Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to poetry day on the blog. What I love about poetry is the mystery in it. Sometimes I write a poem, and it is still an enigma, even to me, as to what the poem really means. Writing a poem is like going into the deep tombs of yourself, and discovering unusual, foreign writing on the wall, and quickly and excitedly transcribing this strange writing, without fully understanding the meaning behind it. Reading a poem offers this same mercurial experience. Undoubtedly, there is a different meaning and truth that comes from any poem, from every reader of it. Everyone’s own experiences and emotions are what brings the context to the meaning in any collection of words. Here is my poem for the day:

The Universe has a way of getting really bored of my stubborn streak,

While I hem and haw and analyze, and strategize, and collect my allies,

The Universe says, Enough already!

And tends to make the changes that I couldn’t make for myself,

in one fell swoop. And then we Both sigh in utter relief.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

2361. Complete this thought: All roads lead to . . . ?

Soul Sunday

“Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.” – T. S. Eliot

Welcome to poetry day on the blog. I believe that my readers here probably have bold, intriguing personalities and strong emotions. This is wonderful for living and being the fullness of life, but it is also a lot to encapsulate. Escape from yourself a little bit today, dear readers. Write a poem. Here is my poem for today:

I absorbed it all in this season,

The love, the laughter, the familiar sounds,

Of our family’s giddy banter.

I soaked it all in until I was satiated,

And sopping, and barely able to take in much more.

And now that you have all scattered back to your places,

I realize that I absorbed a new molecule of fond memories,

Into every one of my cells.

This is how an infinite love grows.

It just continually expands itself,

Into every direction that life takes you, my loves.

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

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

1641. What is your most used phrase?

Soul Sunday

Welcome to the last day of 2023. I like that this year ends on a Sunday. Perfection! Sunday is poetry day on the blog. What kind of poetry did you write and live in 2023? What kind of poetry do you hope to write, and to make in 2024? Here’s my last poem I will write this year. (Now it is time for you to go write yours . . . ):

“NEW YEAR”

Every ending is a new beginning

Every year has losing and winning

I find myself sitting here, widely grinning

Knowing that the earth still keeps spinning

As the veil we call time is quickly thinning,

Into a new precious year of our lives.

What will we make of this gift?

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. I have spent a lot of time this morning, trying to best decipher what the well-known saying, “the rest is poetry” means. It is one of those sayings that I have said a lot in my life, but never really thought about it when I was using it as a form of dramatic flair in my speech.

“Experiments are the only means of knowledge at our disposal. The rest is poetry and imagination.” – Max Planck

This is what Chat GPT had to say about it:

“The rest is poetry” is a phrase that is often used metaphorically to suggest that the subsequent information or details are beautifully expressive, imaginative, or emotionally charged, much like poetry. In a literal sense, poetry is a form of literary expression that often uses heightened language and symbolism to convey emotions, ideas, or experiences.

When someone says, “the rest is poetry,” they may be implying that what follows is not just a straightforward or factual account but is infused with deeper meaning, creativity, or a certain level of artistry. It can be a way of signaling that the details or information that come next are to be appreciated for their aesthetic or emotive qualities rather than just their literal content.“

This begs the question, how much about our lives is really factual, concrete content, and how much of it is just pure poetry? Might I suggest remembering the old telephone game, where you whisper a short story, to be passed down through a line of people, each whispering the story to the next person. Rarely does the story told at the beginning of the line, sound anything like the version of the last person who shares it. My poem, written by me/for me, today, can be read below. If you don’t write a poem of your own today, at least enthusiastically live the poetry of your life. It’s epic, your life. It really is epic. The rest of your life is poetry . . . .

“Right in the Middle”

Focus on the center, she said.

Why the center?

The Center is the calm in the storm.

It is the place that everything else orbits around.

It is the heart, the hub, the place.

The Capital City of law and order.

Everything revolves around the center.

Where do I find The Center?

Go deep, deep, deep within.

You’ll find the Center there, contentedly,

steadily, beating the drum of your soul,

breathing life into your dreams,

and expanding your orbit outwards,

into the Universe of your own one Life.

