Oh my gosh, I love this so much! It feels like a warm familiar hug ❤️ Every example, from the hand-me-downs to the texts to the poop in the potty to the neighbor's shared perennials all stitch such a real, lived in kind of poem.
This is beautiful, Jenny. It is a remarkable testimony to the way love shines through the small moments, threading through our lives in the simplest of ways, and also some of the most joyful (and exasperating!). Thank you for a wonderful poem!
This is wonderfully beautiful and endearing. Love is at the heart of every spirital tradition that I know, when you pare away the rigid fundamentalism often applied by human hands. Thank you for this very lovely reminder. Bless your loving heart.
This is beautiful, Nancy. What a testimony to love, enduring lvoe, grief and the small moments that can bring light and joy into our lives. "I would hear your feet/beating like a bass drum as you/ran up the stairs." As someone who drums, I love these lines, written so well that I can hear, feel and see them.
She was our drummer. Oh, nothing fancy, a djembe. She saw one and attended a workshop at a folk music festival. We got her one for her graduation from elementary to middle school.
I love this beautiful poem, A. What a special day! I chuckled about the mowing. Here in our progressive university tyown, we really encourage "No Mo May" to the point where peopl,e may stop if you are mowing and admonish or educate you. Meanwhile, anxipus folks like me who want to do the right thing, watch the grass grow higher and higher as the rains come down, wondering if I'll every be avbe to mow it.
We go back and forth a lot about how early he mows every year. I don't care about grass, I just want to save the pollinators. But he gets anxious about it because it gets harder the taller it is.
Your partner and I should talk! I agree with you about the pollinators, and the grass eventually will be mowed. But spring is often rainy, and I can hear the grass growing!
I love the smell of new-mown grass, but hate the sound of lawnmowers, especially when the whole neighborhood is mowing on the same day. Every year I ask my hubby not to mow in the month of May. And every year we watch the grass growing day by day. We live in the country and have a leach field--the grass there is close to 18 inches high, and so far, we haven't had a long enough stretch of sun to dry the grass to mow. He's going to have to bushwhack by the end of May.
Kaitlin, thank you so much for this journal entry and poem for today. I have been going through some very rough sickness in the past 10 days, so I needed this. It was a balm. Here is the poem I wrote after reading this journal entry.
All I Ever Needed
By: Chad Abbott
I have been walking through a deep valley and now find
myself up the other side in what seems like more stable
ground. Hope rises still. And thank God. But walking up
and out was not a matter of sheer will or strength.
I had help.
It was the warm cup of ginger tea that soothed.
It was the lemon honey in a small mason jar.
Distilled water misting into the air.
Dogs skipping through the room to check in.
Small love notes from soul kin.
Books that became friends.
A wife unwavering in her wisdom and care.
It was the sun creeping through in the morning and new poetry being born.
Thank you so much, Larry. I am better day by day, but it is slow. Isn't that work of healing, though? Slow. Deliberate. Intentional. When you've been in bed 10 days straight with high fever, you want out and fixed as soon as possible. So, moving slowly towards healing is tough, but it is the very way healing happens. And healing is in the small things. Thanks for the comment.
Sarah, thank you for this poem. It is beautifully crafted and the love within is felt so clearly. As someone who carries anxiety with me, it is confronting to read your poem and the phrase "anxiety creraturues" has just been added to my lexicon!
Ah I'm pleased it spoke to you Larry, thank you 💜 I am big fan of Martha Beck and her latest book, Beyond Anxiety, teaches a method for anxiety creature whispering which I have been trying to practice!
This poem leaves me breathless, Katie. Your creative and unique way of weaving words together is a joy to read. “What if all this time/the leaves were whispering/your name, and your breath/was whispering back”. Is such a compelling opening and feels like a poem by itself. As it is, it is a delightful doorway to the love beyond,
wholly committed to waking this world in kindness ❤️ I love your last lines, too — I was thinking the other day of how, when I see my son sleeping, I feel so much love well up. There's something about that quiet and coziness that reveals all the soft innocence even as he grows. And I wonder if the Earth falls in love with us and other creatures more when we're sleeping, too!
What an engaging, heartwarming and compassionate poem! Kate, I could hear the chickadee and be right there in viewing the "bright waning moon, the morning star/the valley stream." I truly enjoy reading your poems every day!
