Let’s begin with the prompt today, and then we’ll get to my poem! I know that at least a few of you will be in the path of totality for the upcoming solar eclipse. My boys and I are also eclipse bound and crossing our fingers for clear skies! In honor of Monday’s big event, the prompt du jour is
This is cosmic pageantry on the page! I love the idea of having been all those things, and containing libraries in one's cells. So true. We are all made of stardust, as I recall one of A's earlier poems having beautifully said. I am thrilling over the eclipse already. Here's my stab at this prompt:
Oh my gosh, Keith, I'm grinning ear to ear at the marvel that is your mind! This is so creative and so delightful and makes me curious about your process. Where did the inspiration for this fabulousness come from? Is your muse taking on new clients?
Haha! Thanks, friend :)) - I really modeled this one-sided dialogue on my parents' marriage, truth be told! I imagined Luna speaking to Sol the way I imagine my mother might have spoken to my dad, had she been able to use her voice more. So maybe my mom is the real poet here, and credit should go to the late, great Josie Aron. <3
Thanks, Karri - well, Luna got her chance to silence Sol for a moment, although her blotting out really stoked up his corona. It was exquisite! Did you get to see any of it?
Yes! We were in the path of totality but I was so freaked out about blinding myself I would just peek (totally with my eclipse glasses on) and then look away. But it was crazy when it got dark for those few minutes. Rather other worldly!
Other worldly is a good way of putting it...I couldn't believe how much the temperature dropped as we got near totality in Vermont...it's easy to see why the ancients were terrified, not knowing whether the sun would be back or not!
I love this Keith. What a precious ode to Sun and moon, and a wonderful illiteration of sacred reverance with real life interconnectedness, and a pragmatic perspective of even the most glorious of phenomena. May your totality be awesome tomorrow!
Thank you, Larry! It was awesome, indeed. So glad I made it up to the path of totality and that it was such a clear viewing day. A full minute+ of eerie & excquisite!
I love the comparison to TV schedules and all the nostalgia this poem pulls with it. We spend so much time nowadays behind our phones (a.k.a. "experience blockers," as I heard writer/psychologist Jonathan Haidt call them earlier today), where everything appears on demand and algorithmically decides what we demand . . . and then there are these incredible things that happen, sometimes on schedule, there and waiting to be experienced (if we've gotten our homework done).
Nice work, Chuck! I certainly remember that clear boundary, do your homework, your chores, your room, or the good things stay beyond access. I lament those days of few choices and great wonder. Happy Eclipse to you!
Happy Eclipse to you too! And what a line to say to those who are poo pooing the eclipse (around here at least) - 'cause its a long long wait for everyone for the next solar re-run!
I was realizing as we waited for the eclipse that the next time we'll have a chance to see it, my kids will be in their 20s and, for all I know, may be bringing their own kids to see it. I felt that preemptive nostalgia and wanted to cry, but it was such a beautiful moment.
I love the old-school TV theme and the idea of "solar re-runs." I also love how it got me thinking about the constancy of solar eclipses -- they happen now, they happened during Ed Sullivan's run, they happened forevermore before that.
We are smack dab in the path of totality here. My daughter's university has cancelled classes and hubby works from home so we have our glasses for a front row view so to speak.
The cosmos has always been somewhat of a source of stress for me due to my fundamentalist roots. The heavens were intertangled with heaven and the thought of it triggered existential crises on a regular basis. My concepts of time and the lack of it and just the meaning of life, death and the hereafter. Anyway, this is my take on what the eclipse would have meant to me when I was younger.
When I was a child
The total eclipse would surely have struck fear in my heart
I would have heard the chatter of apocalypse
And have noted it on a mental calendar as a day of dread
Much like recess on the school playground in 1981
Scanning the skies
Having heard a prophecy of the end of the world somewhere
Always reassured that the second coming would be ushered in first
But really wanting to grow up here, in this world and imploring Jesus
Oh, Karri, this makes me want to swoop in and reassure that little girl on the playground! Since I wasn't born until the end of 1981, I wouldn't have been much help, though. Your poem so powerfully evokes your childhood fear, and yet the ending also strikes me as so charming, "really just wanting to grow up here, in this world and imploring Jesus / to just stay put for my lifetime." It seems like your little girl self already had a lot of wisdom - like maybe she already understood that heaven can be experienced here on earth. In any case, your poem is just beautiful.
Thank the heavens (literally) for giving us writing, most definitely including poetry, to help process things, make meaning of them, and reclaim them as our own. I hope you got a fabulous view of the eclipse, Karri...and that you felt nothing but awe at the sight of it. Your poem reminds me of how scary the God presented to me by church and ancestry was for me in childhood. So glad I got to molt that skin!
