I love the way you begin this poem, A. “Inside the eye, I can clearly see/all of the damage that has been done…” wow! And, “I know that there’s more to come…” indeed, the eye is not the end of the storm. And your endings so essential: “but I am calm/this will not/break me.” Gratefully so.
This practice is always so generative for me. I can feel myself becoming more present the very first morning of May. Suddenly everything is a poem, and I want to sit with all of it. I love seeing how differently we all interpret the same prompt and how everyone shows up with kindness. I feel held here. 🧡
Kaitlin, your poem today is one I'll come back to again and again. The lines "Everything outside this moment is going to destroy me" along with the idea of emotional weather systems from Jeff Chu's book Good Soil inspired my take on today's prompt - the storm that anxiety can create in my body. Thank you again for this space and these prompts ❤️
I live your poem, Katie, and your perceptive observation. As someone with anxiety, your analogy of the anxiety as a storm with different dimensions is brilliant. Your bring is incredible: “if I breathe deep enough/I can rest in this stillness/rest in my own holiness.” Beautiful!
Thank you, Larry ❤️ poetry often feels like a digging down, too - sometimes I look up definitions as I write, and I learned today that the sacrum was once called the "holy bone." Then the poem seemed to find its own way to stillness.
But to call it "dead" is to deny its life-giving nature.
This is the moment to check on neighbours.
To glance at the blue sky and remember hope.
This is the moment to invite in
the ones whose roofs have blown off
the ones who live alone
the ones who might be frightened.
The eye of dead calm is where friendship is born anew.
Where hope hangs her hat in your home.
We all go through the first half of the storm
not knowing what to expect.
The eye provides a mirror
A pause to see
to prepare for the second half.
The eye reminds us that survival requires community
That we occupy one space together
It gives us a moment to reach across fences
and barriers
to hold tight in preparation for the second half.
The sound of second half wind gathering strength
foretells the closing of the eye.
Doors close
Windows shutter
Keeping the newly gathered family safe
As we hunker down
for the second half.
(I wrote this remembering the eye of Hurricane Gilbert which passed through Jamaica when I was in my very early teens. During the eye, we brought a neighbour and her two dogs over - their roof was lying on their front lawn. Another neighbour, who knew we didn't receive the newspaper, gave us a big stack of newspaper across the fence during the eye.)
"Where friendship is born anew" and "survival requires community" ❤️ these lines and your whole poem are so beautiful. I love how the act of checking on your neighbors brings movement to the stillness and bolsters the calm by gathering together.
This is wonderful, El. I understand and relate to that feeling. Knowing you have to engage the hard stuff again, but just wanting a little time to breathe. This is so well done!
I decided this year to write and share my poems everyday even if I am not sure about them to embrace the idea of writing as a spiritual practice. I remember a particular hurricane I experienced here in Nicaragua (not a very big one but still very impactful) and the sense of power in the calm of the eye has stayed with me - I was remembering that when I wrote this today.
I am so glad you are committed to putting your words and spark to share! Your poem is moving and inspiring. You are a poet and I love reading your work!
This is such an exceptional poem, Rachel. It has depth and accessibility, and your weaving of story into poem is a tremendous gift. “close the gash/with plywood and prayers/to keep destruction out of reach.” These lines are just three among a poem of memorable lines!
This has become a spiritual practice for me this month. I read the prompt and immediately write without mulling it over~different for me! So lovely, thank you✨
Thank you Kaitlin so much for creating this generative and welcoming space, which has gotten me to sit and write a poem for now 5 days in a row, even while my dogs are relentlessly harassing me for breakfast 🙃
What a nice poem, Kate.. You describe the paradox so well. And that pushing through and the trepidation and hesitation that can come right before embarking…
This is quite nice, Claire. I relate to the feeling of being swallowed while. And finding that point and moment of peace and stillness as chaos swirls all around.
The [I]
.
Inside the eye, I can clearly see
all of the damage that has been done,
what might be salvaged.
I look around,
still and quiet,
and I know that there is more to come.
Another wave of devastation approaches,
ready to bring me to my knees,
but I am calm.
This will not
break me.
I sense your powerful resolve… and it is inspiring…’this will not break me!’ I need to remind myself of this often.
As I still ponder what to write, the thought of eyes seeing keeps resonating with me as well.
Great job
"this will not break me"
I love the way you begin this poem, A. “Inside the eye, I can clearly see/all of the damage that has been done…” wow! And, “I know that there’s more to come…” indeed, the eye is not the end of the storm. And your endings so essential: “but I am calm/this will not/break me.” Gratefully so.
