A poem by Maya Angelou
We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.
--
Felt like sharing the Maya Angelou poem that was read during the ceremony at my wedding some weeks back :) Despite being immensely tired today, I am so very thankful to be alive and to know love.
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Belated Newsflash: April is National Poetry Month
This month has been incredibly taxing (no pun intended) on our household. We are a little over a month away from our wedding date. My partner is working on finding a new career path. I am less than one month away from being done with graduate school classes. I am starting another "figuring out my life" chapter in my story...will it ever really end? Needless to say, on top of all other daily challenges, there has been a bit of stress happening here.
Recently I have visited my blog wanting to say something or meaning to say something but then feeling like I had nothing to say that could be put into a neat, compact, little motivational/genuine post. Truthfully, lately I have felt a bit without significant purpose in the blogosphere which is most definitely a reflection of how I find myself feeling in "real life".
However, it's been long enough, and I am tired of wandering in thought and not writing something down. So I came on here to write about the first idea that came to mind, and my intial thought is about poetry.
So. Poetry. Do you read it? It's okay to be honest and admit that you don't pay much attention to poetry. I know that I don't. It's also okay to not like poetry. At first I really didn't like poetry much at all.
Honestly, why I'm thinking about poetry is because April is National Poetry Month--I found out on Twitter. So, see, Twitter's not that bad.
Since I heard about it, I have visited various websites devoted to poetry and began my own poetry anthology online. These acts are more than I've ever done for poetry on my own behalf, my whole life.
However, while browsing these sites, I realized that I do not hold many poems near and dear to my heart. And I wondered why. I recognized too, that spoken word outside of musical lyrics seems to be less and less apparent and accessible today. With all the forms of social media that require a minimal set of characters and often no audio-aspect, I can see how poetry seems to be dying.
I also noted that the poetry that I was introduced to as an English major was often poetry that did not always speak to my story or resonate with me. Or I couldn't understand it. Some of that reasoning may lie in the fact that much of the poets I studied were a bunch of really old, dead, white guys. I'm not sure, it's just a guess.
In addition, I admit that I also have felt like the poetry I knew belonged to the upper-class--to those people that frequent theatre and enjoy reciting old poems in Middle-English or telling Shakespearean inside jokes. To this point, just last month I attended a poetry reading happening a mile away from my home in a supper club joint and found that the people there were all white-haired, white people, talking about white problems. Then I thought about the people who show up at the local bar for the weekly, open-mic, spoken word sessions. I wondered where is the space/place where these two crowds overlap/intersect, and I wondered what is poetry, anyway?
I came to the thought that regardless of who it comes from (white dead guy or otherwise), all great poems offer great wisdom for people today and also allow people to express themselves in ways that cannot be heard without the lyrical fusion of one's authentic voice mixed with playfulness. With that said I am now on a hunt for poems that use language and topics that speak to me. I am also back to writing poetry. It's not easy, but it's fun.
In honor of National Poetry Month, I'd like to share with you a recent poem that I became aquainted with, thanks to my future-sister-in-law, Anne. She is always reading poetry up North and around town and the other day she posted a lovely poem online that touched me. It's a simple poem about rain, which I relate to as I have been reflecting on Earth day and watching the Spring raindrops fall in Minnesota.
Capturing the Sound of Rain by Raymond A. Foss
Listening to the timpani
the rhythm of the rain
the rap, the tap,
...the ratta-tat-tat,
the staccato of the drumming
on the roof of the van
The storm raging ‘round us
in the stillness of the parking lot
trying to drum to the beat
on laps and the steering wheel
keeping time with the chaos
the randomness of the clatter
Too few drummers for the task
capturing the sound of rain
Also, if you are still reading you get the bonus of reading a poem I wrote two years ago--the last poem I wrote. It was inspired by love as well as a conversation I had with some friends about how anybody can be an artist.
A poem about love by Yours Truly
Tired minds and worried brows
Will make their mark,
Forget to sow
Those hopes, and dreams, and fears
We can’t remember.
Locked pinkies under the sheets,
Hot legs touched by cooling feets,
I rest my head against your furless shoulder.
Love awakens our holy hearts,
Puts to rest those broken parts;
Heals some memories at the start
Within us, stirring ‘til morning.
At the bright sun, the cock then cries,
“Love is patient, love is kind,”
creating for us, in us, those blind—
Blind-spots.
Hiding all our fears and faults,
Protecting shields from reckless thoughts.
Light rays shine dismantling waves
And every falsehood melts away…
Liquids dissipating
Into thick, heavy air—
The ending nightmare
Bobs somewhere
In atmosphere-
Now plainly forgotten.
But here in bed, still, I lay.
Caressing your calm,
Sleeping arm.
My very core, it plays
Pretty picture shows
They enter in, then out
My soul.
Want to start your own poetry notebook? Check out Poets.org.
Recently I have visited my blog wanting to say something or meaning to say something but then feeling like I had nothing to say that could be put into a neat, compact, little motivational/genuine post. Truthfully, lately I have felt a bit without significant purpose in the blogosphere which is most definitely a reflection of how I find myself feeling in "real life".