Like Larry, I'm so glad you're in a place where you can just celebrate the eclipse now (literally and figuratively)! I really felt that little girl quaking over anything that might resemble "the chatter of apocalypse" and bargaining with Jesus to sit tight.
I had similar fears as a child, and now I wonder how the adults around me would have talked about an eclipse. The ending really got me, because that's how I felt when I still believed in the rapture, too. I just wanted to be here. ❤️
I love this Karri! You give wonderful voice to the girl on the playground, and your honest prayer for Jesus to stay put speaks for millions, I expect. I am delighted the fear is dissolving and you are able, in your front row seats, to enjoy full totality tomorrow! Peace be with you!
This is the very beginnings of an idea for a short story that intrigued me but I couldn’t seem to really take it much further as a short story. Maybe a Dan Brown sort of story/novel would work…
I have always been an unwavering dreamer. The past two decades I had taken one of those dreams and my skills as a dedicated software engineer and driven by my profound love for music and the enigmatic allure of the night sky, tried to make this dream come true. For years, I had tirelessly worked on a project that sought to correlate the stars' positions with musical notes as the Earth gracefully spun on its axis. Countless late nights were spent perfecting complex algorithms, and thousands of trials were performed in pursuit of an elusive celestial symphony. Last night, I tweaked my program for the thousandth time and braced myself for disappointment when I pressed "Run" on my computer. Years of failure despite my arduous work had taught me to manage my expectations. I expected another intriguing yet dissonant arrangement—more data that might fuel my obsession but fall short of the grand revelation I had hoped for. This time I entered the stars over Beethoven’s childhood home.
The screen flickered, and a haunting silence filled the room. I waited with bated breath, my heart pounding in my chest as the seconds ticked by. And then, a celestial marvel emerged from the speakers, resonating through the very fibers of my being. It was no ordinary harmony—it was the maestro’s timeless masterpiece, "Ode to Joy."
I love the idea of these "universal grooves and bumps" and of music mapped in the movement of stars. Beautiful! What an intriguing idea for a story, too.
This is wonderful, Billy. I love the combination of pride with the poem that follows. Your drive to meld dream and design into music and life is enticing and real. Keep dreaming and hearing the music between the lines!
This is so beautiful and tender and heartbreaking, and please don't ever fret over being "behind" on prompts. There are no deadlines here! Thank you for sharing something so intimate. I'm struck by the way you describe your mother's fall into the abyss - "spinning, twirling, flailing / but with no concern, devoid of fear." That stands in vivid contrast to the lines that come a bit later - "I eat clean, I stay green. I read to know . . . " I like how the more clipped sounds of the language in these lines matches what sounds to me like an intentional and carefully controlled existence. And yet it sounds like you feel the fear that your mother didn't have to feel ("but is it enough / hurtling at ever increasing speed"). It's so hard to not be able to control something so fundamental. I have long Covid and when I'm in a flare, I still experience cognitive impairment, and so I happen to share this particular fear about the future! It's a hard one to hold. I love how your ending (as I understand it, anyway) hints that love might be the thing that makes it all holdable.
Thank you, Lisa for the very close read of this poem. Your observations are on point. My mother’s final years were marked by a rapid, dramatic loss of cognitive function to the point she didn’t recognize anyone. Watching her demise has me wondering about my own fate. You’re right, the discipline I try to have in my own life may or may not make a difference in my own life arc. And you’re right on about my concluding hope; will the love between my closest loved ones and me be my saving grace? I can only hope.
I agree! The clipped sounds of the second stanza versus the flailing of the first really connects the content with the form of the poem. And that last question is everything.
So glad this resonated with you and happy that you saw the connection in writing style. Yes, I was trying to sound confident when talking about myself in the second stanza but the question at the end really speaks to my heart. Thank you for kind comments, A.
Oh wow, I feel this poem. My mother fell into what sounds like a similar abyss. "I read to know/I write to know what it is that I know" - such a great pairing of lines.
Thank you so much, Keith. Unfortunately, this sentiment does resonate with many and as I get older (66) the reality of my demise becomes that much more apparent. I've come to peace with getting older so I just take it one day at a time. Thanks again for your comment.
Taking thins ODAAT works for everything I have thus far encountered! My mom lived with Alzheimer's for about 13 years before she died in 2021 at the age of 91 - she outlived many of the co-residents in her memory care unit, so I got to see lots of families whose loved ones fell into that abyss. I know that I struggle with intermittent thoughts about going through what my mom did, and I'm in my mid-50's. I have siblings who are all 10+ years older, and it's likely more at the forefront for them. Wishing you peace of mind, today and every day.
Keith, thank you so much for this very tender and thoughtful response. Strange, it’s not my eventual demise I fear, it’s how I’m going to get there. So far, being holistically minded in my self care appears to be working as I really lean into my overall good health. Thank you for the good wishes and the same to you!
