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.
Welcome to Soul Sunday on the blog. Sundays are devoted to poetry here. I have chosen to share a poem written by a poet named R. DeArcos, which I think captures the feeling of how small and alone you feel when you are facing an enormous natural tempest. It is my personal spiritual beliefs that we are all one with all of creation, but when you are facing down a storm, you definitely feel small and alone. The storm is just being a storm. It’s nothing personal, but it sure feels that way.
This will be my last post regarding Hurricane Ian for a while. I promise. Most of our Floridian friends and family have spent this weekend processing our feelings about what we have just gone through. The build up of fear, uncertainty, feelings of being overwhelmed, guilt, sometimes perhaps even shame, survivor’s guilt, worries, anger, grief, etc. is all piled into your being and it takes a while, for these sensations to be fully released and washed away. (and for those people dealing with the major aftermath of Ian, those feelings will be stirring within them for quite some time) Honestly, the release of emotion is exhausting, but cleansing, until only relief and gratitude remains.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
picture credit: Big G, Twitter
Even still today, there never seems to be adequate words for this day. There is this beautiful poem though, written in 2001, by a New York journalist named Kevin Powell. This poem is called “September 11th: A Poem,” I think that this poem is fittingly beautiful for a poetry day, here on the blog .
Might it be, as my mother said to me on this ugly, sinful day,
That the world is on its last go-round?
Hijacked wild birds strip the sky of its innocent morning breath
Steel towers crumple like playing cards on an uneven metal table
Unrehearsed screams we dare not hear leap from windows
Into the open, bottomless palms of God
I cannot stand to watch life reduce
Itself to powdery dust and soot lathering the devil’s inflamed mouth
But I am fixated on the television anyhow:
Is this what slavery was like?
Is this what the holocaust was like?
Is this what famine is like?
Is this what war is like?
Is this how you felt, dear mother, when King and the two Kennedys were killed?
I want to stitch up the sky, deny humans the right to fly
Cry until my tears have washed hatred
From the mildewed underarms of history
And I want to say to the firemen
Ah, yes, the firemen:
Your husband, your father, your brother, your uncle, your friend
Thank you for speeding to the end of
Your time and thank you for showing us that
Courage is a soul so unselfish it would
Scale a collapsing building to liberate a stranger
Even as your blood relatives wonder if you are alive —
From the remains of this madness
I detect a heartbeat called life
From the remains of this madness
I smell an aroma called love
From the remains of this madness
I embrace a body called humanity
From the remains of this madness
I construct a dream called hope
From the remains of this madness
I will ride the wings of the deceased
Into the clouds, scribble their names on the sun
Erect a memorial to the moon, chant the blues
For New York City, then resurrect a world
Where a new-born rose will jut through the broken concrete.
When I travel, I enjoy seeing historic buildings and unusual terrain. I love partaking in different kinds of food and celebrations. I get inspired by clothing styles which are unique to an area. I am amazed at all of the landscapes and creatures which are different than what I am used to seeing. I love experiencing an overall ambience that is entirely unique to itself. I suppose I would say I like to get to know the rhythm and the poetry of where I am staying. Every place has its perfect poetry embedded in its DNA. Here is a poem which was left on a card at one of the lovely places we have stayed in on this current trip. It was meant for Soul Sunday, the day devoted to poetry on the blog.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
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.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Good morning. Welcome to Poetry Day on the blog. Last night was excruciating for me. I woke up with a ferocious toothache that was insistent that I stay awake and miserable for the entirety of the night. The toothache made it perfectly clear that it had no plans to allow me to get any real sleep. I’ve been ignoring the flashing, yellow caution light that’s been quietly, yet pointedly announcing itself, all this week, on the left hand side of my mouth, with my pie-in-the-sky hopes that maybe it would “just go away.” Ha! The chicken has come home to roost, and she is one mad hen.
When you are experiencing a lot of pain, you try to look for the bright sides, such as the fact that at least Advil and Orajel exist. You think back to what it would have looked like to have had one of these horrific toothaches in the middle ages. You remind yourself about just how much worse it could be, even as the dull, yet sharp ache bangs and bangs and bangs, making the entire side of your face feel like its getting heartily beaten up, by a determined amateur boxer, in the inside of your mouth.
I think that this poet describes a toothache perfectly. Who knew that you could turn a toothache into poetry? It goes to show, everything can be poetry.
“A poet’s work (is) to name the unnamable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it from going to sleep.” – Salman Rushdie
Welcome to poetry day on the blog. Sundays are devoted to the songs of our souls – poetry. Lately, I have been really moved by other people’s poems, so I haven’t been writing my own. I have two poems to share with you, written by other poets which I think are excellent works of words. I miss writing poems though, too. I think that I will work on some poetry this week. I hope that you will, too. Please share your poems in my Comments section. Have a poetic, idyllic end to the weekend.
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. Many people think that poetry has to be serious, long, confusing, emotional, hard to understand and difficult to decipher. It’s easy to forget that Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein were also world famous poets with their fun and silly, rhymey ditties. Today’s poem is written by the Hollywood actor, Woody Harrelson. He wrote the poem on social media, to a response to an Irish mother posting a picture of her daughter Cora, remarking on Cora’s resemblance to Woody.
Good morning. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Every Sunday I try to inspire you to write some poetry and to share it. I rarely have anyone share their poems on the blog (except me), but I hope that you are still writing some poetry. It’s so good for your soul! Morgan Harper Nichols, the wonderful writer and musician, offers this way to get started on our own poetry, “the poetry of your life”:
“Places to find the hidden poetry of your life:
1. the last sentence of the last paragraph in your last journal entry
2. the words you meant to say just before you walked away
3. the words you use to describe the side character you wish had been a main character in the show
4. the way you talk about the strongest person you know
5. the way you explain why you said “I love you” that first time
6. the sentences you backspaced when you felt like you were just rambling
7. the last sentence of the long caption you wrote
8. the way you describe how you made it through something you never thought you would
Of course we are not going to find “hidden poetry” everywhere in everything, but I do believe the poetry in our lives is hidden in more places than we may realize.”
These are amazing prompts and ways to bring more creativity and soulfulness into your life. Give one or two of these writing ideas a chance today. You won’t be sorry. Poetry is cathartic.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I have often thought that one of my biggest blessings in my personal life is that I get a lot of joy out of the little things. Like for instance, I spent all day yesterday in delicious, giddy anticipation of another episode of Better Call Saul being released to Amazon. All day long, I reminded myself, “We get to watch Better Call Saul tonight!” (and even more exciting was the fact that 89-year old actress Carol Burnett was featured in this particular episode. I watched The Carol Burnett Show all the time, when I was a little kid. Carol still has “it”! And earlier yesterday, my friend texted Joni Mitchell performing her incredible song, “Both Sides Now” at a recent folk festival. Joni is 78 and suffered from a debilitating brain aneurysm in 2015. The message I got from the Universe yesterday: Just keep doing what you love. Do what you love until you can’t do it. Love sustains you. Love creates you. Keep doing what you love in some form or another, until you can’t do it anymore. Be yourself until the very end. So, on that note, you and I will be here at the blog on a daily basis for a long, long time. I hope that you’ll stay with me!)
I typically reserve poetry for Sundays. However, I read a poem yesterday that profoundly touched me and I feel the need to share it today. We have an extended family member who has been riding a roller coaster of major health issues all month. This situation has been incredibly stressful and painful for her, and for all of us. I found myself doing my typical, yet not helpful habits of future-tripping, ruminating, second-guessing, etc. This poem helped me to find my center. If you need some summer centering, I hope that this poem touches you, too:
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
