Tag: poetry workshop

Soul Sunday

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Poems are mysteriously personal. As the poet Zaynab writes: “Everyone goes to the same poem, at the same time, same point, same verb, the difference is the feeling”. I choose not to share the backstory of this poem that I have just written. Bring your own story to it. That’s what makes poetry so intimate and flexible. And write yourself a poem. It’s a beautiful thing to be vulnerable with yourself.

I thought by your absence,

That you were long gone.

No longer tethered to the past.

Fully free and ensconced in a life

Foreign to any of us.

But now I see that by you following her,

So quickly into the unknown, that

You were more attached to her,

than any of us.

The cords were never cut.

Such a brave front you both liked to carry,

to shelter your bruised and vulnerable and wounded hearts.

When you soon meet again,

the bravados will have fallen,

and the healed hearts will be as One,

with all of the other healed hearts,

that beat soundly and steadily,

for the whole of us,

beyond the veil.

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to Sunday on the blog, a day devoted to poetry. Poetry is everywhere. It’s in our songs, in our descriptions of things, and in the cadence of our movements. And the biggest misnomer that people have about poetry is that it is SO SERIOUS. Haven’t we all read several of Dr. Seuss’ books?! Below is one of my favorite actresses reciting a poem. Enjoy! And write yourself a silly poem today or speak out loud one of your favorite songs in a serious, poetical tone. Make yourself and your loved ones laugh. What could be better for your soul?

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. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Poetry is creative wordplay. Poetry is a way to try to explain the unexplainable with words, without limiting whatever it is, with words. In that sense, poetry is a paradox. Use a little bit of today to write a poem. Have a poetry workshop moment. It will be an excellent use of your time, I promise. Below is a poem I really like, written by Gregory Orr and also a poem I really like, written by me.

Yours

It’s taken me a lifetime to dust you off,

And to bring you home, and to nurture you,

And share in your joy at all of many of life’s little delights.

It’s taken me a lifetime to give you the acceptance,

And understanding, and compassion and care,

You’ve craved, and yearned for, and fully deserved.

Beating steadily, strongly, solidly forward into time,

I give to you my heart, my precious inner child,

For now I realize, it was also yours, all along.

Soul Sunday

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

Last night we attended my husband’s annual company Christmas/Holidays party. Although it hasn’t been so annual lately. Due to Covid and whatnot, this was the first Christmas party the company has had in three years. We had a marvelous time. However, since this three year break, I am starting to realize that my husband and I are now fully in the “elders camp” at company parties. All of those older people at business functions that I used to look up to, defer to, feel a little nervous around, and also admittedly, sometimes crank about with my other younger associates, are now “us”. We are the elder people. It doesn’t help that our neighbor’s grandson, and a handsome young man who used to carpool to soccer with my son, in their stinky, sweaty cleats, smelling up my SUV, are now young, energetic executives at this company. The thing is, I still feel like that young woman whom I once was, trying to impress my elders at the company parties. And now that I am “an elder”, I realize how silly and unnecessary that is to do. I just delight in seeing young people making their paths in this world. I’m excited for them and their futures and I realize that I have just as much to learn from them as they do from me.

Okay, that paragraph was a digression from what Sundays on the blog are truly about. (I feel a little distractible today.) Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. When I opened up the computer today, I read this quote from Alan Cohen: “If you feel overwhelmed by responsibility, you have assumed more than what truly belongs to you.” This prompted me to look up some poems written about “lightening the load.” We were up late last night, so I don’t have the bandwidth to write a poem of my own yet this morning. The cobwebs have not been cleared. However these two poems popped up on my search and both of them spoke to me. I hope they connect with you, as well. Have a beautiful, peaceful, meaningful day. See you tomorrow.

Credit: Celestial Sciolla
by Arundhati Chowdhury

Soul Sunday

Good morning. You’ve earned some peace in your life, don’t you think. Just for today, take it. Accept peace. Peace accepts. If you accept the moment, peace follows. Believe that you are right where you are supposed to be in your life’s journey. Because you are right where you are supposed to be.

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Poetry comes out of the most accepting, open place/space in the poet’s heart. Poetry allows for emotion, imagination, wonder and truth. Today, I am sharing a delightful poem about autumn leaves, written in the 1800s, by the American children’s writer, Sarah Chauncey Woolsey, who went by the pen name, Susan Coolidge. Reading it, I feel like a curious, wondrous little kid again. That’s what good writing does. Good writing intrigues you, and then transports you.

Enjoy this poem. Write one of your own. Have a lovely Sunday.

How the Leaves Came Down by Susan Coolidge

I’ll tell you how the leaves came down.
  The great Tree to his children said,
“You’re getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,
  Yes, very sleepy, little Red;
  It is quite time you went to bed.”

“Ah!” begged each silly, pouting leaf,
  “Let us a little longer May;
Dear Father Tree, behold our grief,
  ‘Tis such a very pleasant day
We do not want to go away.”

So, just for one more merry day
  To the great Tree the leaflets clung,
Frolicked and danced and had their way,
  Upon the autumn breezes swung,
  Whispering all their sports among,

“Perhaps the great Tree will forget
  And let us stay until the spring
If we all beg and coax and fret.”
  But the great Tree did no such thing;
  He smiled to hear their whispering.

