Tag: soul sunday

Soul Sunday

Good morning, friends. I think that I will call you “soulmates” on Sundays. Good morning, soulmates. Sundays are usually the most popular day here on the blog. I love that you all are open to poetry. I love that you have helped me to rediscover the poet in me. I hope that you have also discovered (or rediscovered) the poet, in you, as well. Sundays are devoted to the emotional, sometimes non-sensical, mysterious spillage of words called poetry. Please explore the poem which I have written for today, and please also, feel comfortable and safe to share your poems in my Comments section. It has been wonderful sharing this moment with you on this lovely, tranquil day, my beloved soulmates. I look forward to many more connecting moments with you. Peace.

Keeper of the Words

Sometimes the words spill out of me and I can’t contain them.

Depending on how forceful and projectile the emotion is behind them,

The words scramble desperately to find their way on to the screen,

quicker than I can type them into visual form.

Sometimes the words slide out of me and surprise me,

I had no inner rumination of their simmering pot in my conscience.

The words leave me, before I even knew that they were with me.

Sometimes I have no words. I have nothing to write.

Nothing. My inner cache is empty. And that is okay.

When I have nothing to write, it clears the space,

Until the words accumulate again, to fill the void,

As they always do.

The words don’t require my participation,

They only ask for the keys to release them.

When the pressure mounts and the time is ripe,

I generously allow the words to flow out.

I am not the jailer of the words,

I am only their keeper.

Jailers suffocate and diminish and intimidate,

Keepers nurture and protect and trust in growth,

And further, keepers innately know when it is time,

to let their beloved charges fly free.

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

Soul Sunday

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

Hello readers! I hope that you are having a lovely weekend, full of delightful surprises and calming rejuvenation and rest. Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. On Sundays I either write a poem or I share a poem, written by another poet, that has moved me. Poetry has the ability to hit the deepest target of emotion, in the most mysterious of ways. Poetry adds magic and alchemy, to otherwise, ordinary words. Please feel safe and comfortable to share your poems in my Comments section. Here is my poem for today:

WITH ME

I am so thankful when you share the deepest part of yourself

with me.

You think that it is too ugly, and tangled, and unguarded, and scary,

to bring it out into the open.

But usually, most ferocious things, tend to get blinded by the light.

And smoldering sadness gets smothered by the love that my heart holds for you.

I love you the most, when you give to me, all of you,

not just the polished, protective surface.

Your deepest part of yourself, is safe, and cherished, and understood, and loved.

I am so thankful when you entrust the deepest part of yourself,

with me.

Your beautiful, fragile, open heart is always safe,

with me.

You are,

with me,

Always. Always,

with me.

Soul Sunday

Happy Valentine’s Day, friends. I know that this holiday can be triggering for some people who are not currently in a romantic relationship. It can even be stressful and awkward for people who are in romantic relationships. I have heard Valentine’s Day discounted as a “Hallmark Holiday” many times over the years. Whatever it means (or doesn’t mean) to you, why not let Valentine’s Day be a day to celebrate the feeling of Love? Why not let it be a reminder to all of us, about just how good it feels to share the realest part of us? We are all made of Love, at our very cores. It feels so good to love our lovers, and our families, and our friends, and our pets, and our homes, and our communities, and our creations, and our vocations, and our vacations, and our hobbies, and our delicacies, and our quiet times, and our crazy times, and ourselves . . . . . Love is the main motivation and reason as to why we really do anything. Maybe on Valentines Day, what we are really celebrating, is the feeling of Love, which is the main reason why we put any effort into living. If nothing else, use this day to give Love back to you. You are full of Love. Love is eternal and always replenishes, so don’t be afraid to share your Love, ever.

My regular readers know that on Sundays I share poems written by me, or by some other poet who has moved me with their words. Please feel free to share your poems in my Comments section. This is a safe spot to share. Below is today’s poem. It is written by a poet who goes by “m.k.”. I think that this poem describes unconditional love, beautifully.

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

Soul (Super) Sunday

“If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve (or save) the world and a desire to enjoy (or savor) the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.” – E.B. White

As my regular readers know, Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. On Sundays, I either write a poem or I share a poem written by another poet, which has moved me, deeply. Keep in mind, we are all poets. I would love to see some of your poems in my Comments section. Do not be shy. This is not a critique zone. This is a loving, release zone. Poetry is made of words that are asking to be released, with all of the feeling that gives these very words meaning and momentum.