Love is the Shape of the Sidewalk
Some mornings,
love looks like a clump of kids
in Pokémon hoodies and unicorn backpacks,
racing with abandon,
while parents sip coffee
and recount war stories of the night before—
half-awake, mostly present.
Love is in the porch drop-offs
and porch parties:
day drinking while kids play,
a box of hand-me-downs,
flowers, muffins, or hot cocoa,
tucked inside a small bag
with a big message: I see you.
It's found in the text:
Need anything from the store?
The shoveled sidewalk.
The sedum cuttings and tulip bulbs
that remind us each season—
love is resilient
when tended with care.
It lives in how we share grief,
soothe each other's spirals,
celebrate the smallest wins:
a full night's sleep,
a job interview,
poop in the potty (not yours, probably).
It's in driveway therapy sessions,
and lingers over fence posts
as our kids attempt
to stage a backyard coup.
This is how love holds me—
not loud or showy,
but steady as the perennials
I received from a neighbor's split—
a reminder that together
love blooms bigger, fuller,
and the right amount of community
can compost life's hardest days.
-jmt
🥹🥹♥️♥️
Thank you for these prompts 🤍
As a mom who just a few days ago got that first potty poop, love this! Thanks
Woohoo!!!! Such a huge milestone!
Oh my gosh, I love this so much! It feels like a warm familiar hug ❤️ Every example, from the hand-me-downs to the texts to the poop in the potty to the neighbor's shared perennials all stitch such a real, lived in kind of poem.
A lived in kind of poem, oh I love that so much.
This is powerful, Jenny. Thank you so much!
This is beautiful, Jenny. It is a remarkable testimony to the way love shines through the small moments, threading through our lives in the simplest of ways, and also some of the most joyful (and exasperating!). Thank you for a wonderful poem!
Ik onkar
The first words of the
Guru Granth Sahib
The sacred scripture of the
Sikhi
Tells us we are one
Humanity and Divinity
Wrapped in the holy ties of being
Indistinguishable
–
Not the words I learned
When I sat in the red velvet pew
And heard that
Love was patient
Love was kind
Love came in the way I acted,
Known in the unconditional
Of relationship
–
But now I see the holy words
Are written everywhere
In tongues I cannot speak
In ways I do not walk
In faces never seen before
That speak of a love that is
Me
Not just lives in me
In the spaces between what I say and do
But in my very breathing
In the cells
That make my liver and my hair
–
Ik onkar
If God is me and I am God
How can I not but
Love
Myself.
Love this so much!!
This is wonderfully beautiful and endearing. Love is at the heart of every spirital tradition that I know, when you pare away the rigid fundamentalism often applied by human hands. Thank you for this very lovely reminder. Bless your loving heart.
Very good Margaret, thank you
To be seen
Many will love you
for who you seem to be;
some for who
they think you are,
some for who
they wish you were
or who you could be
if only you tried harder.
Rare is the one
who loves you
undeterred
by who
you really are.
Amen!
Very nice and powerful!
I could write a list
So long
Of all the ways you love me
Big and little,
Loud and quiet,
Seen, unseen ways
That spell out those three words
"I love you"
In the everyday ordinaryness
And mess
Of our busy days
That tether our hearts
Together
With twine
Held strong
even when we are apart.
This is a beautiful love poem, Claire, tender and precious, clear and warm.
In a heart filled to overflowing,
brimming with love with
no place to go…
now that you were dead…
I found a tissue paper wrapped gift.
All during month of September,
you came home with giggles
and secrets, “Don’t come into the kitchen,”
you would call.
I would hear your feet
beating like a bass drum as you
ran up the stairs.
We, AJ, Dad and me, packed away your clothes,
discovering more tissue paper wrapped gifts
squirreled away in various spots.
Gifts made with all the love in your heart,
a heart that brimmed full and spilled it
out everywhere you would go.
On Christmas morning, eleven weeks
after you died…
Gifts from you, with love, were
under the tree.
"Gifts made with all the love in your heart"
that is powerful good.
Thank you, Chuck
This is beautiful, Nancy. What a testimony to love, enduring lvoe, grief and the small moments that can bring light and joy into our lives. "I would hear your feet/beating like a bass drum as you/ran up the stairs." As someone who drums, I love these lines, written so well that I can hear, feel and see them.
