Tag: poetry workshop

Soul Sunday

Hello friends and readers. I hope that you are experiencing a delicious, comforting, restful, yet interesting and rejuvenating holiday weekend. I’m a little “slow on the go” this Sunday morning. I find my mind wandering on to many things, but none of it rhymes, nor do my words seems to fit any kind of a poetic flow. My regular readers know that I devote Sundays to poetry on the blog. Poetry can be serious. Poetry can be fun. Poetry can be mysterious. Poetry can be poignant. Write a poem today. You won’t regret it. You’ll be tickled by your cleverness. Today I am borrowing from some other poets’ cleverness and wit. Here are two poets’ fun and short, little rhymes:

GREEN EGGS AND HAM – Dr. Seuss

I do not like them in a box
I do not like them with a fox
I do not like them in a house
I do not like them with a mouse
I do not like them here or there
I do not like them anywhere
I do not like green eggs and ham
I do not like them Sam I am

A WORD TO HUSBANDS – Ogden Nash

To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.

Here are a few other funnies from the humorous American poet, Ogden Nash:

I think that I shall never see a billboard lovely as a tree. Perhaps, unless the billboards fall, I’ll never see a tree at all.

If you don’t want to work you have to work to earn enough money so that you won’t have to work.

Some tortures are physical And some are mental, But the one that is both Is dental.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend, friends. I suppose this is the time of year that marks “unofficially” the end of summer. We made it. As I often asked my kids at dinner on various school days, “What were your highlights? What were your lowlights?” After you get them out of your system, pitch the lowlights, and keep the highlights in your “Beautiful Memories” file, to open up whenever you need their reassurance and joy.

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.

Our prayers are with you, Louisiana. You are strong survivors!! You will prevail⚜.

Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Poetry is the song of the heart. Poetry is the line of communication between your heart and your deepest intuition. Despite sometimes being puzzling and relying on your own personal interpretation, you can discover so much about yourself by reading and by writing poetry. Write a poem today. Write a love poem to yourself. I think that you will treasure it. Poetry really helps you to hone in on what truly and deeply resonates with you. And that truly matters. It does matter.

credit: Vicki

Yesterday, my dear friend painted the above lovely picture of the koi. Isn’t it a beautiful watercolor? Do something creative today, whether it be writing, or cooking, or painting, or drawing, or singing or dancing or doodling. Savor the experience. Be in the moment. It will be a wonderful way to end your week, and to start a new one, afresh. Here is my poem for today:

“Inbox”

She opened her inbox,

The emails were piled on top of each other,

Like a giant block of meaningless letters,

All vying for her attention.

Unsolicited, automated, unnecessary distractions.

She checked them all off, except for a precious few,

And she decidedly deleted them,

Out of sight, out of mind.

Plunged them into the file called:

Trash.

She recently read that every single day,

she thinks 50,000 random thoughts.

Perhaps she should remember to sort her thoughts,

like she does her email inbox.

So that her attention can remain on the thoughts that matter.

And that the trash thoughts can be easily deleted,

with an easy click, like a blink of her eye.

So all that is left in the inbox of her mind,

Is insight, and mindful peace.

And all that remains is the file called:

Love.

Soul Sunday

Hello, my loveys. Welcome to Sunday. Aren’t Sundays wonderful? They are such a reprieve from the craziness of the week. Even people who work on Sundays, don’t typically seem to have to work as hard as they normally do. The hours are lighter, as are the expectations set. (except if you are a church leader, I suppose, but I have to believe that religious leaders are living their passion and purpose, rendering the word “work” pointless, in a way). I think that Sundays are our weekly “reset button.”

My regular readers know that I devote Sundays to poetry here at the blog. I consider it a “poetry workshop” day, where I play around with writing a poem, or sometimes I share a poem, written by another poet, that has moved me or piqued my curiosity. Spend some time with poetry today. Read it. Write it. Or perhaps, just for this Sunday, make your own life to be a little bit of poetry in motion.

I recently found this poet, Rebecca Elson, and I think that her poetry is amazing. I particularly like this poem that I have shared below. I was recently reminded that we walk in the sky. We walk in the atmosphere. I remember when I was a little kid and I would draw the blue space of the sky way above my stick figure family’s head. My art teacher reminded me that the sky starts right on the ground which we walk on. So, I suppose, in a way, we walk among the stars of the sky, every day and night of our lives.

