Maybe it’s a quirk of my nervous system— signals never sent or never received, vessels who don’t know when to constrict, a heart too quick to take up the slack. Maybe it’s a quirk, or maybe our thoughts all run bloodless when we hold our heads too high.
This poem delights me to no end! I'm having one of those mornings where I've really been feeling the divide between head and heart and they are finally sitting down together on the couch, trying to find common ground, and along comes your gem of a poem. Thank you!
The poem is only here because of you (not exaggerating), so thank YOU. I’ve been thinking about this prompt since you shared it and am eager to play with it more.
Margaret Ann, this is so nice. laughed, nodded. smiled and emphasized. I love the ending--indeed not that far apart. And I do like the Head and the Heart's music!
Somehow I'm imagining you with a colander on your head as I read this. I love the freshness of the imagery, Chuck! Your poems consistently surprise and delight me.
Nice Chuck! In college, we threw spaghetti on the wall, and if it stuck, it was cooked! Nowadays, we have a more refined method. May you continue to have spaghetti thrown at you! 😃
I started off trying to write about my own head and heart as prompted, but went down the rabbit hole of how oddly matched they are, and then that made me think of my real-life aunt and uncle.
I read this yesterday at the climbing gym and almost started crying right then and there. You bring their love to life in such a small space and such a compelling way. I just love this!
This is such an accurate snapshot of what our heads busy themselves with all day long — or my head anyway, even down to slinging inspirational slogans at myself. I love the picture of the other organs quietly doing their job, wishing head would give it a rest.
Absorbing all the news and the perpetual election campaigning, I recognize that candidates who seem to have no heart, who seem to have little or no capacity to act from the heart, and with heart, who can't seem to see the heart in others, regardless of persuasion, identity, religion or idelology, make me sad and will never get my vote. This poem flowed from that and a question I often receive.
I love the simple beauty of your conclusion so much - "any leader who cannot see from the heart . . . will have to troll somewhere else / for a vote." It makes me think about how often we make choices based on fear. I've been thinking lately about the danger of politicians and leaders who use fear to rally support (I'd say almost all of them do this to some degree, but obviously some more so than others). My heart doesn't want to simply run away from things. It wants to move toward beauty.
Holding our heads "too high" also makes me think of vanity, ego and pride (the bad kind). We get so many mixed messages about the heart versus the mind. "Strike while the iron's hot" or "haste makes waste". Then there's "only fool rush in where even angels fear to tread" as opposed to "faint heart never won fair maiden". I can say, looking back, that the most regret is attached to what I did not do,
when my intellect warned me off. On the other hand, I busted up my knee basically for life because with a liter of strong wine in me I knew I could fly...Love your stuff
"With a liter of strong wine in me I knew I could fly" - oh my goodness, when you write the narrative poem that begins with that line, I want to read it!
I appreciate your words about feeling the most regret around what you did not do rather than what you did. That feels true to me so far in life, and so I'm trying to live forward with that in mind . . . which is sometimes a scary endeavor for my head!
I think it's always worthwhile to inquire of an older person, especially if they have been paying attention, what they think is crucial to this life. When I was in college I asked every professor what their top ten books are. I worked my way through that list for the next 30+ years. Having moved a lot, I lost track of the list but I recall every person telling me a short story about why these works were so important to them and very consistent among the stories, all verbal by the way, was to live your life so as not to live with regret for chances untaken.
Even my meteorology professor, a very dry and technical fellow, said that Frost's "The Road Not Taken" was a cautionary tale and that we must follow our heart or live a life of regret with a heart unfulfilled. He said, while slightly tearing up, that the heart is a very unreasonable organ, one that only recites the truth. Amazing exchange.
Oh wow - the heart is a very unreasonable organ, one that only recites the truth. I love this, and I also get an image of a toddler in a public space, loudly and repetitively screaming true things that sometimes seem designed to humiliate their parents.
What a beautiful approach to living and learning from others you have, Weston! I am learning from you. ❤️
Hi Lisa, we are all learning from each other, I like to think. Woke up to the first frost of the year here in the Rockies. Usually we get them in mid or late September. Usually by now we have had several snows.
