This was a fun exercise! For some reason, though, a fairly tangential poem came out of it. I'm not sure I can even trace the "most of me" / "part of me" connection -- but the poem arrived in the process, so here goes.
I love the way you've captured the way in which your natural self recognizes itself in nature and feels held by its "couch," yet can also sometimes be bowled over by the way in which the everydayness of nature suddenly lands as exquisite. I recognize this as my truth, too. <3
Beautiful, Rebekah. The threads of this poem (nature and home and words) feel woven together almost like upholstery. Idk if that makes sense, but it feels like the form fits the content.
This poem gives me chills, Rebekah. I love the feeling of comfort in nature being like a comfy couch. That is a brilliant metaphor--or analogy, sometime I mix them up. I love these lines: "I need nature like I need my couch, I need to feel this unbothered, this unapologetically myself." I find it so beautiful that you can know your soul and spirit in ways thay know what you need to nourish it, and appreciate its qualities that make it sing for you. And your ending: "These tokens arrive like rare/chains of words, the ones that/shine my cheeks, get me talking/to an empty house. I sit still,/willing the page to last/forever." Pow-you nailed the landing with this poem. Thank you for being a true wisdom seeker and keeper.
Beautiful, friend! The beginning and ending felt especially relatable and powerful to me - “most of me wants something, but none of me wants the same thing” and then that gorgeous, tender ending. Thank you for this!
Keith, this is gorgeous! I love (and really resonate with) the idea that we all have these little eternal corners of ourselves that we mostly skim around on top of, but are truly holding us up. As usual, I also love all your word play here.
Thanks so much, Rebekah - and *I* love how you describe it - "these little eternal corners of ourselves...truly holding us up." YES. Thanks for getting it :))
This is tremendous, Keith. You got me from the beginning: "Most of me wants something,/ but none of me/wants the same thing," That feels so relatable, and reads like a a wisdom proverb. I like how you seem to observe from without and also speak from within. Your poem speaks to the complexities of being human, and the non-binary and non-dualistic ways we exist in the world.
Oh oh oh, Karri, I so relate to this! The flow of words is so smooth and lovely, I just fell effortlessly into the poem and lo and behold, it turned out to be a mirror.
I love this poem that came out of your reflections and observations of yourself--or should I say "selves!" It is so nice to read one of your poems again, and to have you here. And Like Lisa, the poem became a mirror, and I so resonated with the ending "But part of me…/Cannot seem to get started,/And postpones and procrastinates,/Until the time I have been given to do the things that most of me wants to do/Is gone and all that is left is the longing and lamenting/Of what part of me could have done." I know this person, this shadow side that always seem to appear at incovenient times. I hope you know that all of you is welcome here, and the whole of you is a blessing.
This is beautiful, Korie! Those hungry minds are lucky to have your loving heart there to teach them! We have flooding barely behind us and snow in the forecast and our schools have already cancelled for tomorrow, and I was noticing a similar contradiction in myself. On the one hand, happiness to spend more time at home with my kids who I love so much. And on the other hand, a wistful wondering about exactly how many days of school will be cancelled and when I will next have a moment of quiet.
I love this poem, Korie. It flows so beauitfully well, and does so with such love. This line "An act of love teaching..." Yes! But you turn it so gently and real with "Though most of me/Just wants to bathe in quiet,/Wash with the rain/And dry in the sun,/Feel the splash of cool, slippery/Calm on my face/And just smile." What a gift of true insight to be able to see this ,and to know this beauitful part of yourself. What a blessing.
Thank you, Lisa. Your image of the moss-bright island made me think of the rock in my backyard enduring the winter weather and I started wondering what it might be like to be the rock.
It sounds like you have a little bit of a trickster inside of you! I love this poem so much, Larry - the honesty, the playfulness, the way you pull me right into the room with you and your therapist. This is just wonderful!
Oh gosh, I wanted to add that my life and heart would be significantly less full without the Jensen sisters and your remarkable creativity, wisdom, insight, kindness and humor!
Oh, I love this mischievous and mysterious poem, Larry! The subject matter (therapy & wrong turns) made me think of the show Shrinking -- have you seen it? The episode I watched last night featured a few of the characters making spectacular mistakes and concluded with this Angie McMahon song, "Letting Go," that I'm obsessed with now. The song ends with "It's okay, it's okay / Make mistakes, make mistakes" over and over again -- what's not to love about that?