Beautiful....I think all of us know someone who has fallen into that abyss. For me it is my aunt. She is like a giggly child, blissfully unaware and my poor uncle is bearing the brunt of her caregiving with no help - but anyway, thank you for putting that into words.
And" I write to know what is is that I know" - sums up writing so perfectly for me!
Thank you so much, Karri. Yes, when I wrote this I had no way of knowing how readers would react and I'm touched at how people can relate to the reality of just getting old. It is difficult for loved ones but again, that's the reality of being human. Thank you for pointing out the I write to know line. Haha, it took me a while to get the words to actually make sense. Thanks again for taking the time to sit with this.
Second what Karri said about "I write to know what it is that I know" -- what a brilliant line! I stopped and thought about it for a bit and concluded YES, that is why I/we write. And just a gorgeous poem overall.
Thank you so much, Rebekah. I really wish I was that clever all the time when it comes to lines but I'm happy that this resonated with others. And thank you for the kind words, they really are an encouragement to me.
What a sweet and powerful poem! I love the connection with the “falling “of your mom into an abyss, something it seems so many of us can resonate with and to. It is a special gift to give voice to these happenings in our lives.
This is a lovely metaphor, and I love that you worked "gloaming" into it (such a magical word!). I found the last stanza so profound...every change new, yet the oldest thing we can imagine (until we rotate another couple of degrees). Also so fun that you and your grandmother have reached this mathematical juxtaposition in time.
What a sweet and lovely poem, Rebekah. I love the intersecting rhythm of you and your grandmother’s lives. And your gazing into this next chapter. Your poem reminded me of a sweet song called “Across the Great Divide”. By Kate Wolf, sung splendidly by Nanci Griffith, about the shifting into a different season. I pray you have at least 48.5 years in this team; your brightness and presence make a difference.
Your poem is - wait for it - out of this world! :) Sorry I had to. Seriously, it is probing, and thought provoking and wonderful. It makes me want to take a deep breath and just BE with the universe.
What a fun, creative, exciting, awesome, wondrous and cosmic prompt, Lisa! An exciting time for sure. Your poem is cosmic as well, intricate and probing, fun and fearless! And it has me thinking of human constructs and how we seek to define what we often can’t understand. Or, once having the empirical evidence to explain a phenomenon, turn to outrageous claims and theories to counter what science, logic and reason put in front of us. Thank you for instigating and inspiring, always! 😃
Thank you so much, Larry! The fact that each of us is made of about a billion billion billion atoms, almost every one of which was forged in a star or supernova, and the fact that we shed 98% of these atoms every single year (and 100% within 5-7 years) . . . all of this adds up to such a mind-blowing level of interconnectedness. Isn't it amazing that we can still pretend to be separate? That we (I include myself in this) can still cling so hard to this or that thing? I can't even begin to fathom the number and diversity of beings and things of which my current atoms have been a part. I walk around the world sometimes looking at the trees around me or the people passing by, and I wonder if one of their atoms and one of mine sat side-by-side in the nostril of a t-rex or the belt buckle of Napoleon (did he wear belts?) or a pretty flower that some child picked to give to her mother. Who knows, Larry, maybe out atoms have already met IRL? I like that thought, so I'm going to roll with it.
A wonderful Poem Lisa. You put all sorts of thoughts/ideas/imagery into that and they meld incredibly well! Very cool that you’re taking your boys to witness this event! Something they will remember forever.
Thanks, Billy! None of my kids were especially excited about seeing the eclipse before we actually went, but then they were completely wowed by the actual event. It was so special to get to have that experience of awe together!
This is brilliant insight, Lisa, and certainly has me thinking. We have been talking much about dinosaurs with our grandkids and the notion that our atoms are timeless and shared through generations and beings and particles certainly shines a light on our cosmic connections and what we define as sacred and divine. Lisa, thank you for being such a raiser of consciousness. I am so grateful.
The idea that our atoms are all shared/recycled would be such an interesting concept to bring into those conversations about dinosaurs. I think I would have been completely fascinated by that as a child!
I wish everyone for whom this event is a watershed, deep joy, immense pleasure and mindful peacefulness as the eclipse unfolds. I pray that in the aftermath of these precious moments, a new and renewed sense of passion and love for the creation blooms and blossoms. I pray that in our wonder and awe, we hold dear the sacred nature of our earth, and that we honor our interconnectedness and inter-relationship to past, present and future. I pray that our recognition of beauty is not confined to a lifetime event but is redirected to the essential beauty in every present moment, all around and within us. I pray that in our reawakening to the mysteries of the universe, that we each become healers for a planet that gives us so much in every breath and beat.
