Soul Sunday

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

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Here are what other people have said about poetry:

+”Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public, what is known in private.” – Alan Ginsberg

+”Poetry is the mother tongue of the human race.” -Johann Georg Hamann

+”I consider myself a poet first and a musician second. I live like a poet and I’ll die like a poet.” – Bob Dylan

Here is my poem for today: (How about you? Do you have a poem to share today, even if just with yourself?)

Little Thing

Yesterday we got you.

You are tiny.

The smallest we have ever had.

We laughed. You are dwarfed in your space.

But you’re beautiful. You’re powerful.

You’ll make us focus on what matters most.

You’ll make us whittle it all down,

To the fondest, most meaningful memories of our lives.

You’re not a theatrical display.

You are an unpresuming extension of our hearts.

How lovely are your branches.

Our little Christmas tree.

Soul Sunday

“Everyone’s a poet – no exceptions.” – Jack Hirschman, prolific American poet

Welcome to Soul Sunday. My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted to poetry. And believe it or not, Sundays are quite a popular day on the blog. The secret’s out of the bag. You really like poetry. You really do. Today is the perfect day for you to write a poem. You are a poet. You are an artist. Just do it. Create. Here is my poem for the day:

“The Invested Rescuers”

When you are in a scary, deep, dark pit,

And beautiful angels help to pull you out,

With their lovely golden corded rope,

Because the angels are so loving and concerned,

about you, they forget that they have pulled you out.

And so they continue to call down to you,

desperately looking for you, at the bottom of the ugly pit,

not realizing that you are now standing calmly behind them,

on the firm, solid ground, relieved to feel the hope

of the sun’s brightest rays, and feeling so warm and thankful for

the angels who cared enough to lovingly pull you out of the dark.

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.

Before I came to write my post, I was reading about a new docu-series on Hulu that depicts the rise and fall of the edgy fashion company, Von Dutch. The original creator of Von Dutch, who died before the fashion company even had its ride up, had this to say:

“Use any of my stuff you want to,” Howard’s manifesto is quoted in the docuseries. “Nothing is original. Everything is in the subconscious, we just ‘tap’ it sometimes and think we have originated something. Genes make us more or less interested in certain things, but nothing is truly original! Copyright and patents are mostly an ego trip.”

I find this quote really interesting. When we do what each of us does best, we speak of using our “God given talents and gifts.” When we do what we really love to do, we get lost in the moment. Time stands still. We often put our minds and our egos to the side and we let our creations flow out of us. I am not convinced that Howard isn’t on to something here, yet my ego would be bruised if someone took some of “my” own written words, and called them their own. Could it be that we are all just vessels that God/Universe uses to bring about more evolution and creation? I think that this is highly possible, but my big, fat ego keeps telling me to “shut up NOW, and take all of the credit.”

Today, on Sunday, which my regular readers know is devoted to poetry, I’m actually going to share a poem, written by the French poet (or perhaps channelled by the poet), Guillaume Apollinaire, who some consider to be the innovator of French poetry. Here it is:

“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We can’t, we’re afraid!” they responded.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We can’t, We will fall!” they responded.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
And so they came.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.”

Enjoy a lovely tranquil Sunday. Write, or maybe just be the poetry you would like to see in the world. Be the vessel. Be the channel. Let the light make it through, so that we all can experience it, and deeply know and understand, from where it came.

Soul Sunday

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

Good morning. Good. Morning. It’s a good morning. Sundays are devoted to poetry here at the blog. Poetry is a form of writing that makes you notice. It’s not obvious. It’s subtle. It’s nuanced. It’s beauty. Write a poem today. Write a love poem to yourself. The poem (and probably mostly, the act of writing it) will make you feel good. I promise. Here’s my poem for today:

And then suddenly you flew over the lake, effortlessly.

One after the other, full of energy and lightness and carefree dignity.

I usually see just one of you. A delicate white bird,

Sitting all by yourself, in the frightfully large forest.

You stand out in the crowd of trees, a small white pocket of light,

In the thick, dark overgrowth of towering, teeming life.

I am happy to see you today with your flock of friends.

How did I not see? How did I not know?

You were never alone.

