Tag: poetry

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.

Soul Sunday

It’s poetry day on the blog. The finalists for the National Book awards were announced early this past week. John Lee Clark, a deafblind poet is one of the finalists for his book, How to Communicate. John Lee Clark says this:

“Slateku is a form I invented. It’s simple: It is a poem that is written, or could have been written, with the classic Braille slate and stylus. The slate has four rows of twenty-eight cells each. Some think of it as writing backward, pressing down right to left to make dots stand up on the other side, but I think of it as writing forward in a different direction.“

How wonderful to not only write poetry, but to have created a whole new style of poetry! This is inspirational and challenging. Why do all of your stitching in only classic stitches? Is there a dance you could create that wouldn’t fall in the traditional dance categories (hip-hop dancing only came about in the late 1960s)? What about art? Is it possible to do an acrylic-watercolor fusion? What would that look like? What would it be called? The fusion restaurants are everywhere these days, mixing all kinds of traditional food recipes, with other completely unique cultures and traditions. So today, don’t just write a poem, think about creating a whole unique form of poetry. Here are two of John Lee Clark’s slatekus:

What is the point of travel

For a DeafBlind person

Other than the food the people the shops

And all that

And here’s another kind of cheeky one:

The mutant four-fingered carrot

Is in the pot and growing

Sweeter as it relaxes

Its grip

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

Soul Sunday

Good morning. I became a big fan of Jane Marczewski, also known as “Nightbirde” when a friend shared a video of Nightbirde’s performance on America’s Got Talent. Nightbirde was an extremely talented singer and songwriter who performed so movingly and remarkably well on the show, that she got “the golden buzzer” from Simon Cowell. (no small feat for anyone who knows the show). Nightbirde bravely and beautifully performed her own song, “It’s OK” while she was dying of breast cancer. She passed away from cancer in February of 2022. It turns out that Nightbirde’s family found that Nightbirde had written notebooks full of poems during her fight with cancer and they are publishing some of these poems as a book of poetry this fall. Simon Cowell has written the introduction of the book and all of the proceeds from the book sales will go to Nightbirde’s foundation which is dedicated to helping women with cancer. Poems for the Dark by Nightbirde can be pre-ordered here: https://nightbirdefoundation.shop/products/poemsforthedark

I don’t have a poem of my own to share today, but I do want to share this famous poem, “Metaphors”, by Sylvia Plath. (Read the poem now before reading the rest of my explanation. See if you understand its meaning.) Plath wrote this poem about being pregnant. What is particularly clever and amazing about this poem is that it contains 9 lines, 9 syllables each and even the title has 9 letters. She did these formats as a “metaphor” for the traditional 9 months of pregnancy. Poetry is often cryptic, clever, and full of riddle. Try your own hand at cryptic, clever, and riddling. Surprise yourself with your mysterious, sly side.

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

Soul Sunday

We have two of our sons with us this weekend which “magically” coincided with some delivery of outdoor furniture that needs to be assembled. (ha!) Anyway, my attention is diverted this weekend, so for this day of poetry on the blog, I am going to share some lovely words of Walt Whitman’s, who is considered to be one of America’s greatest poets ever. Walt Whitman loved our country. He called America “a teeming nation of nations” and “A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother.” I wonder if he would question her sanity today? Today’s poem is an excerpt from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman:

“I am larger, better than I thought; I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me.

Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me;
Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.”

Walt Whitman famously said this: “I am as bad as the worst, but, thank God, I am as good as the best.”

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

Soul Sunday

Welcome to poetry day on the blog. Plato said that “Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.” Nietzsche said “Poets are shameless with their experiences: They exploit them.” T. S. Eliot said “It is a test that genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.” What is your truth? How can you exploit what you have experienced into a form of poetry? What are you struggling to understand? Write a poem. You might find an answer. Here is my poem for today:

“The Quest for Knowledge”

We are visiting you at your esteemed institution of learning,

My brilliant, driven, ambitious, beautiful daughter.

There are buildings, and books, and the bustle of ceaseless curiosity,

surrounding us everywhere in this oasis of youth and possibility.