In prayer this poem emerges:
Before we rose to greet the fledgling new day,
we were birthed in the breath of a billion stars.
As the first dawn opened to all that remained,
the beauty erupted in joyful anticipation
of all we could be
when our hearts opened to the dream,
of one life blending into the next,
the sacred song of Love that weathers all the storms
Your prayer is a poem, too, Larry! I've been finding myself wishing for the same things - that "a new and renewed sense of passion and love for the creation blooms and blossoms" within my own life, within my kids, and within the wider world. Your poem is lovely, too. "Beauty erupted in joyful anticipation / of all we could be / when our hearts opened" - so beautiful.
Thank you for all of this goodness, Larry...the link to the prose, the prayer and the poem. The last two lines of your beautiful prayer really struck a chord. I loved seeing the eclipse in its totality, the majesty and mystery of it, and I loved knowing that so many people were intentionally sharing the experience yesterday, but I also felt sad to see how many folks were there/not there, not even looking at what was happening until totality burst. It's so helpful to be reminded that all of us were "birthed into the breath of a billion stars" and that we are all part of "the sacred song of Love that weathers all the storms."
Thank you for your kind and gracious note, Lisa. Good hearts and spirits like those you are cultivating here will help shift the tide. On our plane ride home today, I was reading some Barbara Kingsolver poems, and they reminded so much of your wonderful poetry. Thank you for your gracious and generous heart and poetry!
Thank you Keith. What a wonderful experience being there with millions, in the eclipse and its totality. Two strangers from Australia let us use their eclipse glasses to watch from here, and We walked on a trail while the eclipse was happening. Perhaps the unity generated by the eclipse can carry us forward into a future that is possible.
I hope so, Larry - your anecdote about the sharing of eclipse glasses with strangers from the other side of the earth certainly illustrates that possibility. Glad you got to see some of it from a trail!
This is cosmic pageantry on the page! I love the idea of having been all those things, and containing libraries in one's cells. So true. We are all made of stardust, as I recall one of A's earlier poems having beautifully said. I am thrilling over the eclipse already. Here's my stab at this prompt:
Oh Sol, Luna sighed.
You think you’re such a star
which, of course, my darling,
you technically are.
But sometimes you come across
as a flaming old fool,
gasbagging and glaring,
sputtering, flaring.
Just because the world
literally revolves around you
doesn’t make you the
figurative center of the universe.
Remember, my dear,
size doesn’t matter.
You may be
400 times bigger,
but I am that many times closer
to our earthly brood.
And it’s substance, not form
that strikes hearts sublime,
which is why my luminosity,
pale and cool
eclipses you
from time to time.
You know you need my yin
to temper your yang,
my umbra to highlight
Your corona.
It’s an ancient story,
A familiar song.
Men are muscular, but
women are strong.
Oh my gosh, Keith, I'm grinning ear to ear at the marvel that is your mind! This is so creative and so delightful and makes me curious about your process. Where did the inspiration for this fabulousness come from? Is your muse taking on new clients?
Haha! Thanks, friend :)) - I really modeled this one-sided dialogue on my parents' marriage, truth be told! I imagined Luna speaking to Sol the way I imagine my mother might have spoken to my dad, had she been able to use her voice more. So maybe my mom is the real poet here, and credit should go to the late, great Josie Aron. <3
What a delightful comparison of the sun and moon! And tomorrow I suppose Luna truly gets her chance to shine!
Thanks, Karri - well, Luna got her chance to silence Sol for a moment, although her blotting out really stoked up his corona. It was exquisite! Did you get to see any of it?
Yes! We were in the path of totality but I was so freaked out about blinding myself I would just peek (totally with my eclipse glasses on) and then look away. But it was crazy when it got dark for those few minutes. Rather other worldly!
Other worldly is a good way of putting it...I couldn't believe how much the temperature dropped as we got near totality in Vermont...it's easy to see why the ancients were terrified, not knowing whether the sun would be back or not!
I love this Keith. What a precious ode to Sun and moon, and a wonderful illiteration of sacred reverance with real life interconnectedness, and a pragmatic perspective of even the most glorious of phenomena. May your totality be awesome tomorrow!
Thank you, Larry! It was awesome, indeed. So glad I made it up to the path of totality and that it was such a clear viewing day. A full minute+ of eerie & excquisite!
Ok, I'm back after my read-aloud session. This needs to be a famous song! I think you should pitch it to Brandi Carlile...
Oh my gosh, yes, the perfect song for Brandi!
LOL! I got the Brandi Carlile merit badge, love it! High praise, for sure. Thank you again!
Holy moly! This is wonderful! I need to go back and read it out loud to myself now, but just had to exclaim to you about it first. ;)
Thanks so much for exclaiming! So glad you enjoyed it :))
I'm grinning along with Lisa here, Keith. This is so clever.
