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.
Good morning. Happy New Year!! I read a word yesterday that I think fits: “Resipiscence” It means “the return to a better state of mind.” This is what a wish for all of us and for our collective mind this year: a return to a better, sounder, more peaceful, loving state of mind. May 2023 be the year of resipiscence for all of us.
Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass” is the perfect poem which speaks to a sound mind and how to have one. It is a good poem to be inspired to start off the year just right.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Good morning. I am getting a late start this morning. I’m meandering today. I’ve been easily distracted and I think that is a good way to be, on a gentle Sunday Morning. Sundays = Poetry Day on the Blog. PD on the B. You know me. Rap and Hip Hop are full of good poetry. If traditional poetry isn’t your thing, look up the lyrics of some of your favorite Hip Hop songs. Mastery. Genius, really.
If you are into traditional poetry, Walt Whitman is considered to be one of America’s foremost poets. Perhaps his most famous poem is “Song of Myself”. Here is just one small part of this epic poem:
“Not I, not anyone else can travel that road for you.
You must travel it by yourself.
It is not far. It is within reach.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,
Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.”
Write a poem to yourself about the song of yourself. Write a poem about your unique journey on the road of your life. You won’t regret it. You’ll get to know yourself even better and isn’t that where “the road” is supposed to lead anyway?
“If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?” Kendrick Lamar – Poetic Justice
“You know it’s funny when it rains it pours, they got money for wars but can’t feed the poor.” 2Pac – Keep Ya Head Up
“I’m not a businessman, I’m a business, man.” Jay-Z – Diamonds from Sierra Leone (Remix)
“I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death.” Nas – NY State of Mind
Welcome to the quietest, most introspective day on the blog. Welcome to our poetry workshop. What is the song of your soul? Write a poem. You’ll find out.
Yesterday, my husband and I were making newspaper bricks which he uses as firestarters for his very simple, old-school grill. My husband loves to read the WSJ in paper form, but I think that he has an Earth Mother guilt complex about this. (We had compost piles long before compost piles became a hipster status symbol.) Therefore, to alleviate his conscience, my husband bought this cool contraption on Amazon that condenses wet newspapers into paper bricks. Our back porch is a currently a brick drying platform, and our hands have a not so attractive grayish tinge to them. (And these are the things that make me love him, and “us”, like I do.) As we were placing the papers into the water bucket, my husband stopped what he was doing and handed a sheet of the newspaper to me. He and I both knew that it had to be one of Soul Sunday’s poems. This one is by the great writer, Walt Whitman:
I have a poem of my own to share today, too. Here it is:
Confession to My Children
My dearest children,
For years I have fervently prayed for your strength, and your health, and your safety, and your vitality, and your happiness, and your sense of purpose, and your creativity, and your faith, but I often left out one crucial element in my prayers.
I often forgot to pray for myself.
I often forgot to surrender.
I forgot to pray for guidance on how to help you with your strength, and your health, and your safety, and your vitality, and your happiness, and your sense of purpose, and your creativity and your faith.
I often forgot to ask God for my own strength, and health, and safety, and vitality and happiness, and sense of purpose, and creativity and faith, so that God could work through me, to best mother you. And to best be a model for you.
In my prayers, I often acted as if I had to make a choice. I always chose you, arrogantly forgetting that God has no hierarchies. Love is all.
By hinging all of my abundance on your abundance, I erased me. And I burdened you. And I disrespected God.
Luckily, God doesn’t wait for permission to work through our lives. God never leaves. God works quietly. My prayers are always for you, my deepest loves, but they are also for me, too. We are all God’s children. And now, I often just pray for my eyes to be opened to the all-encompassing Love which gently and evenly holds All of us, dear beyond measure.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