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

Soul Sunday

**** Happy Birthday, BEB. I love you with all of my heart.

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Sometimes I sit and I try to wordle my words into a poem of my own, and sometimes I try to learn about new poets and then read and share some of their offerings. A British poet, named Benjamin Zephaniah passed away this month of a brain tumor at the age of 65. He was quite famous in the United Kingdom and he wrote poems for adults and children alike. I only learned about him because someone on X, posted a long, thoughtful letter which he had written back to her. This poster of the letter (Jess Green, @jessgreenpoet) enjoyed writing to her favorite authors, when she was a child, and she said that he was one of the few writers that ever wrote back. This is the letter that he wrote back to her:

I feel like I know Benjamin from just reading this letter, don’t you? I still have a hard time believing that Artificial Intelligence will be able to mimic “the voice”, of a heartfelt, genuine, authentic letter. Below is one of Benjamin Zephaniah’s poems. This short, direct poem struck me as a reminder of how much has changed since I was a child. We can argue that some of the changes that have happened over the years in society are puzzling, and questionable, but many, many of these changes have been good, and productive, and have moved the world forward. To change the world, we must change minds.

Who’s Who

I used to think nurses
Were women,
I used to think police
Were men,
I used to think poets
Were boring,
Until I became one of them.

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to Poetry day on the blog. I read the poem shown below, just this morning and I thought, “Wow, what a perspective wake-up!” I also did a lot of reading yesterday, and I read about “mind stalking” in an article from Spirituality & Health magazine. It talked about the importance of fervently stalking your own thoughts to discover which ones are causing the most negative emotions in you. Chances are that these thoughts which are causing you pain from negative emotions, come from these four categories: judgment (of yourself or of others), self-pity or pity for others, i.e. the victim seat (with the understanding that compassion is different than pity), fear (and if these fears are mind stalked, they are often seen to be irrational fears created by the mind) and self-importance (sitting in the high throne of “knowing” how others ‘should‘ behave).

Yesterday, I also read an interview with Barbra Streisand. (she has an autobiography coming out that is around 1000 pages!) Barbra has been married to James Brolin for 25 years. She claims that they have very different natures and she believes that he will live for a long, long time because he doesn’t worry about things. Barbra tends to find fault in almost everything, and she says that James wakes up every morning with the attitude of, “Oh wow! Hooray! I get to live for another day!”

The poem below speaks of the idea that perhaps our greatest happiness comes from being in the moment of doing the simplest things, such as crossword puzzles, with other people whom we love, and with whom we like to enjoy experiences and adventures. The rest of it all is truly out of our control (and the poet even suggests that this might be a good thing. We humans have a tendency towards pettiness and messing things up). So just for today, be a mind stalker. Stalk your thoughts and snipe the bad ones so that before you know it, the major constant thought in your mind is, “Oh wow! Hooray! I get to live for another moment!” And then sit happily, staying right in the very moment, doing a quiet activity with someone whom you love (even if that’s just with yourself).

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to poetry day on the blog. I like to think of poetry as the secret code of our souls. In order to write poetry, you have to put your most sensible, guarded, orderly part of yourself aside and let the poetry write itself. It is the one form of communication that you come to as blankly and open, as someone else who is just reading it for the first time. How many times have you written a poem and thought, “Oh wow, I wrote that?? That’s what is stirring deep inside of me??” Get to know yourself better and write yourself a poem today. I wrote this poem about a lovely bridal shower which I attended yesterday:

“The Elders Table”

We watched the beautiful young bride excitedly unpack each gift,

Clean, shiny, unmarked, powerful tools to create the sustenance of a fairy tale.

We reminisced of the days when we sat in her seat and her spotlight.

So full of hope, and promise, and energy, and expectant excitement.

We marvel at the versions of ourselves who long ago, once sat in her seat,

Radiant and innocent and ambitious and determined and clear.

We still have many of the tools showered upon us, on those days, long ago when we were the brides.

The tools are well-used, scarred with marks, some almost broken, but determined to continue their purpose.

We, who are intently watching the bride, are now the continuance of the women who bestowed these gifts upon us.

And it is only now, that we deeply understand why it was so imperative for our elders to impart these gifts upon us.

The gifts weren’t just pots and pans and knives and nightgowns and a little wad of money for extras.