However, it's been long enough, and I am tired of wandering in thought and not writing something down. So I came on here to write about the first idea that came to mind, and my intial thought is about poetry.
So. Poetry. Do you read it? It's okay to be honest and admit that you don't pay much attention to poetry. I know that I don't. It's also okay to not like poetry. At first I really didn't like poetry much at all.
Honestly, why I'm thinking about poetry is because April is National Poetry Month--I found out on Twitter. So, see, Twitter's not that bad.
Since I heard about it, I have visited various websites devoted to poetry and began my own poetry anthology online. These acts are more than I've ever done for poetry on my own behalf, my whole life.
However, while browsing these sites, I realized that I do not hold many poems near and dear to my heart. And I wondered why. I recognized too, that spoken word outside of musical lyrics seems to be less and less apparent and accessible today. With all the forms of social media that require a minimal set of characters and often no audio-aspect, I can see how poetry seems to be dying.
I also noted that the poetry that I was introduced to as an English major was often poetry that did not always speak to my story or resonate with me. Or I couldn't understand it. Some of that reasoning may lie in the fact that much of the poets I studied were a bunch of really old, dead, white guys. I'm not sure, it's just a guess.
In addition, I admit that I also have felt like the poetry I knew belonged to the upper-class--to those people that frequent theatre and enjoy reciting old poems in Middle-English or telling Shakespearean inside jokes. To this point, just last month I attended a poetry reading happening a mile away from my home in a supper club joint and found that the people there were all white-haired, white people, talking about white problems. Then I thought about the people who show up at the local bar for the weekly, open-mic, spoken word sessions. I wondered where is the space/place where these two crowds overlap/intersect, and I wondered what is poetry, anyway?
I came to the thought that regardless of who it comes from (white dead guy or otherwise), all great poems offer great wisdom for people today and also allow people to express themselves in ways that cannot be heard without the lyrical fusion of one's authentic voice mixed with playfulness. With that said I am now on a hunt for poems that use language and topics that speak to me. I am also back to writing poetry. It's not easy, but it's fun.
In honor of National Poetry Month, I'd like to share with you a recent poem that I became aquainted with, thanks to my future-sister-in-law, Anne. She is always reading poetry up North and around town and the other day she posted a lovely poem online that touched me. It's a simple poem about rain, which I relate to as I have been reflecting on Earth day and watching the Spring raindrops fall in Minnesota.
Capturing the Sound of Rain by Raymond A. Foss
Listening to the timpani
the rhythm of the rain
the rap, the tap,
...the ratta-tat-tat,
the staccato of the drumming
on the roof of the van
The storm raging ‘round us
in the stillness of the parking lot
trying to drum to the beat
on laps and the steering wheel
keeping time with the chaos
the randomness of the clatter
Too few drummers for the task
capturing the sound of rain
Also, if you are still reading you get the bonus of reading a poem I wrote two years ago--the last poem I wrote. It was inspired by love as well as a conversation I had with some friends about how anybody can be an artist.
A poem about love by Yours Truly
Tired minds and worried brows
Will make their mark,
Forget to sow
Those hopes, and dreams, and fears
We can’t remember.
Locked pinkies under the sheets,
Hot legs touched by cooling feets,
I rest my head against your furless shoulder.
Love awakens our holy hearts,
Puts to rest those broken parts;
Heals some memories at the start
Within us, stirring ‘til morning.
At the bright sun, the cock then cries,
“Love is patient, love is kind,”
creating for us, in us, those blind—
Blind-spots.
Hiding all our fears and faults,
Protecting shields from reckless thoughts.
Light rays shine dismantling waves
And every falsehood melts away…
Liquids dissipating
Into thick, heavy air—
The ending nightmare
Bobs somewhere
In atmosphere-
Now plainly forgotten.
But here in bed, still, I lay.
Caressing your calm,
Sleeping arm.
My very core, it plays
Pretty picture shows
They enter in, then out
My soul.
Want to start your own poetry notebook? Check out Poets.org.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Sacred River: It's not easy to get my spiritual river flowing in the cold of winter, but I still try.
Sacred River by Theresa King
Flowing over rocks of pain
Cleansing through the sands of time
Collecting streams of insight
Graced with buds of wisdom
Heaped with leaves of knowledge
Blessed with light of self love
And flowing, gently flowing
To the vast divine sea
Saying
"I am That."
This poem recently came into my hands this past weekend at a workshop. I must say it is a pretty moving run-on sentence if I ever saw one. I cannot get it to show on the webpage like it does in my book, but I think you get the idea.
I really like the picture the words paint, and although right now the rivers in Minnesota are pretty cold and icy, I find this poem to ignite something inside of me that brings me here to reflect a bit.
