This is very special, Grace, and resonates with me as a parent and now a grandparent. No words, no matter how lyrical and eloquent, quite capture the beauty and joy. But your poerm comes quite clsoe!
I really think something sacred happens when we just show up with our art-- each of your poems has moved me and made me think. I really, really appreciate you cultivating this space for all of us to express ourselves and listen together!
This isn’t really a poem, but it’s what rose up today when I sat down to write about connection. And it still feels poetic to me. Inner dialogue when we are too busy and distracted to pay attention to our own needs and desires, written as a phone conversation.
The first thing I thought of when I read the prompt was my dog. I have CPTSD and am prone to melancholy. My dog, though? She is prone to extreme delight. She has taught me much about connection - to others, to the earth, to being present.
Every day is a delight!
Is what my dog would say,
Probably
As she discovers the bitter taste of dandelions
And nuzzles her nose into dirt
And stares with wonder at birds flying overhead
And greets each stranger as if they are the best being on earth
I wrote this about a year ago. I have a sinus infection so haven't felt up to writing the last couple of days 💜 Thank you all for your wonderful insights!
Thanks for your words, Kaitlin, I feel the same way. It's nice to know even professional writers get that self doubt. I really enjoy your poem your today!
Thank you Kaitlin! The photo is just wonderful, and what a delightful invitation to be like a 2 year old, and to give ourselves a break. You are fostering wonderful threads of connection in here, and in the world. Blessings to you and your beloveds!
Island
For all of us who are sure
we are islands, inhabited or not,
remote or nearby,
there comes a time when
we’re given a glimpse
of a different reality.
Someone enters our life,
or we find ourselves in theirs,
or a whole lot of both.
First, it may only seem peninsula-like,
with but a narrow stretch of connection.
Then comes the day when
it all breaks up again;
not merely a canal trenched between us,
but a catastrophic explosion,
as life evaporates
and with it, love.
Unmoored, we seem to drift,
no rhyme or reason,
no hope or season.
Then, one day, a memory revisits
in ways unimaginable,
awakening us to the reality that
we’ve never been alone.
Both love and the one with whom
we discovered and experienced it
have accompanied us all along;
silent most days, but always there,
watching, holding, giving.
Now that we know,
it gradually becomes easier
to feel, if not see; and others
who have also experienced
the island’s isolation are pontoons,
if not bridge-builders for us,
reflecting the light of their loves
into the depths of our shadows.
—————-
*No man is an island,
Entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main;*
(John Donne)
This brought me to tears. Thank you so much for writing it and sharing it.
🥲so good…. Good tears
I like to think I am an island though I know full well that there are people who hold me up all around me.
I rarely write about motherhood
Whenever I try, my words
fail to describe how
when I hold my child
I seem to hold a
small blazing sun
too bright to see fully
or maybe a planet
that hasn’t been
explored yet
or maybe something
not so celestial
maybe just the first
yellow bloom of the season
precious because
it is one of many
but at that moment
the only one
And then again
none of these fit
and all of them do
And there is only
that small hand
reaching up beside me
pulling me along
this is so beautiful! I've felt this in motherhood too.
Thank you!
I relate!
This is very special, Grace, and resonates with me as a parent and now a grandparent. No words, no matter how lyrical and eloquent, quite capture the beauty and joy. But your poerm comes quite clsoe!
Thank you so much!
When you hurt, I hurt.
I do not need
outward evidence
that we are the same.
No similarity in
the shades of our skin
is necessary to qualify
what the cells of my body
already know, which is
that we are kindred,
kindled from the same
stardust and caught
in the same cycle of life.
There is no difference
between our atoms
other than the way
they are arranged,
which is the same
difference between
every being who has
ever existed.
We are inescapably
connected because
no true separation exists
between beings who
are all different
in the same way.
It is enough.
When you hurt, I hurt.
kindled from the same stardust. yes!!
The "stardust" and "when you hurt I hurt" and atoms arranged in different ways. Wonderful.
This is so incredible, A. I love how you begin "when you hurt, I hurt." and like others, these lines are shining:
"that we are kindred,
kindled from the same
stardust and caught
in the same cycle of life."
Shaking my head actively in yes nod! I am so grateful for your kindred spirit!
Beautiful.
‘When you hurt, I hurt’ 🤍 Such lovely words
Love this! My favorite line is "kindled from the same/ stardust".
Beautiful - I love how you bring us to stardust and atoms and how "we are all different in the same way"
“Inescapably connected”. ❤️
Mycelium
A conversation
Invisible lines we draw between stars to tell a story to help us make sense
The cord of an old telephone curled around my fingers
The telegraph wire
The sealed envelope
The hard sitting down with legs uncrossed ears open
My arms around the tree
The indigo bunting staring back at me
The branching lines of taxonomy
The whale is me
The mycelium is me
The rocks are me
The sun is me
Everything seen and unseen is me.
yes yes yes!
Beautiful! I'm obsessed with mycelium. Love your poem.
Thank you!
Yes the mycelium - all connected.
YES! I love this, Lisa.
Thank you!
This is wonderful, Lisa--very connecting and whole. Thank you.
Thanks so much!
What a gorgeous poem!
Aw, thank you!
connection
such a sterile word
like puzzle pieces
connect together
or a fire hose
connects to the
water main
when we talk about
living beings
"connection"
is quite inadequate
at times
whether we talk about
quantum entanglement
of particles from across
the universe
to our biological necessity
to be a part of nature
to feel the sun on our skin
nurturing us with vitamin d
or plants that take in CO2
and give off oxygen
we belong to each other
not with one being dominant
and the other submissive
but in community together
I have no idea what the
grand purpose of
an expanding and contracting
universe is
I am not that smart
but I know that in
the vast cosmos
there is some reason
or for me
some spirit
holding us together
more deeply than
just community
but communion
of space and time
embodiment and spirit
emotion and logic
holistically
divinely
poetically
and aesthetically
maintaining us
in harmony
love this.
