Tag: poetry

Your Perfect World

Fortune for the day – “The human soul needs actual beauty more than bread.” – D.H. Lawrence

I am one of those people who is pretty open and approachable. This has been a blessing and a curse in my life. I’ve had to do a lot of studying about boundaries. Yet, at the same time, I have met the most fascinating people, with the most engrossing stories because I honestly find most people, from every walk of life, absolutely enchanting and I think that they figure that out pretty quickly. This morning my friendliness was a beautiful blessing. I met a fellow writer in the least likely of places. We are having the popcorn ceiling removed in our garage. The project supervisor is a lovely man named Walberto Campos. I mentioned that I would be inside writing if he needed me to answer any questions. He mentioned that he, too, was a writer. He writes poetry, political satires about what is going on in his country of El Salvador, and he is currently working on a novel. We completely bonded in the matter of a few minutes over our love for the written word. He showed me a couple of his poems. He had written a passionate, beautiful poem for his wife, as a Valentines gift. I asked him if I could publish it on my blog and he generously offered it up. I was going to wait to publish it on Soul Sunday, but instead, I will offer it up as a gift to all of us today. On a funny aside, with all of this popcorn ceiling business (which is 100 percent my husband’s detail oriented side coming out), I insisted that my husband handle this enterprise completely, from getting estimates, to setting up the project and then arranging to pay for it. I get burned out of babysitting house projects very quickly, and then, the not-so-approachable, not so very friendly side of me, rears her ugly head of snakes. So, this morning, I told Walberto to just text my husband the poem (the love poem) because that would be easiest since he and my husband have been making all of the project arrangements through text. He looked at me like, “Okay, really?!?” I said, “Don’t worry, Walberto. I’ll text him that it is coming, but we’ve been married for over 25 years. He’s used to these things, with me, and the new friends whom I meet all of the time. It would be weirder if he didn’t get a love poem from a contractor on a Monday morning.” Here’s the poem. Start Monday off right:

Soul Sunday

Fortune for the Day – “If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” – Mother Teresa

Good morning, my dear friends and readers. I hope that you are well today. New readers, Sundays are dedicated to poetry here at Adulting-Second Half. Please share your poems in the Comments. Soul Sunday, has quickly become my most popular, “read” day on the blog. That tells me that poetry moves many souls, in many ways. Share your poems, friends. When you share your poems, I think that you share your most intimate, less “crafted” self. And that is the greatest gift that you can give to yourself and to the world.

Here is my poem for the day:

Cleaning Out the Garage

There’s a heap of our family life,

Unceremoniously dumped on the curb of the drive.

A litany of sports played by the kids,

starting with small plastic bats, moving on to helmets.

Helmets for everything – bike riding, lacrosse, softball.

Old suitcases, cracked and weathered with age and wear,

But once the housers of our treasures and trinkets as they witnessed,

The grand adventures of our chaotic family vacations.

The suitcases are piled on top of the piles and piles and piles of rags.

Rags, that once started out as the nice, fresh, new towels,

Only to brought out for guests, but after years of use,

Relegated to the rag pile in the garage, best used to wipe down cars.

No one has taken the electric scooter yet,

The in-line skates are past their prime.

The bike baskets are charming, but faded and crumbly.

It takes a great deal of fortitude to clean out the garage.

Most especially, emotional fortitude.

A small piece of my heart is faintly beating,

Underneath the heap of our family life, lying by the road.

Soothing Sunday

Fortune for the day -“They live in wisdom who see themselves in all and all in them.” – Bhagavad Gita

Good, beautiful Sunday morning. It’s a lovely day here. The sun is shining, the lake is still, the air is calm. It’s like the day is quietly, patiently inviting us to become part of it. Sundays are soulful here at Adulting – Second Half. Sundays are our poetry workshop days. I share a poem and I ask you to share some of your poems in the Comments section. A few of my braver readers have shared such gorgeous poems in the past. Please share yours, too. In the words of Peter McWilliams:

One of the great joys of life is creativity. Information goes in, get shuffled about, and comes out in new and interesting ways. . . . It doesn’t matter that you don’t know how to do it “perfectly.” . . . Does it give you joy? Does it give you satisfaction? Is it fun? Does it make you feel more in touch with the creative flow of life? . . . . Then do it.

Here’s my poem for today:

The Lake

The lake is like watching a reflection of my emotions,

Sometimes so quietly still, almost to the point of solid nothingness,

Sometimes so turbulent, I dare not venture too far in,

Sometimes a surprising disturbance, the unexpected jumps out,

Creating ripples, not in great haste, to disappear.

The lake appears so very deep, yet it has its shallows.

The lake houses a lot of life in its teeming depths,

It’s not nearly as placid as it seems, underneath it all.

Whether tranquil or churned up, the lake is truly beautiful.

The lake is complicated and simple, all at once.

Being, reflecting, moving, idling, housing, holding, drowning.

Sometimes a sanctuary, sometimes a death trap.

Always there, but never the same.

The lake of my emotions.

Soul Sunday

Fortune for the Day – “Joy and sorrow are the shade and light of life; without light and shade no picture is clear.” – Hazrat Inayat Khan

Readers, Sundays aren’t just for football. (But hey, Happy Super Bowl Sunday!) Here at Adulting- Second Half, Sundays are reserved for the poetic side of ourselves. Every Sunday, I share a poem and I ask you to share your poems in the Comments. It’s a nice way to dive into the heart a little bit, before the often analytical work week begins.

Life is Love

Perhaps one of the sweetest gifts of aging,

Is a paused appreciation,

Of just about everything.

A wisdom, a hilarity, a knowing,

A peacefulness,

Comes in at the lulls,

more than it every came before.

In the paused moment,

Gazing at the wonder of it all,

Choosing to put the internal narrator on mute,

Even for the slightest moment,

Brings beautiful calming clarity.

The slowing down that comes from growing older,

Inevitably brings more gifted pauses,

All to remind me of one truth,

Life is Love.

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!)