Thank you for this wonderful note and comment, Rebekah! I have not watched “shrinking”, but I will be now. There is an incredible poem at the end of the movie “Smoke Signals”, that encapsulates mistakes, wrong turns and forgiveness. It’s called “forgiving our fathers” written by Dick Lorie. Thank you for always being enlightening, Rebekah. I am very grateful for you.
"Wanting to see the hypostasis / Hidden behind the filters / Of learned beliefs." Me too, me too! The brain is so incredible, and yet at the end of the day, it's also just one big filter, trained from our childhood to apply our culture's preferred algorithms. This is a really evocative poem, Jim.
This is so lovely, Lisa. These lines are incredible:
"though most of me
is an ache of blue..."
They push into me like a revelatory widstorm. And I love your ending:
"and an island,
moss bright,
green tongue stretching
from the deep
to lick
every color."
So very beautifful. The poem has such a sweet cadence, and circles back into itself like a warm embrace.
Your promot, too, is amazing. I love the way you pull, push and invite us to play, to wander, to go deeper, or let it flow, and to welcome whatever comes up. You are a dreamweaver, making a space for all these poetic dreams to rise and shine! Thank you!
Thank you so much, Larry! It's been a delightful surprise to discover how much I like writing not only poems but also prompts. They feel like fun little gifts to weave and share.
This was a fun exercise! For some reason, though, a fairly tangential poem came out of it. I'm not sure I can even trace the "most of me" / "part of me" connection -- but the poem arrived in the process, so here goes.
.
Nature is my living room,
by which I mean I feel safe there
and count on its constancy
like padding down the hall
with a book in hand, expecting
to find a couch around the corner
same as yesterday, but not exactly
feeling surprised by the little
couch-developments of the day,
like a new food stain or tuft of
dog hair, just settling in and
continuing my life on its surface.
I need nature like I need my couch,
I need to feel this unbothered,
this unapologetically myself.
But it takes a lot for an everyday
staple to bowl me over –
a wolf track, a long-awaited song,
a snowpack glittered and blinding.
These tokens arrive like rare
chains of words, the ones that
shine my cheeks, get me talking
to an empty house. I sit still,
willing the page to last
forever.
“feeling surprised by the little / couch-developments of the day” - I love these lines and the whole concept/metaphor of this poem!
I love the way you've captured the way in which your natural self recognizes itself in nature and feels held by its "couch," yet can also sometimes be bowled over by the way in which the everydayness of nature suddenly lands as exquisite. I recognize this as my truth, too. <3
Beautiful, Rebekah. The threads of this poem (nature and home and words) feel woven together almost like upholstery. Idk if that makes sense, but it feels like the form fits the content.
This poem gives me chills, Rebekah. I love the feeling of comfort in nature being like a comfy couch. That is a brilliant metaphor--or analogy, sometime I mix them up. I love these lines: "I need nature like I need my couch, I need to feel this unbothered, this unapologetically myself." I find it so beautiful that you can know your soul and spirit in ways thay know what you need to nourish it, and appreciate its qualities that make it sing for you. And your ending: "These tokens arrive like rare/chains of words, the ones that/shine my cheeks, get me talking/to an empty house. I sit still,/willing the page to last/forever." Pow-you nailed the landing with this poem. Thank you for being a true wisdom seeker and keeper.
Really beautiful, friend. It's fascinating how deeply I felt the "ache of blue" that is you. I played a little with your prompt. Here's what came out:
***
Most of me wants something,
but none of me
wants the same thing,
much of my energy siphoned by seeking.
Yet some eternal part of me
wants for nothing.
It quietly witnesses the melee,
suspending any judgment
about the fracas of my fray.
While very much in me,
it’s not at all of me,
because it’s been here before
and will again be.
Having heard, tasted, smelled, felt and seen
Everything,
it understands all to be reverie.
So, as I exhaust myself grasping at gossamer,
it smiles benignly
and holds my secret wholeness ever so gently.