I love this! "more deeply than
just community
but communion
of space and time". Gorgeous
Lovely 🙏
It is a wonder all that is holding us together.
A precious expanse opens before me
from a willingness to peel back the layers.
Like an artichoke after each leaf removed
revealing the soft and tender heart beneath.
The nectarean delicacy of this plant.
.
My willingness to be vulnerable and truly seen
is what opens the door to honest connection.
I fear. How will you hold my tender heart?
With gentle honest care and respect,
or with judgement and dismissal?
.
I long to remove these layers, these coverings
built from shattered dreams, broken promises.
Do you share this yearning too, a cooperative
and mutual reciprocity of openness and support?
A coherence of pulsation where two hearts meet.
I love the imagery of peeling back the layers and the tender heart underneath.
This is splendid Julie. I love the artichoke imagery and analogy--what a perfect description! Peeling back those layers is good, cathartic work.
I really think something sacred happens when we just show up with our art-- each of your poems has moved me and made me think. I really, really appreciate you cultivating this space for all of us to express ourselves and listen together!
Agree!
All connections
are ephemeral
except one.
This is going to haunt me (in a good way)!
This isn’t really a poem, but it’s what rose up today when I sat down to write about connection. And it still feels poetic to me. Inner dialogue when we are too busy and distracted to pay attention to our own needs and desires, written as a phone conversation.
Call for Connection
Hello?
Hello!
Hold please.
(Silence)
Thank you for holding. Who is this?
It’s me. Or rather, you.
What? We seem to have a poor connection.
Can you hear me?
Are you there?
I’m here.
I hear you.
I’ve been trying to reach you.
What’s that?
I keep missing you.
Listen, I may lose you.
Spotty reception?
Uh huh.
Do you have time to connect?
(Silence)
Disconnected…
Redial…
Come on… pick up, pick up.
(Busy signal)
This is absolutely a poem!! Thank you for sharing with us ♥️♥️♥️
Connections
(Game)
Four words
Many meanings
Decipher the connection that unites them all
Connections
(Life)
Innumerable people
Unsolvable problems
Humanity the connection that unites them all
Karri what fun! I love games, so fun to play along. Yep "Humanity the connection that unites them all."
The first thing I thought of when I read the prompt was my dog. I have CPTSD and am prone to melancholy. My dog, though? She is prone to extreme delight. She has taught me much about connection - to others, to the earth, to being present.
Every day is a delight!
Is what my dog would say,
Probably
As she discovers the bitter taste of dandelions
And nuzzles her nose into dirt
And stares with wonder at birds flying overhead
And greets each stranger as if they are the best being on earth
She is connected to this world
Fully one with it
A creature with spring blossoms stuck to her nose
Simply happy to be here
so so good! And it's true. Our dogs remind us of pure joy, don't they?
This made me smile.
Mine feel even more connected when they have found something delightfully stinky to roll in!!!
Peace never wants to go first -
It's gentle, and hangs back and waits.
And if we're not careful
The mind rushes in
With its worries - it quickly creates
The sense that we are not safe;
The notion that we are alone;
The idea that we somehow
Control past and future
And before we know it it's blown
Our heart right out of the water -
That peace doesn't stand a chance now.
We're reeling, and racing, and flooded with fear.
Don't know what - don't know why - don't know how.
But our mind, like our heart, can serve us.
We determine the messages sent.
Take a breath, sink down deep, and remember:
I am safe - I'm connected - I'm present.
I wrote this about a year ago. I have a sinus infection so haven't felt up to writing the last couple of days 💜 Thank you all for your wonderful insights!
Lovely!
Thanks for your words, Kaitlin, I feel the same way. It's nice to know even professional writers get that self doubt. I really enjoy your poem your today!
Here's mine:
.
Whizzing through the ionosphere,
ridiculous images
criss-cross the planet.
A parenting joke here,
80s workout clips there,
dogs being cute over there.
Complete random goofiness.
We long for more
but this will do for now.
21st century connection.
This is such an accurate description of the randomness of social media! 👌
God of the Untouchable Ones,
you laid loving hands on bodies whose people kept them
at arm’s length — or worse, stone’s throw.
Teach us how to see with Your eyes and touch
with Your hands, because no one
should feel forever outside
the human embrace.
Thank you Kaitlin! The photo is just wonderful, and what a delightful invitation to be like a 2 year old, and to give ourselves a break. You are fostering wonderful threads of connection in here, and in the world. Blessings to you and your beloveds!
Thank you Larry!
(sorry, very uneven, even 4 me)
HATCHET
Hey.
Stop being a dick.
Yup, I know,
I KNOW,
that powerful,
resounding,
satisfying
last-straw whack of the hatchet
is quick and absolutely & passionately & liberatingly
fuck-you-glorious!!!
But its a terminator.
The head is not going back
on that chicken.
So. Time out.
Lets go all tara brach for a minute.
Take a deep breath.
maybe two.
Imagine pruning.
a rose bush perhaps.
Snip a couple of useless strands.
some dead leaves.
that futile infestation of bullshit.
those nourishment-sucking grudges from tipsy head-butts that you like to collect.
Toss them out of the way.
See if anything's left.
Nurture that fruit.
(sheath the hatchet)