“Come, children all, to bed,” he cried;
  And ere the leaves could urge their prayer
He shook his head, and far and wide,
  Fluttering and rustling everywhere,
  Down sped the leaflets through the air.

I saw them; on the ground they lay,
  Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
Waiting till one from far away,
  White bed-clothes heaped upon her arm,
  Should come to wrap them safe and warm.

The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.
  “Good-night, dear little leaves” he said;
And from below each sleepy child
  Replied “Good-night,” and murmured,
  “It is so nice to go to bed.”

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. It feels so good to be sitting in my own little writing corner, in my comfortable home with the beautiful, still sunlight filtering in. It feels so good to be unscheduled after a lovely, restorative night’s sleep. My husband is headed out on his bicycle. Riding his bike is one of my husband’s favorite things to do. I am writing and reading and sipping coffee, so I am utterly exhilarated, in the process of doing my favorite things. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog, and in my own little corner of contentment (both inside and outside), this is the poem that popped out of me (see below). What poems are trying to pop out of you? Put pen to paper, or hands to keyboard and give it a whirl. What a wonderful way to get to know yourself better!

CONTENTMENT

“What is contentment?” In meditation, she asked.

And from something inside of her, the answer was grasped.

Contentment is feeding your passions,

With time and energy and focus and love.

Yes, just feed your passions with all of the above.

Well-fed passions equal contentment, it’s true.

When you do this, you’ll find your purpose anew.

Ah, so now I clearly can see,

Contentment is living purposefully.

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. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. It is not lost on me that Sunday is a big football day. My husband and two of my sons LOVE football. I enjoy watching it with them, when the football teams that are playing, are teams that I actually care about. In our town, the biggest football drama is off of the field. Everyone is talking about Tom Brady’s and Gisele Bündchen’s disintegrating marriage. There is a saying that women marry men, with the hopes of changing the men, and men marry women with the hopes that the women will never change. Who knew that this saying probably applies to two of the most beautiful, talented, richest, famous people in this world, who at one time also seemed to have the “perfect relationship”? I wrote this poem this morning. It is my view of what Gisele might be thinking and feeling about her relationship.

HER

I wanted you to pick me,

And us,

And everything that we created,

With us, between us, through us.

But instead you picked her,

In all of her ferocious glory.

So dangerous, she could kill you.

On any given Sunday.

But you can’t let her go.

She makes you feel like a god.

I wanted you to pick me,

or at least, I wanted you to pick us,

And everything that we created.

But instead, you picked you.

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Poetry is the heartbeat of communication. You have to be deliberate when you write poetry. It’s hard to be sloppy with it. It’s a concentrated effort. I think that’s why it is meditative to write poetry. Having just taken my first sip of coffee, after a delicious morning of sleeping in, I’m not ready to be so concentrative and meditative, therefore I will share one my favorite poems written by Langston Hughes. (I’ll probably fiddle around with my words later. You should, too. Try writing some poetry. You’ll like it.)

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. I played with my words today. I took the time to write my own poem today. (For my new readers (and welcome!), Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog.) My poem isn’t great, but it isn’t awful, and I feel excited to have woken up, and to have created something out of thin air. Create something this morning. Make an omelet. Write a poem. Draw a doodle. Plant a seed. Sundays are about doing the things that soothe our souls, and the things that awaken our most inspired energy. The world is a better place when we gift it, a small piece of our own inspired creativity and light.

Here’s my poem for today:

“Acceptance”

There’s a storm brewing.

It’s been stirring and tossing all of the ingredients,

Of a torrent, gloppy mess, for quite some time.

I’ve denied its existence, shading my eyes from its obvious glare.

I’ve railed against it. To come at us, like this, is terribly unfair.

I’ve tried to make a deal with the storm in my mind,

If you leave us alone, I promise to be kind.

I’ve cried about it, again and again.

Tears ruining the words, as I take this to pen.

Until finally, it all becomes incredibly clear.

Yes, there’s a storm brewing. The time is near,

And a quiet, still voice is softly whispering into my ear,

You shall survive all that this storm brings to you, my dear.

There is no peace felt, like the calm after a torrential, raging storm.

Perhaps these are the wise, parting gifts of storms that transform.

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. Below is a picture that I took this morning, of one of our plants, who lives on our back porch. What a beauty! This gorgeous green palm is the inspiration for the poem which I wrote below. There is so much inspiration for poetry in all of our lives, if we are just willing to look for it, and to contemplate it. Sundays are the perfect days to contemplate the epic poems of our own lives. Today, live as if your own life was a treasured poem to be shared throughout the ages. We all have our odysseys. Explore and record and savor the epic-ness of your own inner and outer life. It’s a hidden treasure waiting for you to notice it.

And as the raindrops glistened in the new morning sun,

the plants understood that they had been kissed by diamonds,

through the torrential storms and the terrors of the night.

It’s just that they had to wait for the buoyant light of day,

to see the blessing of what was once thought their plight.