This is so beautiful Pascale, and I can feel and hear every word. Your poem is full of honesty, courage, wisdom and truth, and your closing words ring so true--our worth and goodness are not tetehred to our prodictivity. Thank you for the light you bring, here and elsewhere.
Thanks Kaitlin for your poem today, the simplicity of understanding and exploring our gifts. "while holding it loosely." It is good to be back here today, I have been away for several days at a family reunion. Here is my poem today on purpose...
.
Maybe there is a grand purpose for being here,
a majestic unity composed of multiplicity.
Or perhaps it is all a random convergence,
an intersection of indiscriminate variables.
.
Maybe purpose is all about what I do in the world,
my work, what I create, my outer vocation.
Or is it an inborn calling, a formless passion,
to simply align with life, present as love and care.
I believe each life is a puzzle piece, part of the grand puzzle called humanity. Our purpose lived out determines whether our piece enhances the whole or leaves it unchanged or weakened. Hopefully our purpose realized leaves our world better for our having been here. Jordan Peterson suggests "start by making your bed each morning."
This is splendid, A.M. I like each line and really LOVE the last stanza! “ We are here only to delight in them iii, what better use Of love is there.” Beautiful!
Absolutely right on, Sarah! It is so hard to let go of those deep lessons from long ago--yes, they run deep, but each movement way from them and towards wholeness is a step closer. You are a queen and you need no permission!
It is a beauitful, sunny, blue sky day here in New Hampshire, and the gist of this poem came to me this morning while riding my bike along the ocean. Rhyming is not my forte, but it just came out this way.
Purpose?
^
Here come the chaos makers,
desperate bakers of toxicity,
sowing division and calling it vision,
intolerant peddlers of absolute “truth.”
^
Angry and frantic without much purpose,
fears and jeers their only surplus
hidden beneath but not on the surface
the primary conductors of the circus.
^
Heckles and freckles,
wisdom the size of a speckle
playing Hyde disguised as Jekyll
their sworn word not worth a shekel.
^
Often the loudest voices, these prophets of doom,
taking the greatest joy and painting it gloom
their narrow lanes clear the rooms
turning every whisper into kaboom.
^
Spinning lies and calling it truth,
wild tales without any proof,
viewing the sky and seeing a roof,
like a shaky dentist with only one tooth.
^
They’d just as soon that you and I
leave the arena with dust in our eyes
or be caught on camera with fingers in their pies,
When I worry about my purpose
I remember the chickens I used to have.
They had elevator music playing in their heads
But by golly, they were focused.
They pecked and scratched
And searched for bugs
And dust-bathed and sun-bathed
As if the world depended on it.
And why shouldn't they?
This is what chickens do.
So when I pick up a pencil
To draw or to write,
When I make food and share food
And walk in the sun,
I have found my purpose after all:
This is what humans do.
Some days I just want to be a chicken.
Oh, yes!
Yep
I love this!
So simply stated!
I love this poem so much. A grand theme brought back to such playful, grounded images!
Love this Lisa, simply be the human animal we are.
As one who constantly worries and wonders about their purpose - hear hear!
Lisa, I suspect you have many purposes, and one once was to feed those chickens!
P U R P O S E
It is both the fire and the sanctuary
My propulsion and my rest
My burden and my release
Burning urgency and steadfast patience
Fierce and fragile
Consuming and also quietly calm
I will hold you with loving care.
Become acquainted with your desires.
Kindle you and let you stoke my flames
Soothe you and let you ground me here
Love "It is both the fire and the sanctuary" and "Burning urgency and steadfast patience"
What a nice poem prayer for this morning. Thank you, Ange.
I’m no sloth.
I’m a human
with a sensitive
nervous system
frazzled by decades
of exposure to the
wreckage wrought
by our Anthropocene,
and overextending myself
in environments not
designed for my thriving
all for the elusive sense
of belonging.
They say “bloom
where you are planted”—
and bring forth fruit to show for
your hard work—
but the soil of my grounding
And the air I breathe
is toxic.
So my aching joints
and my fatigued flesh
confining me daily to my bed
are a defiant fuck you
to the Protestant work ethic.
My body I’ve long ignored
reminds me hour by hour
that my worth and goodness
is inherent, my purpose
not tethered to my productivity.
Really beautiful!
‘overextending myself
in environments not
designed for my thriving’ - yes yes 👌
🔥🔥🔥
"my purpose not tethered to my productivity." Yes.
Yes yes yes -- thank you for putting this to words and sharing it.