Antidotes to Fear of Death - Elson

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning, my dearest readers. I hope that this Sunday finds you well. I devote Sundays to poetry. I write a poem and I courageously put my poem out there into the ethersphere, for no other reason than I can. And so can you. The world never died from bad poetry, and many worlds have been inspired by good poetry. Poetry is a release for the writer, and a spark of thought for the reader. Be brave and bold. Write a poem today and put it out there for others to catch your spirit. Here is my poem for today:

August

I suppose that August was created in order to

Help me to empathize with my food.

August is like those last couple minutes of cooking

Frantically checking, cutting, smelling, sensing . . .

August is that crucial, tiny, middle slice of time

Which determines whether something is perfectly cooked,

Or entirely burnt and ruined, needing to rise from the ashes,

to start again anew . . . . .

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

Soul Sunday

Sundays, on the blog, are devoted to poetry. Writing in prose feels like communicating with others, whereas writing poetry feels like communicating with oneself. When I write in prose, I am trying to express myself in a way that I better understand myself and my feelings, and I hope that this expression, clearly communicates what I am thinking and knowing and feeling about anything or any circumstance. Prose desires validation and attention and clear articulation. On the other hand, poetry is really the most private form of writing. It is always open-ended, and deeply affected by individual interpretation. Prose is like a portrait painting, and poetry is more like abstract art. Write yourself a poem today. You deserve one. Here is my poem for today:

Sometimes, some days a poem just doesn’t happen

The riddle of where it is, is like a mermaid’s fin.

It prefers to stay a mystery below the surface,

An unhealed wound, without a kiss.

Bringing it to light feels too harsh and too soon.

So the sweet little poem, grows safely in its private cocoon.

So today, when you arrived here, you did not get a poem.

Instead, you got the poet.

She is here, not because of her words, but because of her love for you,

I hope that you deeply know it.

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, readers. Sundays are devoted to poetry. Today I am devoted to being quiet and within myself. I hope that you find some time today, to listen to, and to be with just yourself. Sunday is the perfect day to commune with, and to connect to the deepest part of you. Here is my poem for today:

“The Safe”

I handed you your life back yesterday.

All in a tidy little safe.

It has your birth certificate.

It holds your baptism certificate.

It also contains your passport, your SSN card, and your draft card.

I decided to add the addresses of all those who have loved you,

since the day that you were born, maybe even before.

It has a two dollar bill from your late grandfather.

He thought that it would be neat for you to have it.

And some savings bonds from my late grandmother.

She thought that it would be wise for you to have them.

Oh, and the space in between all of the paper stuff,

that space holds the mighty force of my love,

so anytime that you open the tidy, little safe,

you will be instantly surrounded and shielded,

By the strongest, most powerful, wisest, most faithful and loyal,

Part of me. My love will surround you then, and forever.

As it always has, and it always will. My love surrounds you.

You are safe to be free.

Soul Sunday

Welcome to the quietest, most introspective day on the blog. Welcome to our poetry workshop. What is the song of your soul? Write a poem. You’ll find out.

Yesterday, my husband and I were making newspaper bricks which he uses as firestarters for his very simple, old-school grill. My husband loves to read the WSJ in paper form, but I think that he has an Earth Mother guilt complex about this. (We had compost piles long before compost piles became a hipster status symbol.) Therefore, to alleviate his conscience, my husband bought this cool contraption on Amazon that condenses wet newspapers into paper bricks. Our back porch is a currently a brick drying platform, and our hands have a not so attractive grayish tinge to them. (And these are the things that make me love him, and “us”, like I do.) As we were placing the papers into the water bucket, my husband stopped what he was doing and handed a sheet of the newspaper to me. He and I both knew that it had to be one of Soul Sunday’s poems. This one is by the great writer, Walt Whitman:

I have a poem of my own to share today, too. Here it is:

Confession to My Children

My dearest children,

For years I have fervently prayed for your strength, and your health, and your safety, and your vitality, and your happiness, and your sense of purpose, and your creativity, and your faith, but I often left out one crucial element in my prayers.

I often forgot to pray for myself.

I often forgot to surrender.

I forgot to pray for guidance on how to help you with your strength, and your health, and your safety, and your vitality, and your happiness, and your sense of purpose, and your creativity and your faith.

I often forgot to ask God for my own strength, and health, and safety, and vitality and happiness, and sense of purpose, and creativity and faith, so that God could work through me, to best mother you. And to best be a model for you.

In my prayers, I often acted as if I had to make a choice. I always chose you, arrogantly forgetting that God has no hierarchies. Love is all.

By hinging all of my abundance on your abundance, I erased me. And I burdened you. And I disrespected God.

Luckily, God doesn’t wait for permission to work through our lives. God never leaves. God works quietly. My prayers are always for you, my deepest loves, but they are also for me, too. We are all God’s children. And now, I often just pray for my eyes to be opened to the all-encompassing Love which gently and evenly holds All of us, dear beyond measure.