Thanks so much, A. So glad you enjoyed :))
for me, it's a waft of nostalgia.
It's their schedule, not mine.
Kinda like old school tv design
before we took the frontline.
Disney was Sunday - 7:30, Ed Sullivan at 8.
and 8:30 Thursday Star Trek.
All on my must-see plate.
And you better get all your homework done.
So mom won't nix all the fun
'cause it's a long long wait
for that summer re-run.
So grab your glasses and lawn chair
as you toss up a clear skies prayer.
be there.
or be square.
& remember to get all your homework done.
'cause its a long long wait for everyone
'til the next solar re-run.
Kinda exciting.
Kinda romantic.
Have a happy eclipse, y'all
I love the comparison to TV schedules and all the nostalgia this poem pulls with it. We spend so much time nowadays behind our phones (a.k.a. "experience blockers," as I heard writer/psychologist Jonathan Haidt call them earlier today), where everything appears on demand and algorithmically decides what we demand . . . and then there are these incredible things that happen, sometimes on schedule, there and waiting to be experienced (if we've gotten our homework done).
Thank you this was a fun one.
Love the rhyming, love the nostalgia, love the idea of getting one's homework done and solar re-runs. Nicely played :))
Nice work, Chuck! I certainly remember that clear boundary, do your homework, your chores, your room, or the good things stay beyond access. I lament those days of few choices and great wonder. Happy Eclipse to you!
....days of few choices.....🙂
Happy Eclipse to you too! And what a line to say to those who are poo pooing the eclipse (around here at least) - 'cause its a long long wait for everyone for the next solar re-run!
I was realizing as we waited for the eclipse that the next time we'll have a chance to see it, my kids will be in their 20s and, for all I know, may be bringing their own kids to see it. I felt that preemptive nostalgia and wanted to cry, but it was such a beautiful moment.
I love the old-school TV theme and the idea of "solar re-runs." I also love how it got me thinking about the constancy of solar eclipses -- they happen now, they happened during Ed Sullivan's run, they happened forevermore before that.
We are smack dab in the path of totality here. My daughter's university has cancelled classes and hubby works from home so we have our glasses for a front row view so to speak.
The cosmos has always been somewhat of a source of stress for me due to my fundamentalist roots. The heavens were intertangled with heaven and the thought of it triggered existential crises on a regular basis. My concepts of time and the lack of it and just the meaning of life, death and the hereafter. Anyway, this is my take on what the eclipse would have meant to me when I was younger.
When I was a child
The total eclipse would surely have struck fear in my heart
I would have heard the chatter of apocalypse
And have noted it on a mental calendar as a day of dread
Much like recess on the school playground in 1981
Scanning the skies
Having heard a prophecy of the end of the world somewhere
Always reassured that the second coming would be ushered in first
But really wanting to grow up here, in this world and imploring Jesus
To just stay put for my lifetime.
Oh, Karri, this makes me want to swoop in and reassure that little girl on the playground! Since I wasn't born until the end of 1981, I wouldn't have been much help, though. Your poem so powerfully evokes your childhood fear, and yet the ending also strikes me as so charming, "really just wanting to grow up here, in this world and imploring Jesus / to just stay put for my lifetime." It seems like your little girl self already had a lot of wisdom - like maybe she already understood that heaven can be experienced here on earth. In any case, your poem is just beautiful.
Thank the heavens (literally) for giving us writing, most definitely including poetry, to help process things, make meaning of them, and reclaim them as our own. I hope you got a fabulous view of the eclipse, Karri...and that you felt nothing but awe at the sight of it. Your poem reminds me of how scary the God presented to me by church and ancestry was for me in childhood. So glad I got to molt that skin!
Like Larry, I'm so glad you're in a place where you can just celebrate the eclipse now (literally and figuratively)! I really felt that little girl quaking over anything that might resemble "the chatter of apocalypse" and bargaining with Jesus to sit tight.
I had similar fears as a child, and now I wonder how the adults around me would have talked about an eclipse. The ending really got me, because that's how I felt when I still believed in the rapture, too. I just wanted to be here. ❤️
I love this Karri! You give wonderful voice to the girl on the playground, and your honest prayer for Jesus to stay put speaks for millions, I expect. I am delighted the fear is dissolving and you are able, in your front row seats, to enjoy full totality tomorrow! Peace be with you!
