Tag: poetry workshop

Soul Sunday

Fortune for the Day – “To change one’s life: do it flamboyantly. Start immediately. No exceptions.” – William James

Sundays are poetry workshop days here at Adulting Second Half. On Sundays I share a poem and I fully encourage you to share your poetry in the Comments section. It’s fun to play with words!! Please give it a try. I moderate all comments and I would never allow negativity in this sacred space, where we share what is on our hearts and minds – openly, freely, authentically. Here’s my poem for today:

invecchiamento

Sometimes I accept the inevitable,

I let it flow,

I’m at peace with it.

Sometimes the frustration builds,

And I try to dam it all up,

Trying to defy the laws of nature

And gravity.

Sometimes I laugh at my acts of futility.

Sometimes I marvel at them.

Sometimes I play the comparison game.

Who of us is doing it better? And in what way?

And does it matter? And do we really have a say?

Sometimes I stop paying attention to the things which I cannot change.

And I am at peace,

I am at peace with aging.

Aging.

Soulful Sunday

Fortune for the day – “When anger spreads through the breast, guard thy tongue from barking loudly.” – Sapho

Anger does start in the chest, doesn’t it? And it has a burning feel to it, that does spread like fire and even sometimes like an inferno. What are you feeling right now? What does that feeling feel like, in each part of your body? Notice it. Stay with it. Describe it. Feel it. Let it go.

New friends, Sundays are our Poetry Workshop days. I share a poem and I feel a longing to have more of my readers share their poems in the Comments section. (Longing is a hollow feeling deep in my core, I’ve noticed) Anyway, it’s safe here. Even if you don’t feel like sharing, write a poem just for yourself today. You’ll find it freeing. You’ll be able to express more than you ever could with regular prose. I promise. Here’s my poem for today:

Sunday Morning

Windchimes tinkling softly

Sun rising assuredly

Lake moving swiftly

Leaves stirring slightly

Mind waking slowly

Coffee brewing steadily

Dogs arousing excitedly

Daughter coughs quietly

Sunday morning arises,

Absolutely, gloriously, perfectly.

Soul Sunday

Fortune for the day: “What seems to be, is, to those to whom it seems to be.” – William Blake

Let’s get to the poetry workshop part of the day! Here’s mine, please put your stream of thoughts, in poetic form, in the Comments section. Thank you, Carla, for joining in last Sunday. I deeply wish that our poetry forum would get more poetic in 2020, so that we have many interesting, thought provoking poems to read and to interpret and to feel and to connect with, on our Soul Sundays, that we share here at Adulting- Second Half. This is firmly a no-judgment zone. I have veto power and I will not allow any hate on my blog forum. Poetry comes from love, from vulnerability, from the deepest understanding of life that sometimes cannot be put into ordinary prose. Poetry does NOT come from fear and hate. Again, here’s my poem for the day:

The Mind

The most outrageous adventures

Most often take place in the far corners of our own mind.

It is fascinating that a place of comfort and reprieve

Can also be a berth of agonizing hell,

In the flip of a switch of an ordinary, random thought.

If a thought is allowed to continue and to grow and to repeat itself,

It becomes a prison cell, a sorceror holding a hypnotist’s ball and chain,

Creating a trance and a falsehood of reality, that overtakes the soul.

If we can stand back with bemusement and detachment,

The mind is often nothing more than a scatterbrained child,

Changing continually, with the winds of whimsy.

Just for fun, it likes to see how far reaching its thoughts can take us,

evoking deep, primitive emotions that stir wild energy,

intense energy, flowing throughout and reaching every cell

of sometimes the entire physical body.

The one thing that the mind doesn’t ever care to be . . . .

is quiet.

Soul Sunday

Sundays are a virtual coffee house, poetry workshop here at Adulting – Second Half. So grab a cup of whatever moves you, and let it flow. Your feelings, your words, your inspirations, whatever comes . . . . please feel comfortable (and excited!) to share your poems in the Comments section. I’m new to poetry, too. This is a no judgment zone. Here’s mine today:

Our Burrow

When all else fails to soothe me,

In your arms, late in the evening or early in the morning,

is my comfort, my peace, my sanctuary.