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.

Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.: Dr. Seuss - Place for writing thoughts: SpotNotebooks: 9798621141103: Amazon.com: Books

Good morning. I hope that you are in a peaceful, comfortable, allowing state of being right now. My friend recently reminded me of the popular quote by Dr. Seuss, as shown above. I repeated it a few times to my family, as we were in the airport, on our way home, from the wonderful, and highly anticipated summer family vacation that we had just experienced together. I thought to myself that the quote is also rather apropos for times that are awful in life, and then finally over, too. It would just be the quote in reverse, “Don’t cry because it happened. Smile because it is over.”

Anyway, back to business: Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Poetry is the attempt to put emotion into words, like no other form of writing can. Write a poem today. Just start writing out your feelings, with no rhyme or reason (pun intended). You may surprise yourself by how beautiful and poignant your words that describe an element of your life’s experience can be. I consider Sundays to be an experimental poetry workshop for all of us. Here is my poem for today:

Pressure, pressure pressurepressurepressurepressure

r e l i e f

EXCITEMENT EXCITEMENT EXCITEMENT!! EXCITEMENT!!!!!!!!

r e l i e f

buildup Buildup BUILDUP BUILD BUILD BUILD-UP UP UP UP

r e l i e f

Anticipate it. It’s coming. Overthink. Overplan. Overload. Overdo.

GRANDIOSE EXPECTATIONS^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

r e l i e f

ClimbClimbClimbClimbCrescendoGRAND FINALE TA-DAH!!!!!!!!!!!

r e l i e f

It is possible that we create Escalation! and Exhiliration! and Expansion,

perhaps only for the solace and comfort of the purest, and yet most underrated feeling in our lives . . . .

r e l i e f

Soul Sunday

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

Good morning, soul mates. My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted to poetry at Adulting – Second Half. On Sundays, I either write a poem or I share a poem written by another poet. Have you ever heard the phrase, “Shakespeare’s a poet, and doesn’t know it”? To me, this phrase means that when you speak or write from the heart, in your own unique voice, you are creating poetry, often without even realizing it. You are a poet. Let the words flow on to the page, and read them to yourself. I think that you will be amazed. Please feel free and comfortable, to share the poems that you write, here in my Comments section. It is generous and brave to share what is written and transcribed from your heart. Here’s my poem for today:

Bromeliad

I purchased you for a few dollars, a little pink plant, in a little pink pot.

“Support Breast Cancer Awareness” the courageous sign read, and I thought,

“Yes, that feels right.”

I thought that they chose you, for your lovely color, to match their ribbon of pink.

But now I realize, like so many other times, I was wrong with what I think.

This is what I now know, from the deepest depths of my soul:

You were chosen for your health, vitality, fertility, resilience, strength and hope.

I can’t keep you down, my little pink plant, in a little pink pot.

You refuse to look away from the sun, you decline to rot.

Instead, you multiply.

You reach new heights.

You continue to grow, no matter where you are planted.

You are beautiful.

You are ALIVE.

You are health, vitality, fertility, resilience, strength and hope.

Thank you for being such a vital member of my garden’s colorful shower.

Your lessons are as lovely as your grand, bursting, bold, pink flower.

Soul Sunday

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

Trees Poem Print Joyce Kilmer I think that I shall never see | Etsy

Good morning, soulmates. As my regular readers know, Sunday is devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Poems are soultalk. Poems evoke more emotion and wonder and intimacy than your average prose. Write a poem today. Share it in my Comments, if you like. On Sundays, sometimes I write a poem and sometimes I share a poem. Today I will try to do both. The above poem, “Trees”, by Joyce Kilmer is a classic, and it is wonderful. Incidentally, Joyce Kilmer was an American man and sadly, he was killed in action, during World War I. Here is my poem for the day:

“The Seekers”

Two treasure hunters scour the fruitful land,

Eager to see what bounty they can command.

They dredge the sea, for ancient coins, and brilliant jewels.

One seeker is single minded with his vision and his tools.

He fills his ornate box with plenty of wealth and weight.

His overspilling bounty is his focused life’s work’s fate.

The other seeker is easily distracted by the beauty all around him,

Often instead of searching in waters, he chooses to softly swim.

He takes time to nourish the creatures that share his borrowed space.

He stares at the starry skies, in wonder of this magical place.

Who in the end, ends up with the greatest treasure?

I suppose it all depends on how you choose to measure.

Seeker one is tethered to a heavy, worldly treasure, with which is hard to part,

Whereas seeker two, is much lighter. His wondrous treasure is stored within his heart.