Today is Super Bowl Sunday. I know that sometimes, some of us self-professed high-minded, serious, spiritual, literary, intellectual types, think that we are “above” such earthly frivolity and carnage. Ha! The Super Bowl is awesome. Even if you are not a football fan, the creativity that goes into the commercials and the half-time show always blows me away! I am so grateful to live in a time period, where I can easily rewind and watch a hilarious commercial, again and again. I never thought that I would live to see the day, that the former sentence that I just wrote, would hold real meaning for me. (grateful to watch commercials again and again, huh?!?) Also, don’t get me started on the singing of the National Anthem. (tissue box is full, and at the ready) And let’s also not get carried away here, discussing Super Bowl food fare. No one sets down a plate of bean sprouts for the Super Bowl. Bean dip, yes! Bean sprouts, no. Eat more chips!!! Eat more wings!! I think that E.B. White (author of the above quote) would choose to make Super Bowl Sunday, a “savor the world” day, no question about it. Savor the world, today, friends, and let’s go Buccaneers!!!!

Today’s poem is someone else’s poem. I love it! Here it is:

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

Soul Sunday

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

Good morning, friends. Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Today, I ask you to take the time to notice the stuff that you don’t typically notice. Notice the unusual color of eyes of the person who waits on you at Walgreens. Notice how perfectly synchronized all of the colors and lengths of hair on your dog’s face, or your cat’s face, come together into perfection and poetry, creating their beautiful expressions of being. When we really notice life, we starting living a beautifully poetic life. Here is my poem for today:

Falling in Love, Again

I love how you still surprise me.

I love that you showed me my favorite peanut butter pie,

even though I could be skinnier.

I love that I was rolling my eyes and watching the clock,

impatient for your movie choice,

And yet, when we watched it, it turned out to be a new favorite of mine.

And you knew that it would be, mate.

I love that you find it vitally important to find new favorites, for me.

It makes me feel vitally important.

I love how you know me so well.

You remind me of everything that I love.

You are my greatest gift.

You make me fall in love with you,

Again and again and again . . . .

Because you make me fall in love with life,

Again and again and again . . . . .

.

Soul Sunday

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

Good morning, friends and readers. I hope that this post finds you well, and rested, and peaceful, and hopeful, and thoughtful, and in the moment. My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted entirely to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. I think that this is fitting, because poetry is the form of writing that is the most closely entwined with our deepest feelings and soul. I was very moved by Amanda Gorman’s recital of her beautiful inauguration poem. I love the ending suggesting that we should be brave enough to be “the light”, which we are all really made of, underneath all of the noise and masks and insecurities and ego. Please, as always, feel safe to share your poetry in my Comments section. I would love to read what your soul has to say today. Here is Amanda Gorman’s poem in written form:

The Hill We Climb by Amanda Gorman

When day comes we ask ourselves,
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry,
a sea we must wade.
We’ve braved the belly of the beast,
We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace,
and the norms and notions
of what just is
isn’t always just-ice.
And yet the dawn is ours
before we knew it.
Somehow we do it.
Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed
a nation that isn’t broken,
but simply unfinished.
We the successors of a country and a time
where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves and raised by a single mother
can dream of becoming president
only to find herself reciting for one.
And yes we are far from polished.
Far from pristine.
But that doesn’t mean we are
striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge a union with purpose,
to compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and
conditions of man.
And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us,
but what stands before us.
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms
so we can reach out our arms
to one another.
We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true,
that even as we grieved, we grew,
that even as we hurt, we hoped,
that even as we tired, we tried,
that we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat,
but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision
that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree
and no one shall make them afraid.
If we’re to live up to our own time,
then victory won’t lie in the blade.
But in all the bridges we’ve made,
that is the promise to glade,
the hill we climb.
If only we dare.
It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit,
it’s the past we step into
and how we repair it.
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation
rather than share it.
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
And this effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed,
it can never be permanently defeated.
In this truth,
in this faith we trust.
For while we have our eyes on the future,
history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption
we feared at its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs
of such a terrifying hour
but within it we found the power
to author a new chapter.
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
So while once we asked,
how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?
Now we assert,
How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?
We will not march back to what was,
but move to what shall be.
A country that is bruised but whole,
benevolent but bold,
fierce and free.
We will not be turned around
or interrupted by intimidation,
because we know our inaction and inertia
will be the inheritance of the next generation.
Our blunders become their burdens.
But one thing is certain,
If we merge mercy with might,
and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy,
and change our children’s birthright.
So let us leave behind a country
better than the one we were left with.
Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,
we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.
We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west.
We will rise from the windswept northeast,
where our forefathers first realized revolution.
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states.
We will rise from the sunbaked south.
We will rebuild, reconcile and recover.
And every known nook of our nation and
every corner called our country,
our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,
battered and beautiful.
When day comes we step out of the shade,
aflame and unafraid,
the new dawn blooms as we free it.
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.

