Tag: sunday

Soul Sunday

Good morning. Happy St. Patrick’s Day! (I apologize for not publishing a post yesterday. Distractions abounded!) Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. In honor of St. Patrick’s Day, I am going to feature some poems by Irish writers. The Irish have a way with melancholic writing like no others . . . .

“The Last Rose of Summer”

’Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
To give sigh for sigh …

-Thomas Moore

“The Lost Land: Poems”

This is what language is:
a habitual grief. A turn of speech
for the everyday and ordinary abrasion
of losses such as this:
which hurts
just enough to be a scar
And heals just enough to be a nation.

-Eavan Boland

“The Lake Isle of Innisfree”

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

-W.B. Yeats

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:

2552. What’s your favorite cereal? (Especially in honor of today, I am going to say, “Lucky Charms.”)

Soul Sunday

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. I’m feeling a little whimsical today, hence:

I am going to write a bad poem about a good feeling.

Like a fresh coat of paint that immediately starts peeling.

Nothing deep, earnest, soulful or blue

Just a poem about feeling contented, it’s true.

Don’t start yawning or scrunching up your face in digust.

I’ve turned Sundays into making poetry writing a “must.”

So today I feel rested, silly, goofy, and pleased.

I hope that my poem doesn’t make you feel cheesed.

Take a breath, take a pause, and make a choice towards healing:

Write your own good/bad poem about your own good/bad feeling.

And then share it with me . . . .

Your glee is my glee.

You’ll see.

Wheee!

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

Soul Sunday

Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. I thought of this poem yesterday, as I was pondering during a car ride, about just how few current and historical figures any of us know anything about. Currently, there are over 7.5 billion people in this world. How many of these people who you know, do you know by sight? And even if you know a sprinkling of public and “famous” people by sight, do your children know them? Do your parents? Will your great grandchildren recognize these “famous” people? Do people on the other side of our world know these “famous” people? Ego tricks us into believing that our individual selves are so incredibly important, and in a sense, we are extremely important to the people who love us, and who share experiences with us. Still, in the end, all that is left of any of us, that makes any kind of mark on our world’s history, are our shared and collective actions and inactions. We are just one tiny dot of energy that helps to create this One evolving experience called Life. Here is my poem:

The heart of the story is this,

The actions have all of the significance,

The actions are what creates the story of the world.

The people who do the actions are rather insignificant.

The actions have all of the significance.

The characters are interesting, but they are just the tools,

For making the actions to happen and to occur.

Actions create our history.

Love is an action.

We all create Love.

We are Love.

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.