life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Poetry”

it was bouncing around in my brain this morning Β  – Linda Clark

  
Getting it Right—Write!

I have a notion

I must confess

A notion you see

That has me quite obsessed
It sits in my head 

both day and night

it haunts my dreams

and gives me great fright
It rules my thoughts

this little notion

stirring up doubts

and causing a commotion
It wiggles and niggles

in my brain

with a feverish pitch

it drives me insane
This obsession you ask

what could it be?

My obsession is a task

I seek endlessly!
To get it right

To do my best

To show I’m bright

I can pass the test
This feeling to get it right

Is ever so strong

I work day and night

To not get it wrong
I was given great insight

About this “getting it right”

I just learned recently

A truth that has finally set me free
It’s not it at all

about getting it right.

It’s about happiness and light

and letting your soul shine bright
No have to’s

No pressure

No should’s

Did me a world of good!
So no longer will I labor

to get it right 

I will do my best

to give it a rest! 
So In my chair I sit and write

No longer will I yearn

or worry with concern

it’s quite easy once when you learn
I will change my mantra

and simply ignore

those three little words

I was obsessed with before
What’s my new mantra

you might ask

I’ve changed my word

just a small task
I am no longer worried

about that word right

I will feed my soul

and simply WRITE!! 

πŸŒ€

Linda Clark

   

  

We seldom notice how each day is a holy place
 Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,

 Transforming our broken fragments

 Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.
Somewhere in us a dignity presides

 That is more gracious than the smallness

 That fuels us with fear and force,

 A dignity that trusts the form a day takes. 
So at the end of this day, we give thanks

 For being betrothed to the unknown

 And for the secret work

 Through which the mind of the day

 And wisdom of the soul become one. 

πŸ”Ή

John O’Donohue
 

 
http://www.creativesoulsart.com

for the love of all things poetry πŸ’ž Β 

 

 I fit words together, 
hoping they mean something.  

Wanting them to make sense. 

To myself. 

To others. 

Allowing them my raw emotion. 

Willing to give them up freely. 

Creating a monument, 

for this one moment in time, 

to share with the world. 

These words become something tangible. 

A thing, 

a gift, 

a piece of art. 

A part of me, 

stays with them. 

Little pieces of me live, 

like shapes in a puzzle, 

becoming 

a picture, 

a flower, 

a song. 

Small particles of my soul, 

like tiny rose buds,

opening in my hand, 

mesmerizes with it’s 

beauty, 

touch, 

fragrance. 

I write words on a page, 

and feel love 

spreading outward, 

as the flowering happens, 

as this thought blooms. 

As words become thoughts about… 

As the pieces become beautiful… 

As the poem is born, 

of water, 

blood, 

star dust 

and becomes… 

a small piece of my soul,

left behind on pages, 

for others to find, 

sharing a small moment, 

never to be lost, 

because it has been 

recorded, 

acknowledged, 

emptied. 

Gratitude makes room for new 

miracles, 

learning, 

beauty, 

as they find their new home 

ready, 

emptied, 

expectant. 

Waiting for more 

truth, 

goodness, 

love, 

to flow and enter in. 

There is always more, 

and more than enough. 

The heart that gives gathers, 

but never tries to hold anything hostage. 

Love, 

giving, 

pretty much everything, 

about life, 

only works when we allow it, 

all of it –

every sacred cow, 

every color on the wheel,

every tiny wildflower we see,

every spec of mud, 

to be free. 

❣

AL

 

  

  
Photos found at http://www.pinterest.com 

  

even on the hard days Β  Β 

  Respectfully given,

exalted being

full of grace,

remember to forget:

surrender struggles to catch it’s breath,

then falls soft

as evening prayers at twilight,

gathering into the corners of our hearts

before falling full 

onto the center of our living circle,

 free and happy as a Friday night. 

next morning’s sun fills us, 

each day, each season. 

nurture moves with grace, 

evolving slowly thru 

our caring hands,

our grieving hearts,

our shared experience, 

our acts of courage,

the healing salt of our tears,

the energy generation of our joy. 

with pieces of our true love,

we fly flags, 

of prayer,

of peace,

of poems,

of our own making 

to heal the worlds – 

within us/

without us. 

we allow –

simply complex. 

we understand –

clearly unclear. 

we stand and fill our world with 

the beauty,

the mystery,

of sound,

of hum,

of laughter,

of voice,

of music,

protecting us 

from lesser gods,

the terror all around. 

love is the shield, 

love is the answer,

love is the choice,

love is our glory,

our salvation,

crowning us 

sons and daughters 

of the King. 

at times,

in spite of our broken pieces,

our refusal to believe,

even our darkened hearts. 

 –

astonishing, 

isn’t it?