This is the very beginnings of an idea for a short story that intrigued me but I couldn’t seem to really take it much further as a short story. Maybe a Dan Brown sort of story/novel would work…
I have always been an unwavering dreamer. The past two decades I had taken one of those dreams and my skills as a dedicated software engineer and driven by my profound love for music and the enigmatic allure of the night sky, tried to make this dream come true. For years, I had tirelessly worked on a project that sought to correlate the stars' positions with musical notes as the Earth gracefully spun on its axis. Countless late nights were spent perfecting complex algorithms, and thousands of trials were performed in pursuit of an elusive celestial symphony. Last night, I tweaked my program for the thousandth time and braced myself for disappointment when I pressed "Run" on my computer. Years of failure despite my arduous work had taught me to manage my expectations. I expected another intriguing yet dissonant arrangement—more data that might fuel my obsession but fall short of the grand revelation I had hoped for. This time I entered the stars over Beethoven’s childhood home.
The screen flickered, and a haunting silence filled the room. I waited with bated breath, my heart pounding in my chest as the seconds ticked by. And then, a celestial marvel emerged from the speakers, resonating through the very fibers of my being. It was no ordinary harmony—it was the maestro’s timeless masterpiece, "Ode to Joy."
A related poem-
I watch the night sky
And I see music
The steady rotation
Of Mother Earth
Time-lapse star paths
Create vinyl record-like tracings
Universal grooves and bumps
My eyes the stylus needle
Celestial bodies-sixteenth and eighth
And quarter notes
They play in my mind
And I hear “Ode to Joy”
I see Beethoven
Floating in his mountain lake
A billion stars above him
A billion stars beside him
Deafening is the Power of God
Manifested through mankind
Where is God? They ask
Why is He silent? They wonder
The seeming silence
Of the heavens
A musical symphony
For those that wish to hear
I love the idea of these "universal grooves and bumps" and of music mapped in the movement of stars. Beautiful! What an intriguing idea for a story, too.
I loved your poem when I read it on your substack and I believe you have the beginnings of a great story there!
Thank you. Yeah, it could be, need to find time to develop it!
Great metaphor, Billy. And I love the idea of silence ("seeming silence") being a symphony for those that wish to hear.
Thank you!
This is wonderful, Billy. I love the combination of pride with the poem that follows. Your drive to meld dream and design into music and life is enticing and real. Keep dreaming and hearing the music between the lines!
Thank you Larry!
This is beautiful, Billy. I would absolutely read the finished story. What a gorgeous concept.
Great prompt, Lisa and I'm working on something. I know I'm a couple of prompts behind but here's something regarding fear:
On Fear
I watched my mother fall into an abyss
Confused moments, unrecognizable connections
Tumbling aimlessly, nothing coherent
Spinning, twirling, flailing
But with no concern, devoid of fear
No problem, no worries
Until she hit bottom in the neverneverland of unknowing
So I eat clean
I stay green
I read to know
I write to know what it is that I know
But is it enough
Hurtling at ever increasing speed
To miss the abyss
To turn from despair
To always land on the right side of love?
This is so beautiful and tender and heartbreaking, and please don't ever fret over being "behind" on prompts. There are no deadlines here! Thank you for sharing something so intimate. I'm struck by the way you describe your mother's fall into the abyss - "spinning, twirling, flailing / but with no concern, devoid of fear." That stands in vivid contrast to the lines that come a bit later - "I eat clean, I stay green. I read to know . . . " I like how the more clipped sounds of the language in these lines matches what sounds to me like an intentional and carefully controlled existence. And yet it sounds like you feel the fear that your mother didn't have to feel ("but is it enough / hurtling at ever increasing speed"). It's so hard to not be able to control something so fundamental. I have long Covid and when I'm in a flare, I still experience cognitive impairment, and so I happen to share this particular fear about the future! It's a hard one to hold. I love how your ending (as I understand it, anyway) hints that love might be the thing that makes it all holdable.
Thank you, Lisa for the very close read of this poem. Your observations are on point. My mother’s final years were marked by a rapid, dramatic loss of cognitive function to the point she didn’t recognize anyone. Watching her demise has me wondering about my own fate. You’re right, the discipline I try to have in my own life may or may not make a difference in my own life arc. And you’re right on about my concluding hope; will the love between my closest loved ones and me be my saving grace? I can only hope.
I agree! The clipped sounds of the second stanza versus the flailing of the first really connects the content with the form of the poem. And that last question is everything.
So glad this resonated with you and happy that you saw the connection in writing style. Yes, I was trying to sound confident when talking about myself in the second stanza but the question at the end really speaks to my heart. Thank you for kind comments, A.
Oh wow, I feel this poem. My mother fell into what sounds like a similar abyss. "I read to know/I write to know what it is that I know" - such a great pairing of lines.
Thank you so much, Keith. Unfortunately, this sentiment does resonate with many and as I get older (66) the reality of my demise becomes that much more apparent. I've come to peace with getting older so I just take it one day at a time. Thanks again for your comment.