This is marvelous, Lisa. I like the head over heart analogy, which seems so true for much of "western" culture. I wish we could cosnstruct our own poets caravan to help you with the van shuttle!
The head and the heart (not the band, but the parts) sit on the couch together
.
I have something to tell you, said the heart.
No thank you, said the head.
No, seriously. You should listen.
I don’t want to. So I won’t.
What if I pay you a million dollars?
Money means nothing to me.
That is such a lie. You think about it all the time.
Because I HAVE TO. Because YOU buy all this thrift store shit
and I HAVE to find more space for it, or stop you from buying it.
and then you get all sad. It’s so annoying.
And I’m already busy trying to figure out
how to keep the little one from sleepwalking
how to keep the big one from driving so poorly
how to keep the middle one safe from germs.
I’m so tired. I don’t want to balance it anymore.
I have something to tell you, said the heart.
I think we’re not that far apart.
This poem delights me to no end! I'm having one of those mornings where I've really been feeling the divide between head and heart and they are finally sitting down together on the couch, trying to find common ground, and along comes your gem of a poem. Thank you!
The poem is only here because of you (not exaggerating), so thank YOU. I’ve been thinking about this prompt since you shared it and am eager to play with it more.
Margaret Ann, this is so nice. laughed, nodded. smiled and emphasized. I love the ending--indeed not that far apart. And I do like the Head and the Heart's music!
Thank you, Larry! 😊 I know (and like) some of their music; I’ve always thought they had a great band title.
My heart slings nonstop
spaghetti at my head,
always hoping
something will slip thru,
unnoticed.
Somehow I'm imagining you with a colander on your head as I read this. I love the freshness of the imagery, Chuck! Your poems consistently surprise and delight me.
Nice Chuck! In college, we threw spaghetti on the wall, and if it stuck, it was cooked! Nowadays, we have a more refined method. May you continue to have spaghetti thrown at you! 😃
I love this, Chuck!
I started off trying to write about my own head and heart as prompted, but went down the rabbit hole of how oddly matched they are, and then that made me think of my real-life aunt and uncle.
.
They were an odd match, but they
shared a bed for fifty years,
each holding forth in a tongue
indecipherable to the other.
.
I once saw her as a bird
who had learned flightlessness
through a kind of
low-grade torture, like being
deprived of windows or
subjected to 24-hour news,
and this vision pinned him
as torturer, but eventually
I realized he was just
not a bird,
.
wasn’t even in the same
kingdom of life, was more like
a V8 engine: immutable, reliable,
stuck in his armchair only for
lack of lift
.
(which you’d think he could have
synthesized from household glitter --
all her singing and painting
and pranking and loving
down to her last feather –
but there is no glitter exception
in fluid dynamics,
which he knew well
as a pilot,
pragmatist,
fixer).
.
He maintained their world
and fed her birdy heart
when it slowed,
measured droppers on the hour,
kept notes, never missed,
held hands, held her,
until eventually she flew again
but not how anybody
wanted it.
.
Her sneakers still sit
by the door she eyed in her youth,
back before she noticed
the hinges.
He doesn’t believe in souls
but talks to her everyday.
It is the one thing he
can’t explain:
.
that drop in pressure,
the sudden fluency.
I read this yesterday at the climbing gym and almost started crying right then and there. You bring their love to life in such a small space and such a compelling way. I just love this!
Live for today….stay in the moment…be grateful….
Says my head.
Why don’t you….you really need to…don’t forget to….
Says my head.
But what if….what’s next….what if it doesn’t…..
Says my head.
Things will be better when…it will be ok when….look forward to when…
Says my head.
Beat…beat…beat…beat….
Says my heart.
Inhale….exhale….inhale…exhale…
Say my lungs.
Quiet! I tell my head. Let me be.
My head is full of ellipses and what ifs, too. ❤️ I loved reading this, Karri!
This is such an accurate snapshot of what our heads busy themselves with all day long — or my head anyway, even down to slinging inspirational slogans at myself. I love the picture of the other organs quietly doing their job, wishing head would give it a rest.