This is so beautiful Pascale, and I can feel and hear every word. Your poem is full of honesty, courage, wisdom and truth, and your closing words ring so true--our worth and goodness are not tetehred to our prodictivity. Thank you for the light you bring, here and elsewhere.
Purpose
It’s one of those words
that’s been kidnapped
by the Grindstone Gang.
They’ve created a list
of all the ways
we can be ground down
by the economic buffoons
of Comparison, Competition,
and Consumption.
It’s taken me a long time
to realize that our purpose —
the only one that has true worth —
is to be and become
our true selves.
Here’s something I wrote
for a friend, about 6 years ago,
which really turned out
to be about me:
You-ness
Please take care of yourself,
and don't be afraid
to let other tender-hearted souls
care for you.
You're the only you
the cosmos has,
and the world not only has
a great purpose for you,
it — and we — also have
a great need
for your you-ness.
‘Comparison, Competition,
and Consumption’ 👌
“kidnapped by the Grindstone Gang” omg I’m howling. PREACH! 🙌🏼
Wise words!!!
“Wrote it for a friend which really turned out to be about me”. Pure magic brother.
This is sweet work, Todd. And I say amen to your call to be authentically, you, me, us!
Ooof I like this!
'Purpose'
Even the word sounds like pressure
the need to prioritise
and be productive
in pursuit of some
clearly. defined. goal.
...
But what if I
repurpose that interpretation
and claim as
my purpose
finding joy in the moment
delight in the small things
encouragement in a smile
hope in the love we share?
Yes, that will be
my purpose.
Repurpose my purpose.
Yes, Jane! I am right with you. Your opening is superb and so creative:
"Purpose'
Even the word sounds like pressure
the need to prioritise
and be productive
in pursuit of some
clearly. defined. goal."
This rings so true!
That is a wonderful purpose indeed!
how many folks
reach it.
.
how many folks
keep reaching.
.
how many folks
just settle on the first sparkly thing
within reach.
To the point! Thanks Chuck.
Amen, Chuck! Hard to resist those darn "sparkly things!"
Thanks Kaitlin for your poem today, the simplicity of understanding and exploring our gifts. "while holding it loosely." It is good to be back here today, I have been away for several days at a family reunion. Here is my poem today on purpose...
.
Maybe there is a grand purpose for being here,
a majestic unity composed of multiplicity.
Or perhaps it is all a random convergence,
an intersection of indiscriminate variables.
.
Maybe purpose is all about what I do in the world,
my work, what I create, my outer vocation.
Or is it an inborn calling, a formless passion,
to simply align with life, present as love and care.
.
Maybe the purpose of it all is not to take sides,
these polarities of contradiction and opposition.
But to let the various voices of life and time
fuse together as an intermingling of meaning.
I believe each life is a puzzle piece, part of the grand puzzle called humanity. Our purpose lived out determines whether our piece enhances the whole or leaves it unchanged or weakened. Hopefully our purpose realized leaves our world better for our having been here. Jordan Peterson suggests "start by making your bed each morning."
We are curious beings,
always searching
for meaning;
.
an astral project
with no real measure
for completion.
.
We play a
fill-in-the-blank
sort of guessing game
.
cramming what we can
into the gaps
of our days,
.
but it is the space
that we need, that
is the point of everything,
.
and if we leave it, we can
breathe, and reclaim
our own purpose of being.
but it is the space
that we need, that
is the point of everything,
.
and if we leave it, we can
breathe, and reclaim
our own purpose of being.
Lovely 🥰
*space*
Yes!
What a wonderful poem, A. I love the phrasing and cadence, and each stanza is its own poem, too. The closing is so right on it:
"and if we leave it, we can
breathe, and reclaim
our own purpose of being."
May it ever be so.
Purpose as a choice.
Purpose as a web weaving a pathway
on which we choose to walk
with purpose
or let our selves flow
without
or avoid entirely
striking for the edges.
Stiching tension between
who I am
and
who I want to be
and
who the world needs me to be
and
who I am remembering I was.
An inherited walkway of fibers
tapestry generations immemorial
we pattern ourselves with each step
each choice
each loving heartbeat.
- on purpose
This is so lovely, Natasha. I love the way you connect the words and lines--and this string--
"Stiching tension between
who I am
and
who I want to be
and
who the world needs me to be
and
who I am remembering I was."
Yes, yes, yes! Thank you for this sweet work!
ALETHEA
O Truth, your love is infinite
as the beautiful black
void between the stars.
Your winding alchemical moon
sends its letters to this fettered
gossamer-breather, this seeker
of starsong who shines barren.
