Tag: poetry

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!)

Soul Sunday

Poetry workshop day. Please share the love/the feels/the words that try to convey the love/the feels. Here’s mine:

Nostalgia

Giggling about a Sesame Street video with my friends . . . .

When I’m approaching fifty.

Driving past the houses with their Christmas joy on parade . . .

With my son driving the car, this time.

Putting up the ornaments reminding me of people, places and pets . . .

Many, who have long passed on.

Trying to recognize the child’s face from a long ago play group . . .

In the Christmas card picture of a lovely young lady, dressed in a wedding gown.

Trying to find just the right thing to eat . . .

to soothe the funny swirl of feelings, aching around in my insides.

The longing that I am pulled to, yet try to avoid, all at the same time . . . .

Nostalgia.

Welcome to Soul Sunday

Our own little poetry workshop. Our safe space to toy with the words. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine. Today, mine came out to be a little more “prose style” . . . .

Chris

I just woke up and Chris is right here.

It’s just that there’s always Chris . . .

Chris is . . . . well, Chris is A LOT . . . .

When Chris comes, everything just seems to revolve around Chris.

“How does this relate to Chris? How does this honor Chris?”

Living your normal life when Chris is around, is almost impossible.

Chris always brings so much drama to everywhere and everyone. Chris is just one who brings out the best and yet also the worst, in everybody.

Chris seems to always bring that BIG load of baggage, every year. Every single year. And it seems, that every year, Chris just stays longer and longer and longer, always extending the stay. Chris is an expensive, messy, emotional, time consuming, exhausting house guest. Chris really should be named Great Expectations. Chris is the “Original GE.” OGE. That’s Chris, for ya.

Yet, everyone loves Chris! Everyone gets so excited for Chris to come every year! Everyone counts down, for the reliable arrival of Chris. And the truth is, I’m right there with them.

Chris is fun! Chris is colorful! Chris is generous! Always full of gifts and surprises! Chris has a way of making life feel just so much more rich and decadent and bright and hopeful! How can you not love Chris? Chris is just so amazing at connecting everyone and reminding everyone of their deepest bonds and fondest memories and greatest hopes and kindest selves. That’s just Chris’ way. And it is special to Chris. Truly, uniquely, special. Chris brings depth to life, in the ways that no one else can.

Maybe we are unfair to Chris. Maybe Chris just wants to be Chris. Chris doesn’t want to let anybody down. Chris just wants to be loved, just like the rest of us. Everybody loves Chris. Everybody hates Chris. But have we really taken time to figure out our own special relationship with Chris? Do we know what Chris means to us? Maybe Chris is different than our projections, or the many movies and books made about Chris, or even different than whatever anybody has told us about Chris or what they think that we should think about Chris. Maybe this year, I’ll spend some private time, some quiet time, just being with Chris, just observing Chris, just letting Chris show me the hidden depths and meaning of our own personal relationship with each other.

Chris is here to stay for a while, like it or not.

I love Chris. I truly do. Sometimes, I hate Chris. In the end, though, I know that there are reasons why Chris is in my life.

I think that I’ll really explore those reasons, this year.

Why not? Oh, wow, here’s Chris now.

I just woke up and Chris is right here.

“Hi Chris, what have you got planned for us today?”

Sunday Soul

After the Holiday

It is time for the introspection.

It is time for the resolution.

It is time for the digestion . . .

In the body, but also in the mind . . .

And in the soul.

It is time to clean up the messes. All of them.

It is time to post the happy moments in the memory books . . .

The memory books that you can touch and the ones that just echo in your heart and can be recalled whenever you ask them to, or even when

you don’t.

It is time for the integration of another full experience into the essence of the creation that you call your life.

Was it like what was in your anticipation and imagination? Or did you let the celebration be free to be whatever it was supposed to be for you?

The culmination has arrived and it has passed.

The rumination has begun. It will pass, too.

Completion. Resignation. Fascination. Satisfaction. Appreciation.

Ascension.

The old, but somehow also new and slightly different routine . . .

Awaits.

Okay, readers, you know the drill. Sunday is poetry play day. Please don’t leave me hanging up here. I am so new, unskilled, and apprehensive, messing around with this poetry thing. Yet, it intrigues the hell out of me. We are doing this workshop style, so please post in the Comments section, the words that you are hammering and mixing around, the very thoughts that are stretching and flowing in your fascinating, interesting, free-flowing minds. This is a safe place. I promise. I have veto power over any hateful comments. Plus, there are no hateful comments, because you are all so much more talented, creative, fun, giving, spirited that you ever give yourself credit for, ever. So give your ingenuity away to people who will treasure it, in a way that you can’t. It deserves to be acknowledged and enjoyed.

Happy December!!

Sunday Soul

This year is different

I’m trying to put a definition on something that has never been.

I am trying to fit the new

into old, worn out, torn boxes.

How do you live outside of a long experienced paradigm

Completely?

Elon Musk and his triangle truck

Inspiration.

Readers, I have decided to turn Sundays into “Sunday Soul” and to play around with poetry on my Sunday posts. It feels strange to me because it is not something I have spent a lot of time doing. Trying to write poetry, when you never really have, is kind of like going to your first pottery or painting classes. I don’t have my footing. I don’t really know what I am doing, but I am enjoying the experience. It feels lonely up here in the blogspot. I sure wish you guys would play around with some poetry in the Comments section. It can be our own neat little virtual coffee house poetry reading, every Sunday.

So, I hope you don’t mind the format change. Unless I have something truly pressing on my mind that must come out in prose form, Sundays here are Adulting – Second Half are dedicated to poetry. I hope the rest of your day flows rhythmically, and softly, peacefully and profoundly and poetically . . . . .

Sunday Soul

I’ve been haughty and I’ve been humble.

Humble feels better.

I’ve been valid and I’ve been vulnerable.

Vulnerable feels more connected.

I’ve been smart, salty and sassy.

But that was all to cover and soothe

My sweet simple soul.

I dined by myself last night.

Table for one.

It was

Delicious.

“Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.” – William Wordsworth

“Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. ” – Thomas Gray

Readers, I’m feeling like today is a good day for poetry. Please take the time to write down the poetry flowing from your heart today and please post it to my Comments section, if you have the inclination. Love, peace and poetry are my wishes for you today. Tranquility.