I think most people can agree at some point in their life they have had a moment where they felt a sort of longing inside of them. We do not know what to name it, but often it is a longing to be part of something greater than oneself. It is not the longing to be confused with the will to find a partner or companion, but it is the longing that is bigger than that desire. It is bigger than ourselves. This longing to me seems to be on a spiritual level, on a level that for the most part appears outside of our reach in worldly terms.
The problem is that we believe that it is out of our reach. This belief is simply not true.
Today people do not take the time to see or reflect on anything in spiritual terms. I know I am guilty of it. For the most part we have truly turned to science for information and we use science as the backdrop to our reality. We ignore and abandon our intuition and our mind and body's wisdom, and instead we rely on scientific reasoning and expensive medical tools or conventional wisdom to tell us how to make our choices and decisions in life.
We may experience wondrous miracles or the friendly warmth of a neighbor, but we do not think about these everyday moments, feelings or connections to be tied to a deeper, spiritual phenomenon.
I like this poem because it reminds me again that our everyday experiences and our very being is of a spiritual nature whether we choose to notice or not. Whether a believer in a higher power or a person who has no faith whatsoever, we are all people made of energy and when we pay close attention to our energy we can truly see the divine that lies within us, waiting for us to recognize it and pay attention to it.
This idea of paying attention is important to me. It's not an easy thing to cultivate and will take lots of years of practice to get it down. However, the long-term benefits are worth it because the more you pay attention to something, the more it seems to come up in your life. For example when you pay close attention to the negative parts of a person, it seems you only find more negative. Same with focusing so deeply on what is wrong at a workplace; our brains are trained so well to search for what we are looking for, we then only find more wrongs in the situation.
What would happen if we searched for the spiritual? What would happen if we challenged ourselves in that way? Instead of choosing not to believe and looking for the reasons not to have faith, what if we looked at it from a different perspective?
I believe we would find that sacred place we long for.
To close this random thought of the day, I will end by stating some questions/thoughts I want to focus on as a result of this post.
* How can I get my spiritual river flowing? In other words, how can I pay better attention to the spiritual aspect of my being and how can I nourish my spiritual self?
* What do I learn from myself when I look deeply at the spiritual aspects of my life?
* How does paying attention to my spiritual needs affect my health?
* How does paying attention to my spirituality affect the world?
Flowing over rocks of pain
Cleansing through the sands of time
Collecting streams of insight
Graced with buds of wisdom
Heaped with leaves of knowledge
Blessed with light of self love
And flowing, gently flowing
To the vast divine sea
Saying
"I am That."
This poem recently came into my hands this past weekend at a workshop. I must say it is a pretty moving run-on sentence if I ever saw one. I cannot get it to show on the webpage like it does in my book, but I think you get the idea.
I really like the picture the words paint, and although right now the rivers in Minnesota are pretty cold and icy, I find this poem to ignite something inside of me that brings me here to reflect a bit.
I think most people can agree at some point in their life they have had a moment where they felt a sort of longing inside of them. We do not know what to name it, but often it is a longing to be part of something greater than oneself. It is not the longing to be confused with the will to find a partner or companion, but it is the longing that is bigger than that desire. It is bigger than ourselves. This longing to me seems to be on a spiritual level, on a level that for the most part appears outside of our reach in worldly terms.
The problem is that we believe that it is out of our reach. This belief is simply not true.
Today people do not take the time to see or reflect on anything in spiritual terms. I know I am guilty of it. For the most part we have truly turned to science for information and we use science as the backdrop to our reality. We ignore and abandon our intuition and our mind and body's wisdom, and instead we rely on scientific reasoning and expensive medical tools or conventional wisdom to tell us how to make our choices and decisions in life.
We may experience wondrous miracles or the friendly warmth of a neighbor, but we do not think about these everyday moments, feelings or connections to be tied to a deeper, spiritual phenomenon.
I like this poem because it reminds me again that our everyday experiences and our very being is of a spiritual nature whether we choose to notice or not. Whether a believer in a higher power or a person who has no faith whatsoever, we are all people made of energy and when we pay close attention to our energy we can truly see the divine that lies within us, waiting for us to recognize it and pay attention to it.
This idea of paying attention is important to me. It's not an easy thing to cultivate and will take lots of years of practice to get it down. However, the long-term benefits are worth it because the more you pay attention to something, the more it seems to come up in your life. For example when you pay close attention to the negative parts of a person, it seems you only find more negative. Same with focusing so deeply on what is wrong at a workplace; our brains are trained so well to search for what we are looking for, we then only find more wrongs in the situation.
What would happen if we searched for the spiritual? What would happen if we challenged ourselves in that way? Instead of choosing not to believe and looking for the reasons not to have faith, what if we looked at it from a different perspective?
I believe we would find that sacred place we long for.
To close this random thought of the day, I will end by stating some questions/thoughts I want to focus on as a result of this post.
* How can I get my spiritual river flowing? In other words, how can I pay better attention to the spiritual aspect of my being and how can I nourish my spiritual self?
* What do I learn from myself when I look deeply at the spiritual aspects of my life?
* How does paying attention to my spiritual needs affect my health?
* How does paying attention to my spirituality affect the world?
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