Viewing entries tagged
Poetry

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Solving the Problem of Suffering with a Song

Life is suffering.  I know I need to accept this fact in order to overcome it.  But I want more,  I want something bigger and brighter than sitting down with my fingers in a mudra and thinking life is suffering, just 'assept' it already. I want to solve the problem of suffering, and this blog's unwavering aim is to do just that.  Because yes, bad things happen.  Yes, we suffer. But can we see the beauty in it?  And in doing so, do we not overturn and transform the aforementioned slug of suffering into an awe-inspiring praying mantis?

The discontent I carried for many years has now given way to a newfound freedom and happiness.  Perhaps only temporarily, perhaps because of medical advances, but I will take what I can get!

Quiet desperation is the enemy.   Life is meant to be relished, rejoiced, enjoyed.

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean- the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down- who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

What are you planning to do?  Are you beating the suffering, killing the blues? Click the link to see me sing about this :)

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Chasing the Muse

I used to take long walks with her, we were lovers

laid side by side.  I fed her with offerings

of strawberry words, avocado melodies.

I floated in the mist of her tears. Her lips smelled

of bergamot and lavendar.

Men and children came and went and she became the distant

memory of my desire.  She walked away through the rainforest

in my dreams each night, fled from neglect.

Now songs choke at the pit of my throat, poems drift off

on stormy clouds.

And how will I lure her now, you ask?  After all these years

and no reunion to speak of?

I will type, I will strum, I will pray 

to whichever goddess hears, and never again

never again lose sight of her.

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We are spring's daughters

You are now three and my struggle is rushing , remembering to hold on to your tiny words,

pulsing between my daydreams of pressing thoughts

and the image of your silly faces

in the rearview mirror.  You make me laugh,

sing along sweetly to the radio, tell me a story

about how Winnie the Pooh dies and then goes to jail.

I am supposed to drive, steer, pay attention to the road

stay between the yellow lines,

and make enough money to fill this damn tank--

not to mention all those dishes in the sink at home.

I try to fit it all into this drive to school, so afraid to lose or fail,

and when we arrive, when you flit from the car

and float, fairy-like, to the curb

you are not looking forward,

only into this moment, the blossomed petals on the concrete.

Your eyes sparkle up towards mine and quick as a wink you

wave your hand into the pile of  ivory petals, fling them into the air

so they drift in the breeze and swirl back to the ground.

My heart rips open like a seed

who knows spring is here, right now,

and we are her daughters.

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The Journey

The Journey One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice-- though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do-- determined to save the only life you could save.

~Mary Oliver

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A little love goes a long way. . .

Just thought I would share that one of my poems was published in an awesome anthology from Kelly Diels of the Cleavage blog, one of my faves. You can download the absolutely FREE e-book here.

Also, I was completely jumping up and down when I saw that my poem was FIRST!  Not that it means anything, of course, but I am still giddy.

YAY!

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