❣

AL

A sob in the night 

awakens us from dreams,
a crack opens in the wall

and in seeps the dark stream
with pieces of broken things in it,

and blood, and our own ragged edge,
and in seeps the light,

and the voice singing.
We want to pull the wall around us,

the sorrow pouring in,
but it is breached now,

it is only an illusion,
and we are out in the dangerous light,

the fragile street,
tender as everyone else,

ready to duck, ready to weep.
We are all refugees now,

foreigners, except to foreigners.
It’s the egg that is cracked,

the stone rolled away.
If there is a place for love,

for your own brave soul, this is it.
The cord in another’s heart

knotted in yours, 
the hand reaching for you

you can reach out to.
Terror and the stillness,

and the voice singing. 
__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

   
   
and for each person in this world πŸ™πŸ»

da da da dada

 

I’m not asking for permission
tho I thank you for your good intentions in the giving

I surrender to 

life

voice

purpose

passion 

healing

love

music

breath

spirit

joy

peace

you do what you want

with, or without, permission,

I won’t mind 

just remember:

I won’t go down without a fight

da da da dada

da da da dada

da da da dada da da da da…

just play your funky music

and keep on dancing

πŸ’ž

AL 

(with a little inspiration from my friends) 

Listen to Serenity Fisher sing Rose Red

  

so inviting

  
AWAKEN TO THE INVITATION

As the density of night gives way to the bright song of the dawn, so your soul continually coaxes you to give way to the light and awaken. Longing is the voice of your soul, it constantly calls you to be fully present in your life: to live to the full the one life given to you. Rilke said to the young poet, “Live everything.” You are here on earth now, yet you forget so easily. You traveled a great distance to get here. The dream of your life has been dreamed from eternity. You belong within a great embrace that urges you to have the courage to honor the immensity that sleeps in your heart. When you learn to listen to and trust the wisdom of your soul’s longing, you will awaken to the invitation of graced belonging that inhabits the generous depths of your destiny. You will become aware of the miracle of presence within and around you. 
    – John O’Donohue 
   
    

  

 Like this ocean 
Needs the moon 

Like my coffee 

Needs the cream 

Like my music 

Bleeds dark blue 

So do I need you 
Like the body 

Water craves 

Like the frugal 

Money save 

Like the artist 

Must create 

So do I need you 
I need you 

like breathe 

Like food 

Like rain 

I need you 

Right now 

And every day 

Like the waves 

Must kiss the shore 

So do I need you 

Always 

So do I need you 

πŸ”Ή

AL

 

  

πŸ”Ή

photos found at www.pinterest.com 

  

mediocrity…never…the battle is on! Β Β 

 

 Feeling empty and unstrung
I wake from my dream 

warnings of being unwilling to change

of being stuck in one place

unwilling to do things different

I sit at my desk 

afraid 

because this dream was not about you

it was about me

and it scares the hell outta me

that it is what I will allow. 
I know 

the tractor beam of mediocrity is on –

will my shields hold?

Will I stay out of the pig pen, 

or just give up and wallow in the stinky mud?

The comfortable parking space calls me..
All this,

and the glaring monotony,

the forced prison,

of my day 

stares at me. 

how will I break this day open?

how will I know I have 

reached beyond my need for security?

how will I battle my own resistance?

how will I stay focused on my own need,

and not distract myself with yours?

I open poems by Mary Oliver

The Moths is all it takes!

I feel the door of freedom swing open wide. 

I write

I post

I say ‘thank you’

for these, and all the other words. 

Within the hour I get a comment from Oriah, whose poem,

 The Invitation, 

was a life changer

and I know life

has answered my need to know

that I am connected to the whole

I feast 

on bacon 

with a side of strawberries n cream & passion fruit Godiva truffles

knowing there is always 

more goodness

than I could ever eat up

my cup is overfull and sticky 

from all that honey 

from all those 

beauti-ous bees. 

🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

AL (Oct 2013)

   
  

Listen to Willie Nelson sing This Face http://youtu.be/_79LW9_OIUA 
😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

Find photo sources at www.pinterest.com/al513

The mind must

set itself up

wherever it goes

and it would be

most convenient

to impose its

old roomsβ€”just

tack them up

like an interior

tent. Oh but

the new holes 

aren’t where 

the windows

went. 

🏑🏠🏠🏑🏠🏑🏠🏑

New Rooms by Kay Ryan

a poem a day Β 

 

All poems are not equal
Just like grades of meat

and paper towels,

there are poems that are tough to chew on, stringy even

then there poems that melt into your mouth and soul, like velvety cream

some poems are flavored to perfection

and lots of poems with no salt

There are sturdy poems which mop up the spills of your heart

and thin poems, flimsy, ones that fall apart when you try to use them

There are poems that move and feel good in your hands

and poems that make your skin crawl when you read them. 

No, all poems are not equal –

sometimes I wonder 

why I like this thing called ‘poetry’ at all. 

At other times I know exactly 

why I have fallen so passionately

in love. 

❀️

AL

Listen to Stephen Burt at TEDx on Why We Need poetry http://www.ted.com/talks/stephen_burt_why_people_need_poetry

   
    
    
Listen to John Denver sing Poems, Prayers and Promises http://youtu.be/M6PEsa36SRY β€οΈ

photo sources found at www.pinterest.com/al513

   
 

❀️

for you…

 

 

bullfrogs and writing poems

  There are no creatures you cannot love.
A frog calling at God

From the moon-filled ditch

As you stand on the country road in the June night.