Taking thins ODAAT works for everything I have thus far encountered! My mom lived with Alzheimer's for about 13 years before she died in 2021 at the age of 91 - she outlived many of the co-residents in her memory care unit, so I got to see lots of families whose loved ones fell into that abyss. I know that I struggle with intermittent thoughts about going through what my mom did, and I'm in my mid-50's. I have siblings who are all 10+ years older, and it's likely more at the forefront for them. Wishing you peace of mind, today and every day.
Keith, thank you so much for this very tender and thoughtful response. Strange, it’s not my eventual demise I fear, it’s how I’m going to get there. So far, being holistically minded in my self care appears to be working as I really lean into my overall good health. Thank you for the good wishes and the same to you!
Thank you! And, I can identify with feeling trepidatious not so much about the destination, but the journey.
Beautiful....I think all of us know someone who has fallen into that abyss. For me it is my aunt. She is like a giggly child, blissfully unaware and my poor uncle is bearing the brunt of her caregiving with no help - but anyway, thank you for putting that into words.
And" I write to know what is is that I know" - sums up writing so perfectly for me!
Thank you so much, Karri. Yes, when I wrote this I had no way of knowing how readers would react and I'm touched at how people can relate to the reality of just getting old. It is difficult for loved ones but again, that's the reality of being human. Thank you for pointing out the I write to know line. Haha, it took me a while to get the words to actually make sense. Thanks again for taking the time to sit with this.
Second what Karri said about "I write to know what it is that I know" -- what a brilliant line! I stopped and thought about it for a bit and concluded YES, that is why I/we write. And just a gorgeous poem overall.
Thank you so much, Rebekah. I really wish I was that clever all the time when it comes to lines but I'm happy that this resonated with others. And thank you for the kind words, they really are an encouragement to me.
What a sweet and powerful poem! I love the connection with the “falling “of your mom into an abyss, something it seems so many of us can resonate with and to. It is a special gift to give voice to these happenings in our lives.
Thanks, Larry. The falling unfortunately seemed very quick at the end--as if picking up momentum. Glad this all resonated with you!
My totality is now.
.
At 48.5,
it’s safe to assume
I’m halfway.
.
For starters, I’m half
my grandmother’s age.
Her moon is almost free, its lips
grazing the sun’s fevered cheek
as it is pulled spaceward.
.
I am in the gloaming.
My fruit will be
a smidge too sweet
tomorrow.
.
In the first half,
the light was how I
built and loved and
adventured and dreamed.
What light comes for me next?
It will taste different.
I am not afraid – only
sentimental.
.
At 48.5,
my grandmother
became a grandmother.
I was born to her totality.
.
In this great cycle
of bodies, the view
rotates without stopping.
It is always new, and always
the oldest thing
we can imagine.
Your first line completely captured me - "my totality is now." Just gorgeous, and I love the metaphor that weaves through the whole of your poem!
This is a lovely metaphor, and I love that you worked "gloaming" into it (such a magical word!). I found the last stanza so profound...every change new, yet the oldest thing we can imagine (until we rotate another couple of degrees). Also so fun that you and your grandmother have reached this mathematical juxtaposition in time.
"I am not afraid - only sentimental." - I feel this very much lately.
You had me at "My totality is now."
What a sweet and lovely poem, Rebekah. I love the intersecting rhythm of you and your grandmother’s lives. And your gazing into this next chapter. Your poem reminded me of a sweet song called “Across the Great Divide”. By Kate Wolf, sung splendidly by Nanci Griffith, about the shifting into a different season. I pray you have at least 48.5 years in this team; your brightness and presence make a difference.
Your poem is - wait for it - out of this world! :) Sorry I had to. Seriously, it is probing, and thought provoking and wonderful. It makes me want to take a deep breath and just BE with the universe.
What a fun, creative, exciting, awesome, wondrous and cosmic prompt, Lisa! An exciting time for sure. Your poem is cosmic as well, intricate and probing, fun and fearless! And it has me thinking of human constructs and how we seek to define what we often can’t understand. Or, once having the empirical evidence to explain a phenomenon, turn to outrageous claims and theories to counter what science, logic and reason put in front of us. Thank you for instigating and inspiring, always! 😃
Thank you so much, Larry! The fact that each of us is made of about a billion billion billion atoms, almost every one of which was forged in a star or supernova, and the fact that we shed 98% of these atoms every single year (and 100% within 5-7 years) . . . all of this adds up to such a mind-blowing level of interconnectedness. Isn't it amazing that we can still pretend to be separate? That we (I include myself in this) can still cling so hard to this or that thing? I can't even begin to fathom the number and diversity of beings and things of which my current atoms have been a part. I walk around the world sometimes looking at the trees around me or the people passing by, and I wonder if one of their atoms and one of mine sat side-by-side in the nostril of a t-rex or the belt buckle of Napoleon (did he wear belts?) or a pretty flower that some child picked to give to her mother. Who knows, Larry, maybe out atoms have already met IRL? I like that thought, so I'm going to roll with it.
