fall. Simon Cowell has written the introduction of the book and all of the proceeds from the book sales will go to Nightbirde’s foundation which is dedicated to helping women with cancer. Poems for the Dark by Nightbirde can be pre-ordered here: https://nightbirdefoundation.shop/products/poemsforthedark

I don’t have a poem of my own to share today, but I do want to share this famous poem, “Metaphors”, by Sylvia Plath. (Read the poem now before reading the rest of my explanation. See if you understand its meaning.) Plath wrote this poem about being pregnant. What is particularly clever and amazing about this poem is that it contains 9 lines, 9 syllables each and even the title has 9 letters. She did these formats as a “metaphor” for the traditional 9 months of pregnancy. Poetry is often cryptic, clever, and full of riddle. Try your own hand at cryptic, clever, and riddling. Surprise yourself with your mysterious, sly side.

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

Soul Sunday

We have two of our sons with us this weekend which “magically” coincided with some delivery of outdoor furniture that needs to be assembled. (ha!) Anyway, my attention is diverted this weekend, so for this day of poetry on the blog, I am going to share some lovely words of Walt Whitman’s, who is considered to be one of America’s greatest poets ever. Walt Whitman loved our country. He called America “a teeming nation of nations” and “A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother.” I wonder if he would question her sanity today? Today’s poem is an excerpt from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman:

“I am larger, better than I thought; I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me.

Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me;
Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.”

Walt Whitman famously said this: “I am as bad as the worst, but, thank God, I am as good as the best.”

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

Soul Sunday

Welcome to poetry day on the blog. Plato said that “Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.” Nietzsche said “Poets are shameless with their experiences: They exploit them.” T. S. Eliot said “It is a test that genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.” What is your truth? How can you exploit what you have experienced into a form of poetry? What are you struggling to understand? Write a poem. You might find an answer. Here is my poem for today:

“The Quest for Knowledge”

We are visiting you at your esteemed institution of learning,

My brilliant, driven, ambitious, beautiful daughter.

There are buildings, and books, and the bustle of ceaseless curiosity,

surrounding us everywhere in this oasis of youth and possibility.

Where will this erudition take you towards your lofty dreams?

I study you closely, pondering these things, quietly to myself.

But then I look up at your carefully crafted picture wall . . .

Beautiful pictures of beautiful people and precious pets,

Your family and your friends all glowing with mutual love and admiration,

The most interesting picture is placed in the center, simple framed words:

“I’ve learned that it’s not what I have in my life, but who I have in my life that counts.”

And this is when I serenely smile to myself, gratefully understanding

that you already know everything that you will ever need to know.

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