Tag: soul sunday

Sunday Soul

Hi readers. I’m terribly sorry to be late posting today. Sundays are a big readership day for me and I appreciate that fact. I think people like poetry more than they pretend to like it. I’m late because I got myself involved in a “little” painting job this weekend. I decided to paint some window panes. The job seemed simple and painless, enough. Ha! I decided to complete the finishing touches this morning before the hot Florida sun baked even more dark bronze-y paint into my skin. I look like a leopard.

New readers, Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Poetry is the unedited, free-flowing sounds of our souls. I already got my creative juices out by painting this morning, so I am going to reprint a poem today, that you may have seen already. The poem has gone viral and many believed that it was written by an author during the 1919 Pandemic. Alas, this is not true. It was actually written in March of 2020 by a chaplain from Wisconsin named Kitty O’Meara. It is untitled and it is beautiful. Please add your poems (your writings or someone else’s writings) to the Comments section. Here is the lovely words of a very much alive, Kitty O’Meara:

By Kitty O’Meara
And the people stayed home.
And read books, and listened, and rested,
and exercised, and made art, and played games,
and learned new ways of being, and were still.
And listened more deeply.
Some meditated, some prayed, some danced.
Some met their shadows.
And the people began to think differently.
And the people healed.
And, in the absence of people living in ignorant,
dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways,
the earth began to heal.
And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again,
they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images,
and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully,
as they had been healed.

Soul Sunday

“I should like, if I could, to leave a humble gift – a bit of chaste prose that had caught up some noble moods.” – Max Ehrmann

So yesterday I was going through some old books of mine and I found a lovely poem by the heralded author and poet, Max Ehrmann. This is an old poem. Ehrmann wrote it in 1927 and its worldwide popularity started around the 1950s, years after Ehrmann’s death. The poem is called Desiderata which is Latin for “things that are yearned for.” As my regular readers know, Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Typically, I write a poem, or I find a poem by someone else that I want to share. I ask that you share your poetry in the Comments section. This is not a critique session. This is a safe outpouring of our feelings in the form of words. Please share. Your poems are precious gifts to yourself and to us. Today, my offering is just to share Desiderata by Max Ehrmann because the poem holds particular poignancy in times like these, especially.

Desiderata | Desiderata poem, Desiderata, Words

Soul Sunday

Good morning, friends and readers. I slept in this morning. I had a really good night’s sleep and I woke into a morning that simply could not be prettier. So I spent a lot of time in the back yard with our dogs, and all the while, nature lovingly surrounded us with its incredible, synchronistic sights and sounds. I think that I was experiencing poetry in that moment, with no words, yet it was pure poetry. I think a gift that we all have gotten from this quarantine experience is the gift of more compassion for ourselves. We have been given more “guilt-free” time; this time is free of the judge-y “shoulds”. Why not sleep in? Why not lull around in nature? Why not have an empty calendar open to some spontaneity? It’s like quarantine has given us permission to do things that maybe we could have been doing all along, but we had some kind of irrational judgment that there were better uses of our time.

New readers, Sundays are poetry workshop days. On Sundays, I typically share a poem that I have written and I strongly encourage you to share your poems in my Comments section. This is creative free-flow. I would never allow any negativity in this beautiful, calming Sunday space, so please, please share your profound souls with us. Poetry connects us like not other form, in the written world. It is word music. Today, honestly, my own creative juices aren’t singing, but I have two poems that I will share with you that came to my attention this week. The first poem is by the great author, Kelly Corrigan, and the second poem is a beautiful offering from my friend and poet, Walberto Campos. Enjoy!

To Alessandro

by Kelly Corrigan


I should haven’t been standing so close
this morning at the Safeway.
I thought she was about to leave–
the woman with the good haircut and fancy bag,
her mounds of kale and yogurt and nuts,
enough for another apocalyptic week.

But then the machine betrayed her.
She swiped and inserted and stood back.
She reapproached.
She said “This doesn’t make sense,
I don’t know why this isn’t working,
I just used this card last night.”
Her hands were shaking.
Then Alessandro, benevolent ruler of Safeway line 5, said
“Take your time.
It’s not your fault.
There’s no rush.”

There was though.
There were 11 carts behind me in the pet food aisle and
23 more down the water and sports drink aisle.
People leaning back against crates of Gatorade
shifting from foot to foot
scrolling then staring then
leaning around each other to see what the hold up was.

We were looking to Alessandro and his $11-an-hour army
running distribution and provisions for a nation unnerved:
the twenty-two-year-old at Target wiping down the door
handles and carts,
the thirty-nine-year-old at the farmer’s market who’d rather
be home with her jumpy children, her husband who just lost his job at the corner bistro,
The fifty-five-year-old at CVS who smiles behind his mask as
he hands over your asthma inhaler or anti-anxiety
medication.

In Alessandro’s army,
every soldier seems ready to serve
standing at attention,
saying the thing we most need to hear:
“Take your time,
Its not your fault,
There’s no rush.”