Beautiful, friend! The beginning and ending felt especially relatable and powerful to me - “most of me wants something, but none of me wants the same thing” and then that gorgeous, tender ending. Thank you for this!
Keith, this is gorgeous! I love (and really resonate with) the idea that we all have these little eternal corners of ourselves that we mostly skim around on top of, but are truly holding us up. As usual, I also love all your word play here.
Thanks so much, Rebekah - and *I* love how you describe it - "these little eternal corners of ourselves...truly holding us up." YES. Thanks for getting it :))
This is tremendous, Keith. You got me from the beginning: "Most of me wants something,/ but none of me/wants the same thing," That feels so relatable, and reads like a a wisdom proverb. I like how you seem to observe from without and also speak from within. Your poem speaks to the complexities of being human, and the non-binary and non-dualistic ways we exist in the world.
Beautiful words and imagery as always Lisa....especially the green amongst the blue that rises up!
My conversations with myself are constant and exhausting! Out of that came this:
Most of me…wants to write
Words, stories and poems for others to read.
Most of me….wants to walk
For exercise and for reflection and a habit to be had.
Most of me….wants to learn
About the issues and topics I do not understand.
Most of me….wants to help
In some small way those who need it most.
Most of me…wants to create
Some sort of beauty to tame the chaos of this world.
But part of me…
Cannot seem to get started,
And postpones and procrastinates,
Until the time I have been given to do the things that most of me wants to do
Is gone and all that is left is the longing and lamenting
Of what part of me could have done.
Oh oh oh, Karri, I so relate to this! The flow of words is so smooth and lovely, I just fell effortlessly into the poem and lo and behold, it turned out to be a mirror.
I also really relate with this, Karri! Thanks for putting it into words for us.
So relatable. <3
I know this feeling. Thank you for sharing, Karri.
I love this poem that came out of your reflections and observations of yourself--or should I say "selves!" It is so nice to read one of your poems again, and to have you here. And Like Lisa, the poem became a mirror, and I so resonated with the ending "But part of me…/Cannot seem to get started,/And postpones and procrastinates,/Until the time I have been given to do the things that most of me wants to do/Is gone and all that is left is the longing and lamenting/Of what part of me could have done." I know this person, this shadow side that always seem to appear at incovenient times. I hope you know that all of you is welcome here, and the whole of you is a blessing.
(To my sister cathey,
who forgot to wake up last tuesday)
It is fuckinhard
To know when to turn, turn, turn
When grief clamps your balls.
Oh, Chuck, I'm so so sorry to hear of this.
Chuck, I am very sorry for this loss. This little poem is a tender tribute to Cathey. Thinking of you, friend, and grateful for you here.
I am so sorry Chuck.
Sorry to know of this loss for you, Chuck.
Oh, Chuck. I'm so deeply sorry.
I'm so sorry, Chuck.
Today I went to work
And shared some knowledge
With hungry minds,
Tried to stay focused
For their sakes, it’s
An act of love, teaching…
Though most of me
Just wants to bathe in quiet,
Wash with the rain
And dry in the sun,
Feel the splash of cool, slippery
Calm on my face
And just smile.
This is beautiful, Korie! Those hungry minds are lucky to have your loving heart there to teach them! We have flooding barely behind us and snow in the forecast and our schools have already cancelled for tomorrow, and I was noticing a similar contradiction in myself. On the one hand, happiness to spend more time at home with my kids who I love so much. And on the other hand, a wistful wondering about exactly how many days of school will be cancelled and when I will next have a moment of quiet.
I love this poem, Korie. It flows so beauitfully well, and does so with such love. This line "An act of love teaching..." Yes! But you turn it so gently and real with "Though most of me/Just wants to bathe in quiet,/Wash with the rain/And dry in the sun,/Feel the splash of cool, slippery/Calm on my face/And just smile." What a gift of true insight to be able to see this ,and to know this beauitful part of yourself. What a blessing.
Today I was a sleepy rock, a hunk
of granite surrounded by long grasses,
tossed up long ago by an ancient glacier,
spotted with lichen. Sometimes dappled
in sun speckles, sometimes shaded under
the maple canopy. Today wearing
a snow hat that slowly melted in the rain.
This is so charming, Melanie! The images of you as a "sleepy rock" and your snow hat melting in the rain is just marvelous.