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Isn’t the extra hour of sleep delicious? Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Poems say it all, by often saying very little. Today, I am sharing a beautiful poem by Mary Oliver. If you are new to poetry and you are not sure that it’s really “your thing”, read some of Pulitzer Prize winner, Mary Oliver’s poetry. I bet you won’t be able to read just one. Here is one of my favorite poems, of hers:

Tim Ferriss on Twitter: "A short and beautiful poem from Mary Oliver. Not everything important shouts for attentio... https://t.co/cR270rYXWp… "

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

Soul Sunday

Favorite Quotes from Classic Poets - little infinite Poetry for Life

Leave it to a truly great poet, to describe it best. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Poetry is pure discovery. You start writing a prose piece, and you usually have an outline in mind. When you write prose, you are usually working hard at “making sense”, and being clear and wrapping everything up, in a neat little finish. However, you start writing a poem, and you end up surprising yourself. You discover a delicious, mysterious part of yourself that you didn’t notice before. Your feelings start showing up, in the form of word play. Discover a little piece of yourself today. Write a poem.

Here is my poem for today:

Why is it that I never think about my heart,

Until I pay too much attention to what is stored inside of it?

Everything that is precious to me,

lives boldly and passionately,

bulging with movement and rhythm,

Inside of my heart, creating the beat and the motion of my life.

And in good times, that beating is strong, and vital and fearless.

And in confusing times, that beating feels unguarded, uneven and exposed.

In those times, I remind myself

Of an extraordinary heart that knows how to beat itself,

One vital heartbeat at a time. And I let the drumsticks fall to the floor.

And I stop thinking about my heart.

I trust my heart to keep beating on towards better moments just around the bend.

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Sundays are usually quiet and lovely and this one is no exception. I hope that this post finds you well and content. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. On Sundays, I share a poem that I have written or a poem that someone else has written, which has moved me in some way. Write a poem today, even if it is something you choose to just share with yourself. Most of us write to ourselves anyway, even in published form. I started to write a poem, but I’m not strong enough to be vulnerable right now. My raw little mollusc self, feels more comfortable in her shell today. So here is a lovely poem from the great poet Rumi. You can never go wrong with Rumi:

Rumi - The Guest House | Inspirational words, Rumi quotes soul, Wisdom quotes

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.

A few years ago, I was vacationing in Yosemite National Park with my family. We were about to embark on a big, long, steep hiking trail to see one of the most incredible waterfalls which I have ever witnessed, Vernal Falls. (and I am fortunate enough to have visited a lot of beautiful waterfalls in my lifetime) Now, my four children at that time, were all teenagers and young adults, but there was a family slightly ahead of us on the trail whose children were a good bit younger than ours. Not far from the trailhead, basically just a little bit past the heavily trafficked paved part of the trail, one of the little boys from the family ahead of us, threw himself dramatically upon a boulder, totally exasperated, completely spent, and he started sobbing and wailing, “Is it over yet?!? Are we almost done?!” I never forgot that moment. It was cute and amusing, but I felt sorry for the parents. They were in for a long day, and I was thinking to myself that they probably wouldn’t get to the falls on that particular trip. I only bring this story up, because this is how I have been feeling about this particular September. “Is it over yet?!? Are we almost done?!?” And the funny thing is, at least it makes me giggle inside. I am wailing on my own proverbial boulder. As Sanhita Baruah says, “Every day is a gift, but some days are packaged better.”

I am little off-track today, with the telling of my Yosemite story. As my regular readers know, Sundays are not a day for prose on the blog. Sundays are devoted to the waterfall of words which we call poetry. I either write a poem, or a share a poem from another writer that has intrigued me. Today is a day when I share another’s poem. Please write a poem today (it’ll do you good) and if so inclined, please share your poem in my Comments section. Today’s poem was written by one of the “Astro Poets”, Alex Dimitrov:

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, my treasured readers. I hope that you are having the kind of Sunday morning that I am having. Relaxing, peaceful, sun-filled, hopeful . . . . this morning indicates a day filled with promise.

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Sometimes I write a poem, and sometimes I share a poem that another writer has shared with the world. At the very least today, write a poem and share it with yourself. Poetry is perhaps the most intimate form of language which we have in this world.

“Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words.” — Paul Engle

Here is my poem for today:

Calm Waters

I am sitting here dwelling in my relief

Isn’t that how it always goes with grief?

It comes in waves, it crescendos and crashes,

Until it levels out, and the tears dry in my lashes.

The largest waves end up as the harmless shallows on the shore,

Only to be sucked back out into the massive ocean of steady core.

The raging storms and waves will be stirred up again, I know.

But today, I will rest in the steady waters that only lightly flow.

“Come to the edge,” he said.“We can’t, we’re afraid!” they responded.“Come to the edge,” he said.“We can’t, We will fall!” they responded.“Come to the edge,” he said.And so they came.And he pushed them.And they flew.”

“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We can’t, we’re afraid!” they responded.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We can’t, We will fall!” they responded.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
And so they came.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.”