The sound is enough to make the stars weep

With happiness.

In the morning the landscape green

Is lifted off the ground by the scent of grass.

The day is carried across its hours

Without any effort by the shining insects

That are living their secret lives.

The space between the prairie horizons

Makes us ache with its beauty.

Cottonwood leaves click in an ancient tongue

To the farthest cold dark in the universe.

The cottonwood also talks to you

Of breeze and speckled sunlight.

You are at home in these

great empty places

along with red-wing blackbirds and sloughs.

You are comfortable in this spot

so full of grace and being

that it sparkles like jewels

spilled on water. 

🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸

From a Country Overlooked by Tom Hennen

 

 Some days the words flow
all day

pouring

smooth and beautiful

words dancing

in streams 

like fish in a pond

jumping in the sun

while bullfrogs 

talk –

their amazing 

deep bass voices

croaking conversations 

vibrating through the air

and grasshoppers 

scrape their legs 

like bows on violin strings

in that cool raspy sound

free form jazz

only they can make. 

these are sounds 

that define summer

for all of us 

southern girls and boys

who grew up in the country

where our entertainment 

was driving through town 

waving to each other

playing country music 

or Lynyrd Skynyrd

loud 

on truck radios

while coke-a-cola

and kick-a-boo joy juice

keeps us cool 

as we hold hands

and sneak kisses

yes, some days

words flow like a 

hot summer night

in the south

and some days

all the words fly north

and I am bare naked bones

searching 

bereft 

trying to light 

wild fires in wet fields

trees with bare branches 

scrape the grey sky

nothing is beautiful

no birds sing

the flow 

is frozen 

in time

I sit 

like a Bronte novel heroine

in my moldy wedding dress

alone

in silence

waiting

for my lover

to return to me

AL 🐸

 

 Listen to Ella & Louis sing Summetime http://youtu.be/lnXLVTi_m_M
🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸

photo sources found at www.pinterest.com

 

leaps & boundsΒ 

 
When you send forth your spirit, we are created

                  β€”Psalm 104.30

Holy One,

         breath of the big bang,

         idea of creation,

you who make spring come forth,

         who make life out of nothing,

breathe yourself into me.

         Create me.

you are the flame,

         I am your light.

You are the nerve,

         I am your muscle.

You are the Word,

         I am the story.

You are the song,

         I am the singing.

I am one with you

         and one with all Creation.

One Spirit, 

         one flesh, many forms.

In your Spirit 

         I am we.

Holy One, live in me;
         I am your body.

I remember,

         and I live. 

__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

πŸŒŒπŸŒ„πŸŒ…πŸ—»πŸŒˆπŸ—ΎπŸŒ‹πŸŒ πŸŒ

my words my world my earth my sky

   you are them all

my notes my music my score my song

    you are them all

my heart my soul my mind my life

   you are them all

my blood my breath my skin my bones

   you are them all 

everything I am everything I hope to be

    you are them all

AL 

 

Listen to Amos Lee sing Learned A Lot http://youtu.be/wgzFPP-Fa8o 
πŸ—ΎπŸŒ πŸ—»πŸŒ„πŸŒπŸŒˆπŸŒŒπŸŒ‹πŸŒ…

photo sources found at www.pinterest.com/al513

[God] seems to delight in using the unexpected, the least likely, or the weakest link to turn our lives upside down and inside out . . . and fulfill the plan he has had in mind since the beginning of time.

~ Thelma Well

   

πŸ’ž  

I am a poet

  It has taken a while to embrace the poet.

The desire having been born much later in life,
to write poetry,
to bring to life, with words,
what I see, feel, moments of sanguinity.

I have never doubted the words I have written
because they were written in truth, my truth.
But I did doubt the title.
Poet.
What? These lines? Poetry?

There was too much significance behind the title.
A poet.
Wordsworth, Shelley, Dickinson, Frost, Walt Whitman…
Oh my. The idea left me breathless.
What was I playing at?

But then, the answer was blindingly simple.
Take away the significance.

Aren’t poems moments of grace, of revelation?

Humming to a birdsong,
delighting at the sight of valleys and mountains,
closing our eyes in ecstasy at the sweetness of a fruit
or the texture of bark under our fingertips…
Aren’t these the poetic murmurings of one’s heart?

While some of us choose to put it all on paper,
others choose to carry it all within their hearts.
Well then, underneath the cloak of conventionality,
aren’t we all poetic?
Aren’t we all poets?

πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€

I am a poet by Rama Desai

https://ramaink.wordpress.com/author/ramaink/
πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€πŸ‘€

 

   

  Listen to Lake Street Dive sing We Love All the Same Songs http://youtu.be/9sNbyjfgccc
photo sources found at www.pinterest.com/513

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