A wonderful Poem Lisa. You put all sorts of thoughts/ideas/imagery into that and they meld incredibly well! Very cool that you’re taking your boys to witness this event! Something they will remember forever.
Thanks, Billy! None of my kids were especially excited about seeing the eclipse before we actually went, but then they were completely wowed by the actual event. It was so special to get to have that experience of awe together!
This is brilliant insight, Lisa, and certainly has me thinking. We have been talking much about dinosaurs with our grandkids and the notion that our atoms are timeless and shared through generations and beings and particles certainly shines a light on our cosmic connections and what we define as sacred and divine. Lisa, thank you for being such a raiser of consciousness. I am so grateful.
The idea that our atoms are all shared/recycled would be such an interesting concept to bring into those conversations about dinosaurs. I think I would have been completely fascinated by that as a child!
I started out to write a poem and it became a prose piece with an ending poem that I posted to my Leading with Love substack. Here is the ink to that and the last paragraph and poem that ended the piece. https://open.substack.com/pub/larrybricknerwood/p/the-cosmic-dance?r=6kogk&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web
I wish everyone for whom this event is a watershed, deep joy, immense pleasure and mindful peacefulness as the eclipse unfolds. I pray that in the aftermath of these precious moments, a new and renewed sense of passion and love for the creation blooms and blossoms. I pray that in our wonder and awe, we hold dear the sacred nature of our earth, and that we honor our interconnectedness and inter-relationship to past, present and future. I pray that our recognition of beauty is not confined to a lifetime event but is redirected to the essential beauty in every present moment, all around and within us. I pray that in our reawakening to the mysteries of the universe, that we each become healers for a planet that gives us so much in every breath and beat.
In prayer this poem emerges:
Before we rose to greet the fledgling new day,
we were birthed in the breath of a billion stars.
As the first dawn opened to all that remained,
the beauty erupted in joyful anticipation
of all we could be
when our hearts opened to the dream,
of one life blending into the next,
the sacred song of Love that weathers all the storms
and is born again, and again,
in beauty.
Your prayer is a poem, too, Larry! I've been finding myself wishing for the same things - that "a new and renewed sense of passion and love for the creation blooms and blossoms" within my own life, within my kids, and within the wider world. Your poem is lovely, too. "Beauty erupted in joyful anticipation / of all we could be / when our hearts opened" - so beautiful.
Thank you for all of this goodness, Larry...the link to the prose, the prayer and the poem. The last two lines of your beautiful prayer really struck a chord. I loved seeing the eclipse in its totality, the majesty and mystery of it, and I loved knowing that so many people were intentionally sharing the experience yesterday, but I also felt sad to see how many folks were there/not there, not even looking at what was happening until totality burst. It's so helpful to be reminded that all of us were "birthed into the breath of a billion stars" and that we are all part of "the sacred song of Love that weathers all the storms."
Thank you for your kind and gracious note, Lisa. Good hearts and spirits like those you are cultivating here will help shift the tide. On our plane ride home today, I was reading some Barbara Kingsolver poems, and they reminded so much of your wonderful poetry. Thank you for your gracious and generous heart and poetry!
I’ve only ever read her prose, but I know that’s a high compliment! Thank you, Larry. ❤️
She has two great books of poetry, and I know you will too! And prose!
I didn't know she had books of poetry either - I love her novels - I will have to check that out!
Thank you Keith. What a wonderful experience being there with millions, in the eclipse and its totality. Two strangers from Australia let us use their eclipse glasses to watch from here, and We walked on a trail while the eclipse was happening. Perhaps the unity generated by the eclipse can carry us forward into a future that is possible.
I hope so, Larry - your anecdote about the sharing of eclipse glasses with strangers from the other side of the earth certainly illustrates that possibility. Glad you got to see some of it from a trail!
I read your post a few days ago but reread your poem this morning. It helped calm my heart this morning <3
That is so nice, Karri. Thank you for letting me know. Peace yo your kind and gentle heart. ❤️
Thank you for this beautiful prayer, Larry.
What do you mean,
the heavens aren't really heaven?
How could there be
a more beautiful forever than ending up among the stars?
Short and sweet - I love this so much!
Yes, this is a mighty little nugget, A. Indeed, how could there be a more beautiful forever than ending up among the stars???
This poem is so sweet and so cosmic. "Ever atom of you has stories to tell." That could be a prompt too. What stories do your atoms tell?
What a fun idea for a prompt!
Your happily ever after is mine, too, Lisa. This is such a beautiful poem.