She was our drummer. Oh, nothing fancy, a djembe. She saw one and attended a workshop at a folk music festival. We got her one for her graduation from elementary to middle school.
I wrote this one a few days ago, and multiple times considered inserting the line, "that's love, I think" so here we are:
On mother's day,
everyone except my husband
mowed, it seemed. A cacophony
of bladed machines sounding,
one after another.
I have always loved the smell of grass,
and hated the sound of mowing.
I bargain with my husband,
who is itching to cut our sea of green,
for at least a bit of peace
on a day that's meant for me,
and he also concedes
certain patches of the yard,
to leave flowers for the bees,
and for the kids to pick freely,
running in my direction shouting,
"Special delivery!"
I love this beautiful poem, A. What a special day! I chuckled about the mowing. Here in our progressive university tyown, we really encourage "No Mo May" to the point where peopl,e may stop if you are mowing and admonish or educate you. Meanwhile, anxipus folks like me who want to do the right thing, watch the grass grow higher and higher as the rains come down, wondering if I'll every be avbe to mow it.
We go back and forth a lot about how early he mows every year. I don't care about grass, I just want to save the pollinators. But he gets anxious about it because it gets harder the taller it is.
Your partner and I should talk! I agree with you about the pollinators, and the grass eventually will be mowed. But spring is often rainy, and I can hear the grass growing!
I love this A. 💜
I love the smell of new-mown grass, but hate the sound of lawnmowers, especially when the whole neighborhood is mowing on the same day. Every year I ask my hubby not to mow in the month of May. And every year we watch the grass growing day by day. We live in the country and have a leach field--the grass there is close to 18 inches high, and so far, we haven't had a long enough stretch of sun to dry the grass to mow. He's going to have to bushwhack by the end of May.
Kaitlin, thank you so much for this journal entry and poem for today. I have been going through some very rough sickness in the past 10 days, so I needed this. It was a balm. Here is the poem I wrote after reading this journal entry.
All I Ever Needed
By: Chad Abbott
I have been walking through a deep valley and now find
myself up the other side in what seems like more stable
ground. Hope rises still. And thank God. But walking up
and out was not a matter of sheer will or strength.
I had help.
It was the warm cup of ginger tea that soothed.
It was the lemon honey in a small mason jar.
Distilled water misting into the air.
Dogs skipping through the room to check in.
Small love notes from soul kin.
Books that became friends.
A wife unwavering in her wisdom and care.
It was the sun creeping through in the morning and new poetry being born.
It was all love.
And it was all I ever needed.
This is beautiful, and I’m glad you’re feeling a little better and that these words are a balm. Continue to rest! ♥️
Thank you so much. Keep writing. The world needs it.
This is very nice, Chad. May you continue to heal, receive great care from your partner, drink ginger tea and write poems.
Thank you so much, Larry. I am better day by day, but it is slow. Isn't that work of healing, though? Slow. Deliberate. Intentional. When you've been in bed 10 days straight with high fever, you want out and fixed as soon as possible. So, moving slowly towards healing is tough, but it is the very way healing happens. And healing is in the small things. Thanks for the comment.
This is good wisdom Chad. That you got out such a good poem is even more impressive given your illness. I hope you continue to heal and get better!
Like some kind of
Horse Whisperer,
A voice addresses
My anxiety creatures
(I have many).
This voice names them -
Gives them form.
A neon glowing lightbulb
Emitting heat and pressure -
A cartoon can of soda
Full of fizzy energy.
A tiny chipmunk,
Chittering and writhing around.
All are found deep in my core.
And one by one
The creatures tune in -
Start to soften even -
As they are told that
They do not have to change;
They are welcome as they are.
Eventually, purring
And whickering,
The creatures slip off
Into the unknown.
And I alone am left -
Full of gratitude,
Full of Love.
Sarah, thank you for this poem. It is beautifully crafted and the love within is felt so clearly. As someone who carries anxiety with me, it is confronting to read your poem and the phrase "anxiety creraturues" has just been added to my lexicon!
Ah I'm pleased it spoke to you Larry, thank you 💜 I am big fan of Martha Beck and her latest book, Beyond Anxiety, teaches a method for anxiety creature whispering which I have been trying to practice!
Thank you for that recommendation, Sarah! I will check it out! You are a wonderful poet!
That's really kind of you to say 😊
I love discovering new poetry!
