#1 – Read More Poetry

Between now and March 22, I am happy to share “50 Ideas Worth Fighting For.”



“Poetry is language against which we have no defenses.”

{David Whyte}

Do you know that feeling, that feeling of something being so overwhelmingly right and clear that you have no words to describe it? That’s what poetry’s for.

Do you know that feeling of being so immeasurably sad, grief-stricken and broken that you have no words to describe it? That’s what poetry’s for.

Do you know that feeling of being so overwhelmed with awe and wonder at the creation that surrounds you? That’s what poetry’s for.

Poetry is how we fill in the space between what we can explain and what we cannot. It is how we make sense of the in-between, our thresholds, our liminal space. It is how we celebrate what we do not know or understand. It is how we ground our self in our not knowing.

Poetry belongs in the bedroom and the boardroom. It belongs around the dinner table, at the cafe and in the classroom. It belongs in the hardest conversations when we are utterly vulnerable as well as in the most joyful ones when we are, yet again, utterly vulnerable. It belongs at every wedding and funeral and birthday and breakfast.

Poetry is the stuff of life, the language equivalent of our very lifeblood.

Here are a few recommendations for getting more poetry into your daily, working, living, feeling life. Please, please use them. It will be – it is – a far better world when we do.



“I’m less interested in people respecting poetry. I’m really interested in people realizing that poetry respects them.”
{Pádraig Ó Tuama}

woman sitting while reading a book

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Poem for a Sunday Morning

Dear Mona
{Naomi Shihab Nye}

Dear Mona, do you know
how your old stucco building
marks the spot of Something True?
Your hand-lettered red sign rises up
like a crooked, friendly flag.
I can guess the menu:
bean & cheese, potato & egg,
maybe a specialty of your own making,
avocado twist or smoky salsa.
Your nombre is nice.
One taco might be enough.
You feed the ranchers who just lived through
the worst drought and flood back-to-back.
They touch the brims of their hats
when they see you.
Don’t we all need someone to greet us
to make us feel alive?

West of town, soft fields
ease our city-cluttered eyes,
There’s a rim of hills to hope for up ahead.
Mona, mysterious Mona,
I don’t have to eat with you to love you.
Every morning I think, Mona’s up.


three purple plastic chairs

Photo by Rebecca Swafford on Pexels.com

Poems for a Sunday Morning

Three short poems by Bill Knott.


WRONG

I wish to be misunderstood;
that is,
to be understood from your perspective.


FOOTNOTE

All of us who lived on Earth
and all our loves and wars
may not appear at all
in the moon’s memoirs.


QUICKIE

Poetry
is
like
sex
on
quicksand
ergo
foreplay
should
be
kept
at
a
minimum.


white and black moon with black skies and body of water photography during night time

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com