She is toxin and tincture, root
and flower of your mystery.
She is making music in the library.
She lights candles to you on the altar
of her skin and prays that you are not
O Librarian
going to scold her for her flame
since your books were already burning.
O Sacred Sun, you who anointed
this little creatrix whose throat
aches bruising in your grip,
be gentle. She doesn’t know
how not to shatter herself, flailing,
against you. She forgets far worse
will fracture if you let go. Remember
your promise to heal her,
when she breaks. Remind her
she is diamond dust and salve
her tender wounds. Help her rest
in trust that the weight of her is nothing
to the hands that hold together galaxies.
This is incredible, January. It is truly an epic poem and pays such wonderful witness and tribute.
Thank you, Larry. You are very kind to say so. 🙏
We’d love to say
That we did this on purpose-
We claimed a love like ours
Like a smart decision,
A predestined prize.
You don’t give me purpose
But you gave me an open field
To plant my own and dug
In the dirt beside me.
We didn’t choose wildflowers,
Intertwined among rows
Of tilled plans. They have
Their own whimsical purpose,
We are here only to delight
In them, what better use
Of love is there?
*dug in the dirt beside me*
A true practice of accompaniment!
This is splendid, A.M. I like each line and really LOVE the last stanza! “ We are here only to delight in them iii, what better use Of love is there.” Beautiful!
A sticky note
above the desk:
“Your vocation in life is where
your greatest joy meets
the world’s greatest need”
A common enough idea
but an impossible crossroads
that I have spent years
pondering and
getting no closer
to joy or
the world
Nice work Grace! Just going by the poems you share, you seem to be getting closer!
A purpose-driven life
has given me nightmares.
Growing up religious, I was
(heavy) handed major
pressure to
behave/speak/dress/act
in specific ways.
To seek first the Kingdom of God
(where I am not Queen).
To put God first, others second,
myself third (last).
A low-pressure system
hovered over my life,
oppressive and ominous.
Now the storm has finally
broken, and the Divine Control
has washed away, yet
I continue to struggle
with feelings of guilt
and obligation.
What I'm learning to be true:
there is no report card.
Life has no boss,
no master planner, no rulebook.
I'm allowed
to live my life however
the fuck I want.
Purpose is mine
to discover
or ignore.
I need no permission.
Absolutely right on, Sarah! It is so hard to let go of those deep lessons from long ago--yes, they run deep, but each movement way from them and towards wholeness is a step closer. You are a queen and you need no permission!
Thank you Kaitlin! My answer to your poem’s query is Yes! At least this morning it is. Thank you for the hope you bring to my heart. ❤️
Someone wrote a book
Called “A Purpose Driven Life”
But learning to Love on purpose
Is how we remove the strife
Can we learn to witness
Tomfoolery & Nonsense
Without internalizing
What is clearly false pretense
Without Judgement
Just Loving what is here
No matter how it offends
Our Liberal Ear
Purposely choosing Love
Instead of judging our peers
Perhaps that’s our calling
As we reel in the years
It is a beauitful, sunny, blue sky day here in New Hampshire, and the gist of this poem came to me this morning while riding my bike along the ocean. Rhyming is not my forte, but it just came out this way.
Purpose?
^
Here come the chaos makers,
desperate bakers of toxicity,
sowing division and calling it vision,
intolerant peddlers of absolute “truth.”
^
Angry and frantic without much purpose,
fears and jeers their only surplus
hidden beneath but not on the surface
the primary conductors of the circus.
^
Heckles and freckles,
wisdom the size of a speckle
playing Hyde disguised as Jekyll
their sworn word not worth a shekel.
^
Often the loudest voices, these prophets of doom,
taking the greatest joy and painting it gloom
their narrow lanes clear the rooms
turning every whisper into kaboom.
^
Spinning lies and calling it truth,
wild tales without any proof,
viewing the sky and seeing a roof,
like a shaky dentist with only one tooth.
^
They’d just as soon that you and I
leave the arena with dust in our eyes
or be caught on camera with fingers in their pies,
dispatched and deployed as our last goodbye.
^
False patriots and wispy flag wavers
haphazardly attached to poles from Savers,
arguing in the back over who is braver
these feckless followers and future enslavers.
^
Holiday weekend coming so soon
close enough to the flower moon
sleeping in the forest to the sound of a loon
determined to sing to a much different tune.
Preach! Great rhythm and rhyming. Almost rap-esque in my mind!
Karri,yhour comments make me smile. I preach most Sundays, in hopefully what does not come across as preaching!
*primary conductors of the circus*
Absolutely! 🙌🏽