Thank you, Lisa. Your image of the moss-bright island made me think of the rock in my backyard enduring the winter weather and I started wondering what it might be like to be the rock.
What a lovely thing to wonder about! Those are sorts of questions I ask myself, too.
LIsa, your creative prompt and my therapy session today brought this poem to light.
Wrong Turn
^
“Why do you think you do that?”
Rebecca asks from her chair,
across the room.
Facing me as I sit
on the pillowed couch.
^
“I don’t know,”
I say.
^
Sometimes I make a wrong turn
on purpose.
^
Most of me screams
“wrong way,
turn around
no trepassing
there’s a train coming…”
^
But part of me
winks and says
just drive.
It sounds like you have a little bit of a trickster inside of you! I love this poem so much, Larry - the honesty, the playfulness, the way you pull me right into the room with you and your therapist. This is just wonderful!
Thank you Lisa! Like so many, I usually avoid confronting, much less accepting, my shadow sides, which can lead to more wrong turns!
Oh gosh, I wanted to add that my life and heart would be significantly less full without the Jensen sisters and your remarkable creativity, wisdom, insight, kindness and humor!
Oh, I love this mischievous and mysterious poem, Larry! The subject matter (therapy & wrong turns) made me think of the show Shrinking -- have you seen it? The episode I watched last night featured a few of the characters making spectacular mistakes and concluded with this Angie McMahon song, "Letting Go," that I'm obsessed with now. The song ends with "It's okay, it's okay / Make mistakes, make mistakes" over and over again -- what's not to love about that?
Thank you for this wonderful note and comment, Rebekah! I have not watched “shrinking”, but I will be now. There is an incredible poem at the end of the movie “Smoke Signals”, that encapsulates mistakes, wrong turns and forgiveness. It’s called “forgiving our fathers” written by Dick Lorie. Thank you for always being enlightening, Rebekah. I am very grateful for you.
Lisa, every poem you write speaks to some deep part of me. I'm so grateful to you for continuing to share and make space for us here. 🧡
Thank you so much, A! I can't even tell you how much that means to me. (Some poet I am!)
I really like where this one ended up, Lisa. It's tight and direct and free of all that's unnecessary. Really good writing.
Thank you so much, Kim! CWC must be working!
Most of me seeks rising
But not all of me
Wanting to see the hypostasis
Hidden behind the filters
Of learned beliefs
I can smell the burnt offerings
To gods of daily experience
So close to seeing the light
Yet not taking the last step
"Wanting to see the hypostasis / Hidden behind the filters / Of learned beliefs." Me too, me too! The brain is so incredible, and yet at the end of the day, it's also just one big filter, trained from our childhood to apply our culture's preferred algorithms. This is a really evocative poem, Jim.
We see it the same way. The deeper I look the more it seems I “know” nothing. It seems part of life is becoming comfortable with uncertainty.
The Wisdom Paradox
"The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don't know." - Albert Einstein
The more you learn, the more you are exposed to the immense unknown. This should be empowering, not frightening.
Embrace your own ignorance. Embrace lifelong learning.
A big yes to all of this!
Fear neither the jabberwocky or the Frumious Bandersnatch.
I like moss. And green. And moss green.
And moss and green like you!! I am sure of it.
This is so lovely, Lisa. These lines are incredible:
"though most of me
is an ache of blue..."
They push into me like a revelatory widstorm. And I love your ending:
"and an island,
moss bright,
green tongue stretching
from the deep
to lick
every color."
So very beautifful. The poem has such a sweet cadence, and circles back into itself like a warm embrace.
Your promot, too, is amazing. I love the way you pull, push and invite us to play, to wander, to go deeper, or let it flow, and to welcome whatever comes up. You are a dreamweaver, making a space for all these poetic dreams to rise and shine! Thank you!
Thank you so much, Larry! It's been a delightful surprise to discover how much I like writing not only poems but also prompts. They feel like fun little gifts to weave and share.
Lisa, you are a natural, an incredible guide and teacher.
Love your poem Lisa. I’ve been searching for a juicy prompt - so thanks for the “mostly” one.
Thank you, Jae! I hope it helps you toward whatever poem is ready to rise to the surface!