What if all this time
the leaves were whispering
your name, and your breath
was whispering back
What if your body has
always been
a moving prayer —
your feet pulling you
to the forest
because they know
where love roots
and your legs know
how to write in movement
across the land
What if your body,
in all your ups and downs
heaves and whoops,
has been drafting
a poem of celebration
knowing one day your mind
would wake up
to the love that’s been
here all along
Wow. Incredible. Saving screenshot of this for myself. Thank you.
This poem leaves me breathless, Katie. Your creative and unique way of weaving words together is a joy to read. “What if all this time/the leaves were whispering/your name, and your breath/was whispering back”. Is such a compelling opening and feels like a poem by itself. As it is, it is a delightful doorway to the love beyond,
Thank you, Larry!
Signs of Love
The breeze, softly touching my face,
Scented with verdure, with growth.
The rain, gushing out of the sky,
Watering the roses,
Refreshing the raised beds.
The dawn, reliably returning, again and again,
Newness every morning.
The birds, and squirrels, and deer,
Also returning to this place,
Once the rain has ceased, and the sun has warmed the grass.
And finally, the one who shares his love with me,
Stirring from his dreams,
And joining me for coffee.
This is so wonderfully warm, descriptive and ends so beautifully and tenderly. Thank you Karen, for sharing such a lovely poem.
Thanks Larry!
Love happens like chlorophyll,
which eats light itself
and gives life.
Though we have the fancy name
"photosynthesis" for it,
it happens unseen until
we see its fruits.
Obsessed 😍 love happens like chlorophyll!!
I like the creative art of this poem! Chlorophyll and photosynthesis, I have not heard those riffs in a long time.
I started this poem in an entirely different place and thoughts, and somehow this emerged.
Love’s flame flickered
that first time I saw you.
The fire caught that initial time
we spoke,
the sparks ignited into perpetual flame
as we began our journey together.
^
Shining graceful dances,
hopeful leaps of faith,
losses that seemed to have no end,
Brought us to places we never
dreamed we go.
Far too off the beaten track
for even our wildest romantic visions.
^
Like the treks we have made,
winding through this glorious mystery,
some of the climbs have been steeper
than we ever realized.
The downhills often buckling our knees,
the waters deeper than our enduring love.
^
Four decades on we gaze at each other,
wondering “how did this ever happen?”
even as we softly whisper, “I love you.”
^
May we hold those quiet whispers
gently in our hearts and spirits,
when tears are endless waterfalls,
years have run out of rivers to cross
and there are no more trails to follow.
Let our love still light our way through
the darkness.
Larry, this is so beautiful. Those last two lines gave me chills - what a way to honor your love ❤️
Thank you Katie. It is so easy to get inspired by the wonderful poets here, like you!
A beautiful poem and love story
Thank you Jess!
I love the simplicity of your poem and the reminder that love is revealed in what we do. Thank you for this blessing in poetry every day this month.
I place the S’more truffle on the counter, where you will find it when you arrive home from work.
Chocolate has always been your love language. A little love note from me to you.
Yes! I want smores, chocolate truffles and sweet things after reading your evocative poem. Thank you Jane!
still mostly dark
the chickadee calls out,
clear and strong, wholly
committed to waking this world
in kindness, alongside
the bright waning moon, the morning star,
the valley stream— all these gentle
morning heralds
of a land so longing
for our love, so willing
to hold us in our sleep.
wholly committed to waking this world in kindness ❤️ I love your last lines, too — I was thinking the other day of how, when I see my son sleeping, I feel so much love well up. There's something about that quiet and coziness that reveals all the soft innocence even as he grows. And I wonder if the Earth falls in love with us and other creatures more when we're sleeping, too!
This is brilliant Katie! I hope Earth does...
🥹 this is the most beautiful thing to envision… all of us being loved with that motherly love in our sleep 💔 so so beautiful.
What an engaging, heartwarming and compassionate poem! Kate, I could hear the chickadee and be right there in viewing the "bright waning moon, the morning star/the valley stream." I truly enjoy reading your poems every day!
Thank you dear Larry ♥️
it is truly my joy, Kate!
“Love” is what I call her…
Because she is my love,
Made by love,
Deserving of love,
And I intend to give
Her the kindness,
And the patience
Given me by Grace,
Bearing all things,
Accepting all things
As part of our love’s journey.
A hearty amen to this, Korie!