Tag: poem

This Formulation of Will.

I’ve always loved the perspective offered in poet, Theodore Roethke’s words. He speaks of the inherent passions within, and the need for the soul’s unabiding exploration.

“I fear those shadows most that start from my own feet,” he writes. Those shadows which are self created; a formulation of desire and will.

We mark the darkness, yet miss the light.

Yet something as simple as silence carries us home. Through which the heart finds pace within the ‘symphony’ of world.

And, caring not these ‘requirements’ of day – the sustenance of a society driven to impress.

In these moments, we find our place – within the arms of Nature’s tender embrace.

“The fields stretch out in long unbroken rows.
We walk aware of what is far and close.
Here distance is familiar as a friend.
The feud we kept with space comes to an end.”

In peace, my loves…

Namaste ❤️

This Song of Soul.

I watched a young man standing alone on the train platform today. In his hands, a book clearly weathered with age and the hopes of connecting to something much deeper still.

“My grandmother gave it to me,” he smiled. “On my 17th birthday; I haven’t left home without it since.”

As he shifted his hand, I noted the title ~ ‘Leaves of Grass’, a collection of poetry by American author, Walt Whitman.

It reminded me of one of my favorite passages, representing the capacity of the human spirit to find divinity amongst life’s simpler things.

“I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume, you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you…
clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.”

My loves, there is a connection which presides between two human souls. A common energy, to be explored and cherished; a sentiment of heart which extends beyond words.

And, creating the means by which all good things come into light, and the sweetness of soul is ultimately found.

These are the moments in which we escape the habit of forced measure; welcoming, the generosity of acceptance instead.

In this space, we find soul’s ultimate ‘song’ and our heart finds courage enough to sing. And knowing, we are both the ‘poet of the body, and of the soul.’

In peace, my loves..

Namaste ❤️

A Moment of Resilience.

What does it mean to have resilience, my loves?

Is it an energy born only of circumstance? Challenges in life which might surely topple another?

Or, is it manifested through the subtleties of tale in which the downtrodden maiden seeks hope through a kiss?

Neither of which might alter the outcome – that of a Phoenix rising as others lose faith.

We are never the limits of a single moment, my loves. Rather, we are the shifting light from a crystal’s occlusion.

Born of these conditions, yes – but never limited to them.

Ours is a path unfolded to choosing.

And, ours is a destiny modeled through doing.

A little something to consider, my friends – that often a single blessing can justify the journey.

In peace…

Namaste ❤️

Sent from my iPhone

I’ll Never Forget a Dog Named Beau.

[blockquote source=”Jimmy Stewart”]”After [Beau] died there were a lot of nights when I was certain that I could feel him get into bed beside me and I would reach out and pat his head. The feeling was so real that I wrote a poem about it and how much it hurt to realize that he wasn’t going to be there any more.’”[/blockquote]

When legendary film actor Jimmy Stewart visited Johnny Carson on the set of The Tonight Show, he shared with him one of his many other loves.That is, his love of poetry….and, more so, of a little dog named “Beau.”

At first, the audience giggled with delight – but it had a much different effect towards the end.

It’s impossible to put into words that which happened next – becoming one of the most touching tributes between a man and his beloved dog.

I’ll Never Forget a Dog Named Beau

by Jimmy Stewart

He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn’t come at all.

When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.

Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn’t drag.
He’d dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I’d grab him, he’d turn and bite me.

He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn’t read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.

He set the house on fire
But the story’s long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.

On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.

He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.

But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.

We are early-to-bedders at our house — I guess I’m the first to retire.
And as I’d leave the room he’d look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I’d give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I’d fish it out with a smile.

And before very long He’d tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner In no time at all.
And there were nights when I’d feel him Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I’d pat his head.

And there were nights when I’d feel this stare
And I’d wake up and he’d be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I’d feel him sigh and I think I know the reason why.

He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he’d be glad to have me near.

And now he’s dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
And there are nights when I think I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he’s not there.

Oh, how I wish that wasn’t so,
I’ll always love a dog named Beau.

Pressing Pause on Our Frenzied Pace.

I had a few extra moments upon waking this morning, a rare and most cherished delight in my day.

I like to think of time as a gift, you see. And these, unexpected instances where I may step reverently through my thoughts before the noise of the day settles in…are indeed a most wonderful blessing.

Generally speaking, my very best thoughts tend to find me in this space where my mind is still enough for my heart to finally hear.

It’s here that I find clarity, hope, and purpose – and all the strength I need to carry on.

And yet, in looking out my back porch window – I can’t help but note the frenzied pace, of parents shuffling children off to school bus stops and other places. In such a rush, they do not savor – these few short moments which really matter.

Why are we in such a rush these days? That even making memories has become so schedule driven?

And, just when did our morning cup get banished to a travel mug?

My dears, this life…it’s not a race…slow your pace.
Because, these moments lost are gone forever…and there’s just no getting back what we pushed off to never.So, what is it that you’re waiting for…to finally let go of those schedule driven reigns.
Life is not a Race.
Unknown
Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain
Slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?You better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.Do you run through each day
On the fly?
When you ask How are you?
Do you hear the reply?

When the day is done
Do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through your head?

You better slow down
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.

Ever told your child,
We’ll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say “hi”

You better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.
When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift…
Thrown away.

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song’s over.