Category: Poetry

An Ode to Mornings – Accidental Poetry

Not necessarily a Disney princess singing to birds type….

Sometimes when I’m doing my Inner Voice Exploration Practice AKA #morningpages Poetry spills out. I’ve spent my whole life being “not a morning person” to the point of almost pride – because owning it was the only way to not let it further damage my self-worth. But the truth is, I’ve always wanted to be one, a morning person. Not necessarily a Disney princess singing to birds type, but at least able to get out of bed not feeling like a zombie and have the drive to do things, any of the things, that I want to do to improve the way I show up in the world. Anywho as I was writing about this struggle the following came out…(I don’t feel it’s my best work, it’s a bit forced but my process means I am committed to acknowledging and sharing my work no matter how I feel about it…it is definitely a PROCESS) I am still working on knowing what experiences are ME and what are byproducts of bipolar mood swings but I’m really hoping that my new found love of my mornings is due to my work and not just some hypomania drive. We will find out over time I guess 😀

Making peace with mornings

Morning breaks creeping slowly across the sky
you toss and turn your back
there is no joy in the sunrise
experience tells us there is pain
and so we being each day the same
broken, beaten, heavy
carrying the weight of yesterdays
and all the yesterdays yet to come
the ghosts of hurt, loss, injustice
cling to your mind and spirit
moving slowly we try to brush them off
some we are afraid to release
the sadness proof of our journey
our scars have begun to define us
this is no way to learn to fly
but we have begun to change
little by painstakingly little
each new dawn another chance
to become something new, ourselves
breathing deep, reaching further down
shake, cry, stretch, release
making mornings sacred healing
we shrug and unburden ourselves
the dark shadows start to fand
we are beginning to look forward
not to yesterdays, but to tomorrows
to now
the power of possibility
begins to rise with the sun
and we are transformed
It’s finally today and today and today
we arise new, open, ready, hopeful
Welcome Morning
what shall we discover today?

Found Poetry Break – Farming Fertile Fields

Just a little poem about how words are always waiting to sprout if we take the time to cultivate them ❤

FB Post 2.4.2021


AH HA ===

Poem Idea to completion to posting…

9minutes gotta be a record LOL

Farming Fertile Fields

What is the function of my words

To harm, to learn, to instruct

Are they written to scold to scorn

Or to remember

And to heal

Are we traipsing over solid ground

And tilling up its pain

Or are we digging up the bodies

So that they can be blessed

And laid to rest in peace

Have fallow fields been

Cursed or just left too long alone

Are they beyond redemption or

Do they simply need to be

Planted, Irrigated, Cultivated

Nurtured, Cradled, Protected

Can they be reclaimed

Restored

Rejoiced

The words are the fruits of the seeds

The fields are barren no more.

Poetry Break – Words On The Page

(from a FB post March 2021) last night I dreamt that I was drowning in purple ink… and it struck me this morning that I had started writing poems every day and then just stopped.

Not sure I want to keep up an everyday thing, but it was obvious my one-shot poetry was keeping my mind at ease somehow.

SO not sure if that was a case of doing something else creative to unblock or that my artist was saying hey it’s great you enjoy this thing too…but the words still want to come out.

Guess I’m back to writing… Words on the Page

When I write with pen and paper the words bleed themselves onto the page

The hand moves to catch up but the words have already decided where they will be

If music plays in the background my mind follows it out of the way of the words

They crawl out hesitantly at first not sure if they will be sequestered yet again

They have often flowed joyously onto pages shifting, teasing, searching, seeking

Only to be disparaged, judged, ridiculed no peace no kind word of encouragement

Thrashed and beaten they retreat not wishing to be scolded for existing

And now I sit ready, weeping for all the times I punished those words

Those sweet words that understood my thoughts, my pains, my fleeting joys

Words that began as meaningless mumbles mere scratches on the page

Those words that grew and appeared and filled the pages with healing with release

Over and over, they tried to be there coaxing helping pleading only to be rebuked

Once again looking for refuge once again crawling back my schemes and ideas vanishing

Fading into the fears swallowed up by pride and ego and crushing doubt

The words they never fail me

even when I’ve done my best to silence them

They will still slowly return

Both of us hoping this time I’ll let them stay

Let them live

Let them breathe

Let them be imperfect

And True.