It was Margaret’s poem in my inbox that ignited my spark to receive poem today. She nudged me over to Ruth’s lovely page, who is hosting Poetry Friday today and inviting us to give a go at a recipe poem.
Ellen Bass, my poet guide this month, along with Wendell Barry, has been also offering advice this month. The Epistolary Poem, a poem written as a letter, a form has been shaping poems in my notebook this month.
Could I combine the two? The recipe poem and the letter poem?
Perhaps . . .
Thank you to Margaret, Ruth, Ellen, my husband’s adoration of the food I cook for him and, his mother’s love.
If you’d like to read more poems, or add your own, head over to Ruth’s page to read a few more recipe poems. Be sure to fill your cup of coffee first.
Jacqueline Suskin, this morning, teaches us about writing Manifesting Poems. The kind of writing that puts our dreams, wishes and hopes for our lives on paper and lets the universe know so it can begin rearranging our path and give us signs in where to go. She shares a poem of of her own and titles it, What I Want is Family. This felt like an invitation.
So, I wrote my own “What I Want” poem. Taking to my typewriter to see if the keys could help, I got it all down. Afterwards, my laptop went to work, cleaning it up, with a few revisions and edits. It’s still pretty drafty, not very good.
But it feels true.
What I Really Want is Love
I really want just love - all of it.
The deep love one feels for another
you know what I'm talking about -
the kind where that soul being you chose
for your partner and you synchronously
roll over under the covers
and he tucks your blanket in snuggly
behind your back, that spot
you can't reach where cool swaths of air
swirl under bringing the chills.
He protects that.
But, I want more than this,
I want everyone to have that kind of love
from someone.
Maybe if only from a pet -
that will do.
More than even this, I want everyone
to walk around will that kind of love inside them
hearts so wide open
radiating that love
spewing it out
all over the world everywhere they go.
To the trees, the hills, the sky,
the fields, the flowers, the insects even.
And, to other humans
especially those not like them.
That's a special kind of love.
If we all that that kind of love
to fill the world with
we'd know to protect it with all our hearts,
do everything we could to save
its preciousness
for our children, and theirs.
It would be only then, I could leave this earth
knowing I loved enough for that
to happen.
October 2022 draft SD
I’ve been reading and writing from Jacqueline Suskin’s book, A Poem A Day, and finding meaning in the smallest of moments.
She writes:
“Meaning is a choice. . . the trick is to be fully aware of your choices. . . what’s valuable to you isn’t random; it’s a crafted lens that you see through, that you add to and take away from willingly, throughout your lifetime. You can delve into the details surrounding you and measure the might of sacredness in each. . . anything can be holy.”
I love this about poetry. How it heightens your sense of sacred moments and how the practice cultivates an awareness so much so that we “saturate our lives with meaning”.
And, of course, since Jacqueline uses a vintage typewriter to type her poems, I was inspired to do the same. Mine has a few hiccups that emphasize even more imperfections of my poems.
Monday, October 10, 2022, Indigenous Peoples' Day
Yet some people are still calling this day
Columbus Day ~
And, we wonder why we need World Mental Health Day.
This land of the free and the brave,
rich and poor, black and white and all colors in between,
injustice and color blindness,
powerlessness, cogs in the systems of systems,
phone bills and school loans, mortgages and rent,
global warming and division; masks and unmasked.
But sure ~ meditate they say.
So, I did.
And, then I walked over to my neighbors',
she, too, was meditating.
Ten things I try to feel with my senses
to quiet my chattering mind, she said.
Me too, I replied,
here's some bread I made for you,
and I handed her the round loaf of
crusty artesian bread
I'd made in the cast iron pan
my husband bought for me.
We whined about unfinished window trim
and how many times we have to ask.
I'm making spaghetti, my mom's recipe
and my husband is hunting, she smiled,
I'll text you when it's done.
Okay, I accepted the invitation.
And, I walked back home through the path
in the woods
between her house and mine
and I wrote a poem
while I waited for her dinner bell.
Draft 2022 Shari Daniels
Writing and sharing a poem a day ~
"The writing is inhaling and the sharing is exhaling.
They don't have to be good, they just have to be true."
~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
Writing and sharing a poem a day ~
"The writing is inhaling and the sharing is exhaling.
They don't have to be good, they just have to be true."
~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
To the chatter that stirs a Bru-ha-ha when I accidentally wake at 2:30am because I climbed into bed too early because of the chatter Bru-ha-ha the night before,
It's not necessary for you to attend to my restlessness, to pick the locks of the anxious back doors of my brain causing turbulent mental weather and hopscotching through time and space rounding up all the past forget me nots and future would bees to relish in unproductive wallowing.
I don't need reminders of projects to be due and ones I've not yet invented but put off. And, yes, I realize the earth is a hot mess and my grandchildren and great great grandchildren even possibly will one day point their fingers at me and ask, What did you do to us? And, also, I am conscious of the fact that time is moving faster and faster with each passing year so please. You. Must. Stop. shouting at me my number of years that I've lived versus what I've left. I. CAN. ADD. AND. SUBTRACT.
This is a gentle reminder that should you visit me tomorrow while I am attempting a full eight hours sleep, I'm calling in my Chatter Board of Advisors
and they WILL be attending the meeting.
You will all have some explaining to do to the members in charge.
I will be expecting a full report.
Signed, Tired.
Draft 2022 Shari Daniels
Writing and sharing a poem a day ~
"The writing is inhaling and the sharing is exhaling.
They don't have to be good, they just have to be true."
~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
She knew it was predicted
a coldness forecasted
the signs all there
moments of soft autumn glow,
warmth, softness and comfort.
She knew it couldn't last
many seasons behind her
the chill always returning
to settle the perennial score.
Bring the flowers in -
at least cover them,
she reminds herself,
protect the beauty
stretch each sacred moment
of radiant heaven and bliss.
But she forgets this small act of care
distractions rob her common sense
her careless neglect invites
the creep of silent hoar.
In the morn, distress her first alarm
she gently caresses her blooms
wrapped in frozen crystals
and knows that soon each petal
must say good-bye as it wilts away.
I'm so sorry, she whispers to each blossom,
in the sorrow of her deepest gloom
She gazes up at the morning dawn
her reminder of the hopeful light
and she sighs with cautious knowing
for the season to return
to thaw with gentle charm
her garden of the heart.
Draft 2022 Shari Daniels
Sarah Grace Tuttle is hosting Poetry Friday today. Grab some coffee and a scone and head over to read a few poems and share you own.
Islands of My Soul 