I want you to feel the current of my love,

Pulsating from something very deep inside the well-spring of my vitality,

Surrounding the form that makes the two of us only One.

One with Oneness, though seemingly quiet and vulnerable,

the robes of our daily defenses completely let down and put aside,

and yet, at this unruffled, untroubled, tranquil time,

We are at our most impenetrable, solid strength.

Our energies merged, the same energies that made our Love and

our loves . . . . our shared creations, experiences, our shared Life.

During these wordless moments with you,

Is when I know Love the most.

(Ooops! I already almost forgot the daily fortune. Here it is:

If one would move the world, one must move oneself. – Socrates)

Soul Sunday

(shhhh. Let’s do our poetry thing today, like we do every Sunday. Let’s not just read each other’s words. Let’s feel them.)

GODSPEED

As a mama, I’ve been practicing the art

of letting go

From the moment you were born.

The little good-byes . . . .

A tender kiss goodnight,

As I placed you in your crib.

The brave wave,

At the door of the preschool.

Your first sleepover,

Your first camp weekend,

Your first school trip, out of state,

Your first year at college,

Your study abroad experience,

Your college graduation,

Leading you to your adult life.

A grand adventure, for sure.

I found you little red curls from your first haircut,

the other day.

They were so tiny, and silky, and new.

I tucked them away, like I do with so many of my memories,

and my emotions, which are large and coarse and timeless.

I don’t want to make you feel lonely or sad or scared,

when we do another good-bye at the airport today.

I’m proud that we have both done what we are supposed to do.

Me, relinquishing, proudly. (bravely)

You, going on with your journey. (confidently)

Both of us. (courageous and bold and loved)

Soul Sunday

Sundays are all about the rhymes. Soul Sundays are poetry workshop days here at Adulting – Second Half. Let’s have fun with this! Please share your poems, your poetry, your songs, your raps, your ditties. Here’s my goofy one today:

My Little Old Mug

Oh my little mug

I wish I could give you a hug

For all of the pleasure that you’ve given me.

Instead I must throw you out

Since I’m always spouting about

Not becoming a hoarder.

My daughter pointed out your age and your cracking

Which means your drink holding ability is lacking

And there is really no point in keeping you.

As the family chimed in, about my reminding them of expiration dates,

Handing them Goodwill bags to fill, giving their old things new fates,

I just couldn’t be hypocritical.

Little mug, I considered hiding you away

To sneak you out on a “by myself” day,

But my conscious just wouldn’t let me do it.

Thank you for your service and for the joy that you brought me,

Your humor, your size, your years of holding my coffee

Perhaps you are truly ready for mug heaven.

(or the back hidden corner of the cupboard which no one uses – see you soon!)

Sunday Soul

After the Holiday

It is time for the introspection.

It is time for the resolution.

It is time for the digestion . . .

In the body, but also in the mind . . .

And in the soul.

It is time to clean up the messes. All of them.

It is time to post the happy moments in the memory books . . .

The memory books that you can touch and the ones that just echo in your heart and can be recalled whenever you ask them to, or even when

you don’t.

It is time for the integration of another full experience into the essence of the creation that you call your life.

Was it like what was in your anticipation and imagination? Or did you let the celebration be free to be whatever it was supposed to be for you?

The culmination has arrived and it has passed.

The rumination has begun. It will pass, too.

Completion. Resignation. Fascination. Satisfaction. Appreciation.

Ascension.

The old, but somehow also new and slightly different routine . . .

Awaits.

Okay, readers, you know the drill. Sunday is poetry play day. Please don’t leave me hanging up here. I am so new, unskilled, and apprehensive, messing around with this poetry thing. Yet, it intrigues the hell out of me. We are doing this workshop style, so please post in the Comments section, the words that you are hammering and mixing around, the very thoughts that are stretching and flowing in your fascinating, interesting, free-flowing minds. This is a safe place. I promise. I have veto power over any hateful comments. Plus, there are no hateful comments, because you are all so much more talented, creative, fun, giving, spirited that you ever give yourself credit for, ever. So give your ingenuity away to people who will treasure it, in a way that you can’t. It deserves to be acknowledged and enjoyed.

Happy December!!