Many blessings to you today, my friends! Enjoy a guilt-free Sunday. Follow your whims!

Soul Sunday

Happy Birthday, to my wonderful eldest son! You made parenting so amazing and fulfilling, that we went on to have three more awesome children. I love you. I am proud of you. It’s killing me that you are so far away from me, but you’re doing great, enjoying your own company, during this pandemic. I can’t blame you. You are a joy to be with and to talk to and to gather good energy from, by you, just being you. You are one of the most authentic people I have ever known. You are the best company! Don’t ever change. Here’s a quote that I know that you will like:

“Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.” – Kurt Cobain

So, my regular readers know that Sundays are poetry workshop days, here at Adulting – Second Half. On Sundays, I typically share a poem that I have written and I ask you to do the same in the Comments section. Today, I was inspired by something my husband read in the Wall Street Journal. Here are a couple of haikus, published in this weekend’s WSJ, by Nishant Choksi, describing/depicting our quarantine life: (Haikus are three lines, 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables)

Can’t work with children

Clinging to my every limb

I am a plaything!

________________________________________________________________________________________

I have measured out

This help-desk call in Cheez-its

Fifteen and counting

________________________________________________________________________________________

All day on the phone

Convincing Boomer parents

To please, please stay home

________________________________________________________________________________________

Here’s my stab at it:

________________________________________________________________________________________

Keeping up with news

Is exhausting and scary

But I just can’t stop

________________________________________________________________________________________

Home Sweet Home, they say

And that’s generally true

Until you are stuck

________________________________________________________________________________________

Try some haiku poems of your own, friends! They are fun! Take care. I am wishing you peace, health and sanity. (I’ve had a lot of people wishing us sanity, lately. I’m not going to take it personally. 😉 )

Soul Sunday

It struck me the other day that this is probably the first time in my life when I have actually felt more vulnerable due to my age. I’m approaching 50. This “dawning” was a middle age turning point for me. It was one of those awakening moments that reminded me that I really am headed into the autumn of my life. My heart goes out to you all who are in your 60s and beyond. It must be terrifying, at times, concerning the coronavirus. I feel for you.

Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Please publish your poems in my Comments section. This is a poetry workshop, where we should all feel safe to share, our free flow of thoughts. Here’s my poem for the day:

The Trick

Who knew that we were all part of a fantastic illusion?

We were the white rabbits and the silk scarves,

in a grand sleight of the hand.

We thought that we were in on the trick,

Winking, knowing how the “magic” works.

We, as lovely assistants, sometimes smirked at the Magician,

Sneered at the fools in the audience,

Only to be brought to our knees,

By a horrific force, too tiny to even be seen.

Now we are all in this together,

Humbled by the unknown,

No longer wishing to just be entertained,

No longer full of pride and disdain,

Just praying for the real magic to fix this all,

In order for us to be wholly healed,

Sewing together all of our parts that have been sawed apart,

And for the trick to be over, so that the real magic can begin . . .

Soul Sunday

Hello dear friends! Watch this adorable video of tiny twin boys discussing germs and quarantine. It will warm your heart and I dare you not to laugh:

https://twitter.com/i/status/1241262775248269312

My regular readers know that Sundays are dedicated to poetry. I encourage you to use this forum as a poetry workshop. I usually share a poem that I have written and I ask my readers to share their poems in the Comments section. If you never thought that you had time before to try your hand at writing poetry, now you do. The world needs more beautiful, soul opening, heart touching poetry more than ever before. Please share your heart here, with us. It did strike me, the other day, that if ever there was a time for everyone to fully realize how much we actually LOVE each other, it is now. We have shut down our entire way of being and living, to protect the most vulnerable and the most aged among us. We have shut down, unitedly and globally, how we live, to protect the bravest and the most brilliant among us, who are working feverishly at finding us a cure and at healing as many people as they can, from this terrible scourge that is upon us. We have narrowed our living experience down to what is the fundamentally most important to us, letting all of the other less important pieces fall to the ground, as they may. I think that we have our priorities straight. See how the world is responding to this virus, and know just how much you are LOVED. I am LOVED. We are LOVED and WE ARE LOVE . In the end, it is LOVE that sustains us all. I didn’t write today’s poem. I saw it on Twitter, written by a person who calls themselves, Mr. Jones. Stay well, friends. Here is the beautiful poem:

History will remember when

the world stopped

And the flights stayed on

the ground.

And the cars parked in the

street.

And the trains didn’t run.

History will remember when

the schools closed

And the children stayed

indoors

And the medical staff walked

towards the fire

And they didn’t run.

History will remember when

the people sang

On their balconies, in

isolation

But so very much together

In courage and song

History will remember when

the people fought

for their old and their weak

Protected their vulnerable

By doing nothing at all.

History will remember when

the virus left

And the houses opened

And the people came out

And hugged and kissed

And started again

Kinder than before.