This practice is always so generative for me. I can feel myself becoming more present the very first morning of May. Suddenly everything is a poem, and I want to sit with all of it. I love seeing how differently we all interpret the same prompt and how everyone shows up with kindness. I feel held here. 🧡
♥️♥️♥️♥️
It starts in my chest
a frantic static, a weighted
sphere, its pull so strong —
*
somewhere in my body
there is quiet, but
where?
*
Down, below my sternum
down, beneath my heart
all the way down to my
*
sacrum
*
this open basin
at the base
this sacred bone
*
if I breathe deep enough
I can rest in this stillness
rest in my own holiness
***
Kaitlin, your poem today is one I'll come back to again and again. The lines "Everything outside this moment is going to destroy me" along with the idea of emotional weather systems from Jeff Chu's book Good Soil inspired my take on today's prompt - the storm that anxiety can create in my body. Thank you again for this space and these prompts ❤️
I live your poem, Katie, and your perceptive observation. As someone with anxiety, your analogy of the anxiety as a storm with different dimensions is brilliant. Your bring is incredible: “if I breathe deep enough/I can rest in this stillness/rest in my own holiness.” Beautiful!
Thank you, Larry ❤️ poetry often feels like a digging down, too - sometimes I look up definitions as I write, and I learned today that the sacrum was once called the "holy bone." Then the poem seemed to find its own way to stillness.
Now I’m curious to learn more about my “holy bone” or at least what it meant and why to those in the past.
That is so cool-sacrum as the holy bone! That makes sense!
In the eye of the storm
I real-eye-ze
I am not what I see,
think, feel or fear.
All matter swirls
around
Spirit.
Let life swirl away
As it may, today.
I stand firmly
On groundless ground.
-Dwight Lee Wolter.
The groundless ground - perhaps the most firm place to stand. Thank you for this!
Let life swirl away…💚
After the winds whip in one direction
with beating rain falling at a slant
and ominous clouds that foretell
apocalypse ...
A dead calm descends.
But to call it "dead" is to deny its life-giving nature.
This is the moment to check on neighbours.
To glance at the blue sky and remember hope.
This is the moment to invite in
the ones whose roofs have blown off
the ones who live alone
the ones who might be frightened.
The eye of dead calm is where friendship is born anew.
Where hope hangs her hat in your home.
We all go through the first half of the storm
not knowing what to expect.
The eye provides a mirror
A pause to see
to prepare for the second half.
The eye reminds us that survival requires community
That we occupy one space together
It gives us a moment to reach across fences
and barriers
to hold tight in preparation for the second half.
The sound of second half wind gathering strength
foretells the closing of the eye.
Doors close
Windows shutter
Keeping the newly gathered family safe
As we hunker down
for the second half.
(I wrote this remembering the eye of Hurricane Gilbert which passed through Jamaica when I was in my very early teens. During the eye, we brought a neighbour and her two dogs over - their roof was lying on their front lawn. Another neighbour, who knew we didn't receive the newspaper, gave us a big stack of newspaper across the fence during the eye.)
"Where friendship is born anew" and "survival requires community" ❤️ these lines and your whole poem are so beautiful. I love how the act of checking on your neighbors brings movement to the stillness and bolsters the calm by gathering together.
This is absolutely beautiful, JanakiI am inspired so much by artists like you who can create beauty from disaster. Thank you for sharing!
I made it.
Stumbled to the core finally
able to gasp for air again finally
able to grasp ahold of what’s around again
finally
able to stand again.
It’s not over.
I have to head back in
make it to shore somehow.
But give me two minutes please
let me breathe
Let me stand and find strength.
This eye is big enough to rest a while.
This is wonderful, El. I understand and relate to that feeling. Knowing you have to engage the hard stuff again, but just wanting a little time to breathe. This is so well done!
I decided this year to write and share my poems everyday even if I am not sure about them to embrace the idea of writing as a spiritual practice. I remember a particular hurricane I experienced here in Nicaragua (not a very big one but still very impactful) and the sense of power in the calm of the eye has stayed with me - I was remembering that when I wrote this today.
The eye of the storm
I can feel the power
sense the majesty
the awe and presence
This feels divine
Is it the eye of the storm
or the peace that passes understanding?
A reminder that with God,
all things are possible
I am so glad you are committed to putting your words and spark to share! Your poem is moving and inspiring. You are a poet and I love reading your work!
When Sheila died,
I found a journal.
Each page had at least
one word,
or a list of words.
A few pages, instead...
I found series of numbers.
The rest of each page was blank.
I used each word
as a writing prompt,
based on the single word
I found there.