They were the tools that helped sustain the hope, and the excitement, and the energy and the promise,

When life’s storms were determined to make their marks, sometimes gashes, all to test our tenacity and plans.

Would the inner gentle flower of our young bride’s heart wilt under the load of life?

Or would the dried, sustained, circle wreath arrangement of our elders, be our borrowed strength,

When we decided to fondly pick up a remembered tool, from a lovely little bridal celebration, and to calmly use the implement, so to carry on with life . . . . .

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. I hope that most of you got to enjoy another delicious hour of sleep. This morning I just read an uplifting story about a little boy who felt instantly connected to an unknown woman at a hometown stadium. He asked his parents if he could go talk to her, and they allowed him to, and the woman and the little boy sat together and laughed and talked as if they had known each other all of their lives. I had a similar experience this past week that I am still trying to wrap my head around. It was one of the most blessed experiences of my life and an answer to prayers. Look for the signs, friends. They are everywhere. Here is my poem for today:

“Adira”

Meeting you was surreal.

I recognized you the moment I walked into the room,

And you recognized me.

Although we have never met on this plane before.

Never have I felt so instantly connected and seen.

Never have I felt so united in Truth.

Never have I felt so instantly full of peace.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Miracles abound.

Your name means strong, noble and proud.

A feminine word for God.

You are your name. You exonify it.

But that is beside the point, isn’t it?

The point is, all of us are the nameless points of Light.

The nameless points of Light which forms All That Is.

All That Is Love. Love is all that is. Love is.

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Welcome to poetry day on the blog. I’ve been sitting here for a couple of hours, not allowing myself to leave my writing nook, until I wrote a poem. I felt like a child, who in her defiance, did not want to eat her peas, but was being commanded to stay at the table until she ate all of her peas. The last few weeks, I’ve been dodging my own heart and my own deep feelings, by publishing other people’s poems on Soul Sundays instead of my own. Poetry gets to the feels and lately, it’s really hard to feel the gush of feels coming from everything that is happening around us, isn’t it? So, I finally “ate my peas” and my poem for today is below. It felt good and nourishing to write it. “My peas” added to my vitality. Add to your own vitality today, and write a poem. Stay at the table and eat your peas. You won’t regret it.

In times when we must face the barbarism that lies within all of us, in pure sight for all to see,

the poetry does not flow. The heart wants to stay in its safe room, pretending that it is safe.

It is the heart who writes the poetry, but the heart is numb, beating in its anesthetic of desentization, which finally arose from the overflowing, salty mix of blood and tears of despair.

Hearts can only hold so much pain, until they turn into hard, lifeless stones which makes them the hearts of monsters.

Monsters don’t write poetry. They coldy snuff it out with their hearts of stone.

We must give our hearts life. We must bravely let our hearts leave their safe rooms, to breathe in the fullness of life. We must never let the poetry die.

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

Soul Sunday

I was unexpectedly delighted yesterday when I opened up my Kindle app. A while ago, I had pre-ordered a children’s book of poems by Bob Odenkirk (of Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul fame) and it had just been downloaded to my Kindle. The book is called Zilot & Other Important Rhymes and it is adorably illustrated by Bob’s daughter, Erin. The book is engaging and silly and creative and fun. It’s a book that reminds me very much of Shel Silverstein’s offerings. Children and grown-ups alike, will delight in reading Zilot & Other Important Rhymes.

I devote Sundays to poetry on the blog. Here is “Lollygagging”, one of the poems from Zilot. I hope that you get a chance to do some real lollygagging of your own this Sunday:

“Lollygagging”

There’s not enough lollygagging

going on around here,

and daydreams are in short supply.

The whole week is jammed

with to-dos and to-don’ts.

No one is gazing at clouds in the sky.

THERE’S SO MUCH NONSENSE TO ACCOMPLISH!

I simply can’t do it all alone . . .

I’ll think stray thoughts and you mutter drivel.

You walk in circles and I’ll tunelessly whistle.

We’ll pandy about the most pointless of piffle

and cram this day full

of jabber and jibble.

We’ll aim to aim aimlessly

and traipse about spaciously

and fart around graciously

and fritter tenaciously.

Let’s not focus nor work

on what’s “necessary” or “needed.”

Let’s get down to beeswax

and get our lollygagging completed!

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