Soul Sunday

Fortune for the Day – “Turn your face to the sun, and the shadows fall behind you.” – Maori proverb

This is all just so surreal. I am praying that this is all that it is for you, my readers and friends – surreal . . . but, not tragic. I admit, I’m a little bit rattled. I’ve lost my footing, my mojo, my ease of words, just a little bit. All of this will come back: my footing, my mojo, my ease of expression. It will come back for me and it will come back for the world. We will overcome this together. We’ve heard the horror stories of people beating each other up for toilet paper, but more so, the beautiful side of the human spirit is seen in the Italians singing at the same time, every night from their windows and the Spaniards, clapping and praising for their health workers every night and people getting groceries for their elderly neighbors. I want to remain being part of the beautiful side of all this. I don’t want to succumb to my darker sides such as fear, panic, greed, and self-centeredness. The permission to really rest, to really take in and to appreciate nature, to feel the security and the comfort of a full house of family, again, are the gifts that are coming from this otherwise, frightening and sometimes, overwhelming experience. Here’s my poem for the day, friends. New readers, please look at previous Sunday posts for more poetry and please use this blog, as a safe, serene spot, to post and to share your beautiful poems.

Simple Lesson

Let me learn the lessons.

Let this worldly pause, be a time of reflection.

Let me use this time to really notice all that really matters.

Let me truly savor this hiatus which I always claim to be wishing for.

God has pushed the Pause button.

I can fight against it, like a tired, hysterical child,

Or I can take in the lessons, like an earnest student of Life.

Either way, this class will wrap up and the only thing left of it,

will be what I attained from it.

If I gather everything that I can from this experience,

It will be a beautiful addition, to my basket of nourishment,

That basket which I carry with me, throughout my daily living.

Let this experience help me to strengthen and to fortify my basket,

And prune from it, the things that are no longer necessary,

the things that have been weighing me down, without me even noticing.

Let me find the gifts of this experience and to focus on these gifts,

Because the focus on the gifts, is what gives to me,

my serenity, my gratefulness, my calm and my peace.

Perhaps the lesson is a much simpler one than I ever thought it to be.

Dare I say, thank you?

Soothing Sunday

Happy International Women’s Day! Not so happy Daylight Savings Spring Forward Day. Where does the time go?

Sunday is devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Thank you. Thank you for coming to commune at the blog, and to read, and to contemplate, and to rest, and to support. Thank you to those of you who have bravely shared your poems in the past. Please keep sharing. This is friendly, safe format – an online poetry workshop, to send our heart waves out in the form of words and of phrases and of nuances. Here is my poetry offering for today:

Spring Cleaning

Grumbling, hesitant, resigned.

Annoyed with the prospect of the task at hand.

Necessary evil, spring clean up, in the yard.

Mellowing, energy flowing, smiling.

Slowly opening to commune with nature.

Family venture, another tie that binds us.

Laughing, singing, glowing.

In love with creation, ours and His.

Everything breathes. Everything makes perfect sense.

We’re done? The project, completed too soon.

I wanted to bottle the moment up,

and to hold it in my hands,

so that I could keep the inseparableness of it all, forever.

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Rabbit. Rabbit. Rabbit.

Fortune for the day – “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” – Annie Dillard

Welcome to Sunday. May this first Sunday in March, be particularly calming, soothing, comforting, and re-setting. May this Sunday find you surrounded in such peaceful tranquility that you can’t imagine ever coming out of its trance of repose. Remember, when you make/allow/find yourself feeling good, you, in turn, uplift the entire world.

Readers, Sundays are dedicated to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. I strongly encourage you to share your beautiful souls in the form of poems in the Comments Section. My new friend and fellow writer, Walberto Campos, has written a strong, poignant poem about his father’s experience with Alzheimer’s disease. I will be publishing that one in the Comments section. Please read it, and please, too, publish your poems in the Comments section. The world can never have enough poetry. Your poems give others permission to share their souls, as well. In poetry, our souls are bared and veiled, all at the same time, which is why I think that we all find poetry so mystifying, yet gratifying. It is so easy to find our own experiences and emotions in almost any poem. Poems are powerful. Here’s my poem for today:

My Little Flower

My little flower grows in someone else’s garden.

Yet, perhaps by providence,

by a Source who loves us both,

I have been assigned to some of her care.

(and perhaps she has been entrusted with some of my care, too)

She is tiny and fragile, yet beautiful and radiant.

She keeps her glowing, purple bloom, reaching towards the sun,

Always. She chooses the sunny side. Always.

Always moving towards the sunshine.

On my designated day, I help to nourish her growth,

hopefully adding some woven strands to her tender roots,

her roots which have already kept her very strong,

through some rough winds and fearful storms.

She has good, solid roots because they fearlessly branch out,

to get her what she needs, to flourish and to blossom.

Every part of her being is fearlessly alive, and flowing, and growing.

She knows how to bloom, my little flower.

She inspires me. And so after carefully tending to her,

I go back to my own garden and everything blossoms,

all the more radiantly, all because of one tiny flower.

Image result for pictures of a violet

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.