Soul Sunday

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.
– W. B. Yeats

Good morning, friends and readers. I hope that you have slept soundly and are enjoying a lovely Sunday. Here at Adulting – Second Half, Sundays are devoted to poetry. Why is poetry important? Alice Osborn says it best, I think: “Poetry is so important because it helps us understand and appreciate the world around us. Poetry’s strength lies in its ability to shed a “sideways” light on the world, so the truth sneaks up on you. No question about it. Poetry teaches us how to live.” I think that as the Yeats quote from above says, the world is full of magic things. Poetry helps us to sharpen our sensitivities to all of the magic surrounding us.

The inaugural poem this year will be written and read by a 22-year-old poet named Amanda Gorman. She is the youngest poet to ever write and recite an inaugural poem. I cannot wait to read it. This is the poem that Robert Frost recited at John F. Kennedy’s inauguration:

“The Gift Outright”

Poem recited at John F. Kennedy’s Inauguration
by Robert Frost

The land was ours before we were the land’s 
She was our land more than a hundred years 
Before we were her people. She was ours 
In Massachusetts, in Virginia, 
But we were England’s, still colonials, 
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, 
Possessed by what we now no more possessed. 
Something we were withholding made us weak 
Until we found out that it was ourselves 
We were withholding from our land of living, 
And forthwith found salvation in surrender. 
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright 
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war) 
To the land vaguely realizing westward, 
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced, 
Such as she was, such as she will become.

I would like to suggest that we all take some time today to play around with our own words, and to write our own inaugural poems. It would be an excellent way to express and to discharge all of the tumultuous thoughts and feelings that we may be having, about what is going on in our country, during these turbulent times. If you are so inclined, I would love to see your poems in my Comments section. You, my readers, are a blessing to me, to all of those who love you, and to yourselves, if you are doing a good job of self care. Do a good job of being the blessing that you are to the world!! Do a good job of just being “you”! That is your greatest offering to the world.

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

Soul Sunday

Hi friends. I don’t think that this past full week of the new year is what any of us were aiming for, to start the year out right. These are strange times which we are going through. However, we are not alone. We are experiencing a lot of “stuff”, together. I am grateful to commune with all of you, as we navigate another year of our lives, together. My regular readers know that I dedicate Sundays to poetry. Please share your poems (they are there, in your heart – put a pen in your hand and let them flow out. You will be pleasantly surprised – “Shakespeare’s a poet, and doesn’t know it”) in my Comments section. Today I wrote this poem (I hope that you may relate, and that you can enjoy some familiarity, with me):

It Never Fails

It never fails,

Every year I find it,

That one little relic,

of the holidays past,

That I forgot to put away.

This year it was a sparkly hand towel,

In the powder room,

Depicting a Christmas tree,

Shiny, erect, hopeful and bright.

Could it be a subconscious hint?

Much like a woman who leaves her glove,

After an enjoyable evening out,

Perhaps it’s an honest mistake,

or perhaps it’s an intuitive gesture,

From something deep inside,

Trying to connect and to keep and to hold,

The magic of the moment alive,

For the entire year to come.

Soul Sunday

The New Year lies before you
Like a spotless tract of snow
Be careful how you tread on it
For every mark will show.

Good morning. My regular readers know that Sundays are dedicated to poetry. Poetry is emotion in free form. We think of poetry in just written form, but honestly how we live our lives is a form of poetry, unique to each of us. Today, I choose not to write a poem of my own, but I did some exploring on the internet to find New Year’s poems that spoke to me. I have published them here. Please feel free to share your favorite poems, written by you or others in my Comments section. Have a blessed, easy, dreamy day before we enter the first full week of 2021.

To the New Year

BY W. S. MERWIN

With what stillness at last
you appear in the valley
your first sunlight reaching down
to touch the tips of a few
high leaves that do not stir
as though they had not noticed
and did not know you at all
then the voice of a dove calls
from far away in itself
to the hush of the morning

so this is the sound of you
here and now whether or not
anyone hears it this is
where we have come with our age
our knowledge such as it is
and our hopes such as they are
invisible before us
untouched and still possible

Burning the Old Year

BY NAOMI SHIHAB NYE

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.   
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,   
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,   
lists of vegetables, partial poems.   
Orange swirling flame of days,   
so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,   
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.   
I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,   
only the things I didn’t do   
crackle after the blazing dies.

Soul Sunday

Hi friends. My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted to poetry. Poetry is mysterious. It leads people to bring more of their own selves to the words, as poetry is more open to interpretation, than most forms of writing. I think that a lot of us think that we don’t like poetry, and then we open our minds to it, and we end up liking it a lot. Poetry is freeing. Here’s my poem for today. Please, as always, feel safe and comfortable to add your own poems to my Comments section.

JUST FOR ME

The poems that are coming to me this morning,

Are too private to share.

The shield over my heart, tells me to expose no more.

Today the muse needs the soft protection,

of holy hands and feathers, and leather bound covers.

Today the words are just mine.

As are the complicated feelings,

That sometimes words just can’t describe.

Some days, my written language is solely my own.

A story made just for me.