Much later in the journal
the pages remained blank.
There were spare words,
among the lists of words.
Six weeks into writing
based on her prompt.
"Haiku" was her word.
I am sad this fall
My heart is so devastated
Heart blasted apart
Late November 2023--
Sending love in your grief.
Thank you, El. I'm not where I was in November 2023. I've learned a lot about grief and growth along this journey.
Thank you for sharing, Nancy. What a beautiful way to honor Sheila.
Thank you for your support, Larry.
I am the pupil
That sees the eye
Of the storm,
Seeing me
Standing firm.
We glare at each other
For too long,
Me unwilling to blink,
And the storm
Refusing to relent.
No one wins
This staring contest,
For the raging walls
Of water deep
Crash down regardless.
How very clever this poem of yours! I will ponder these words for a while so I can soak in the images they bring to mind.
This is brilliant, Korie. You have such a perceptive and intuitive sense and such a prayerful way of creating. I truly love your work!
Thank you, Larry - I’m grateful for your reading and comments!
In the eye of the storm
We stop to collect
Our fears, scattered about like
Shards of exploded glass
That we collect
Amidst the quiet
To find our resolve,
Repair the damage
Of what we neglected in the past
Close the gash
With plywood and prayers
To keep destruction out of reach.
The eye of the storm is not
As quiet as I imagined
The violent shrill of
Wind shattering glass
Of air pressure squeezing the
House’s good bones like
An accordion,
Filling my 10-year old mind
With inaugural thoughts of death
Until a mother’s lullaby becomes—
Sleep my child, peace attend thee
All through the night—
An Eye that keeps watch
Remains still, vigilant, all too familiar
With the sequel of death and
The fragility of peace.
In the eye of any storm
We believe peace is a constant
And chaos temporary
Nothing is waiting on the other side
To take all that we love, and that,
However insecure the foundation
Something tethers us to ourselves
We know that acts of creation
Reap destruction
Sill, we find quiet—
And while the moon her watch is Keeping all through the night—
We behold what threatens us
Eye to eye and find
Ourselves a home through the night.
This is such an exceptional poem, Rachel. It has depth and accessibility, and your weaving of story into poem is a tremendous gift. “close the gash/with plywood and prayers/to keep destruction out of reach.” These lines are just three among a poem of memorable lines!
This has become a spiritual practice for me this month. I read the prompt and immediately write without mulling it over~different for me! So lovely, thank you✨
The eye of the storm.
Not a place of safety.
But a place to see more clearly.
There is always that still point in any chaos, maelstrom, storm.
Where you’ve got a moment to decide, to have clarity.
Do not linger
What a lovely portrayal of the eye of the storm!
In the heart of the city there’s a fancy building made of deep red brick.
She has copper railings and massive doors.
People admire her architecture and long to see what’s inside the locked doors.
My sweetheart loves her charm and elite status.
I love the stained glass window and the incredible view of the city.
My soul wrestles with the cold hard fact that my nest is opulent. It has that La di da flavor.
The world outside is burning.
People are sleeping on the sidewalks
Children cry out in the night
Women seek safety from violence
And I shut my gorgeous door and pour a brandy.
Wow, Trish! This is a powerful poem! I love the way you use the building as metaphor, and your twist at the end. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you, Larry
I long to recognize that place
of paradox, the terrible stillness,
where what was always beyond command
whips and rages around me
with the wrathful force that births this universe
of story— there is lightning there,
bony black branches thrashing, teeth gnashing,
weightless waves drowning themselves
in light.
from within that inner chamber, I turn away
from nothing, my pen
hovers, trembling, above the page.
Thank you Kaitlin so much for creating this generative and welcoming space, which has gotten me to sit and write a poem for now 5 days in a row, even while my dogs are relentlessly harassing me for breakfast 🙃
What a nice poem, Kate.. You describe the paradox so well. And that pushing through and the trepidation and hesitation that can come right before embarking…
In the eye of the storm
Surrounded by chaos
Frozen
In this place
Watching the chaos swirling
I'm in the centre
Wondering if it will swallow me whole
But here
In this place
All is still
For a moment
In the eye of the storm
Thank you for your prompts Kaitlin and for the support and encouragement that this community offers as I show up and share my words.
This is quite nice, Claire. I relate to the feeling of being swallowed while. And finding that point and moment of peace and stillness as chaos swirls all around.
Eye of the Storm
Thunder, lightning, rain.
Then sudden calm and silence.
Halfway through to safety.
Respite!
Halfway there, Karen! What a wonderful poem!
Thanks, Larry.