Absorbing all the news and the perpetual election campaigning, I recognize that candidates who seem to have no heart, who seem to have little or no capacity to act from the heart, and with heart, who can't seem to see the heart in others, regardless of persuasion, identity, religion or idelology, make me sad and will never get my vote. This poem flowed from that and a question I often receive.
Heart Votes
“How will you decide whom to vote for?”
A question posed a thousand times or more.
And with time, I come to see more clearly.
I reply “I will use my head
and all the intellectual capacity
that I have been gifted.
I will listen to my instinct, my gut,
guardrail against impulse and whimsy.
But mostly, I’ll listen to my heart."
^
Any leader who cannot see from the heart,
who cannot dance to the music of joy,
the symphonic melody of beauty,
the sacred light of love,
will have to troll somewhere else
for a vote.
I love the simple beauty of your conclusion so much - "any leader who cannot see from the heart . . . will have to troll somewhere else / for a vote." It makes me think about how often we make choices based on fear. I've been thinking lately about the danger of politicians and leaders who use fear to rally support (I'd say almost all of them do this to some degree, but obviously some more so than others). My heart doesn't want to simply run away from things. It wants to move toward beauty.
Thank you Lisa. I really appreciate the thoughtfulness of your comments.
Love the poem! I have learned in recent years that everything starts with a feeling in the body, even thoughts. …I think 🤣
Haha I think - feel? - that you’re right!
Argh on the van saga! Car troubles are so boring and yet so consuming.
Off to play with this prompt. I love "a heart too quick to take up the slack."
Yes to the so boring and yes to the so consuming! Thank you so much, Margaret Ann.
Holding our heads "too high" also makes me think of vanity, ego and pride (the bad kind). We get so many mixed messages about the heart versus the mind. "Strike while the iron's hot" or "haste makes waste". Then there's "only fool rush in where even angels fear to tread" as opposed to "faint heart never won fair maiden". I can say, looking back, that the most regret is attached to what I did not do,
when my intellect warned me off. On the other hand, I busted up my knee basically for life because with a liter of strong wine in me I knew I could fly...Love your stuff
"With a liter of strong wine in me I knew I could fly" - oh my goodness, when you write the narrative poem that begins with that line, I want to read it!
I appreciate your words about feeling the most regret around what you did not do rather than what you did. That feels true to me so far in life, and so I'm trying to live forward with that in mind . . . which is sometimes a scary endeavor for my head!
I think it's always worthwhile to inquire of an older person, especially if they have been paying attention, what they think is crucial to this life. When I was in college I asked every professor what their top ten books are. I worked my way through that list for the next 30+ years. Having moved a lot, I lost track of the list but I recall every person telling me a short story about why these works were so important to them and very consistent among the stories, all verbal by the way, was to live your life so as not to live with regret for chances untaken.
Even my meteorology professor, a very dry and technical fellow, said that Frost's "The Road Not Taken" was a cautionary tale and that we must follow our heart or live a life of regret with a heart unfulfilled. He said, while slightly tearing up, that the heart is a very unreasonable organ, one that only recites the truth. Amazing exchange.
Oh wow - the heart is a very unreasonable organ, one that only recites the truth. I love this, and I also get an image of a toddler in a public space, loudly and repetitively screaming true things that sometimes seem designed to humiliate their parents.
What a beautiful approach to living and learning from others you have, Weston! I am learning from you. ❤️
Hi Lisa, we are all learning from each other, I like to think. Woke up to the first frost of the year here in the Rockies. Usually we get them in mid or late September. Usually by now we have had several snows.
I’m wishing you a happy first frost . . . even if it came alarmingly late!
This is marvelous, Lisa. I like the head over heart analogy, which seems so true for much of "western" culture. I wish we could cosnstruct our own poets caravan to help you with the van shuttle!
A poet’s caravan! What a fabulous image that conjures! Thank you, Larry.
I wish I could. Safe travels Lisa! 🙏🏻
LIsa, your prompt made me think of this small poem from Hafiz:
How did the rose ever open its heart
and give to this world all of it's beauty?
It felt the encouragement of Light against its being;
otherwise we all remain too frightened.
"It felt the encouragement of Light against its being" - what an incredible line! Thank you for sharing, Larry.
Lisa, you are an Hafiz for our times!