Where will this erudition take you towards your lofty dreams?

I study you closely, pondering these things, quietly to myself.

But then I look up at your carefully crafted picture wall . . .

Beautiful pictures of beautiful people and precious pets,

Your family and your friends all glowing with mutual love and admiration,

The most interesting picture is placed in the center, simple framed words:

“I’ve learned that it’s not what I have in my life, but who I have in my life that counts.”

And this is when I serenely smile to myself, gratefully understanding

that you already know everything that you will ever need to know.

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

Soul Sunday

I adore Sunday mornings. I’m starting to think that they are almost as good as Fridays, and I LOVE Fridays. Play around with poetry today. Read it, write it, live it. Poetry allows us to read and to write secret messages to ourselves. It helps us to unravel the mysteries of life, as noticed particularly and uniquely by us. Poetry is powerful. My poem for today is below one of the many definitions of poetry, found in the dictionary.

“Felt Ear”

Why have we given contented a bad name?

A soft felt ear of a dog, lying and folding so delicately

in my hand, as I peer out into the sunlit stillness,

noticing no sudden movements nor longing to be anything

or anywhere but here. When we forget to be content,

we miss all of the beauty which we are building on,

and sometimes carelessly tearing down.

Every virtue has its shadow. Desire expands, as passion pulls

us outward but contentedness gives us the centering

to pull back in to what matters most. A soft felt ear . . .

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

Soul Sunday

“I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything.” -Steven Wright

Welcome to poetry day on the blog. How is the culmination of another summer in the rearview mirror feeling to you? Write a poem about it. Poetry can be your own private language with yourself. Your soul has the decipher code.

Here is the poem I wrote for today:

“Knee Deep in Mud”

Summer sometimes feels like walking through sludge

I want to fly but the air’s too heavy

And so I make imperceptible moves

Hoping that I am headed somewhere

Other than where I am stuck in the mud.

But then I get a gust of momentum

And I look back and I realized I have come further

Than I realized. There must have been mud in my eye.

Or a cloud over my spirit. Because there’s a trail of footprints,

I have left behind me. And the visions that lie ahead,

Are getting larger and clearer and more distinct every day.

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. On Wednesday, we have a Blue Moon. It’s not actually blue, it’s just the name for the rare occurence of two full moons in one month. The second full moon in any one month is called a blue moon. Make a wish, and put it into poem form today. Once in a blue moon, wishes do come true, in the most magical of ways. Here is my poem for today:

The Sunday stillness feeds my soul,

The quiet sunlit room hears only an occasional

sigh from a tired, warm, rug of a dog, bathing in the light.

The plants outside of the window slightly sway,

to the gentle rhythm of an imperceptible breeze,

it all creates the peaceful symphony of tranquility,

that I soak in: pure, satiating nourishment for my spirit.

I hear my soul chanting: All is well. All is well. All is well.

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. On Sundays, I often implore you to write yourself a poem. This poet says it best:

I follow a man named Joseph Fasano on Twitter. He’s an English teacher in NYC, but he is also a published prose writer, poet and a musician. Joseph Fasano is also an incredible curator of other people’s poetry. I highly recommend for you to follow Joseph Fasano on Twitter. You will learn so much. Recently he assigned his students this: “Your assignment tonight is to read a writer someone told you not to“. Readers, let’s follow that assignment. Go to a banned books list and amaze yourself by just how many of the books on that list you have already read, and loved (and perhaps, were even assigned to read in school). Let’s not let sterilized AI and limited, fearful ideology take over the beauty, creativity, honesty and humanity, that comes from the written word of so many different perspectives and experiences, told in the voices of true, vulnerable humans, seeking some form of wisdom and understanding. Empathy is uniquely human when we decide to utilize it.

Below is one of Joseph’s most excellent poems. (anyone who has ever had to leave a terrible situation, can relate to this one):

And he posted this poem the other day. This poem so reminds me of my grandparents’ generation. They just had a way with living life in acceptance that I think we may have somewhat lost throughout the years:

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