Happy Sunday friends!
I hope you’re enjoying the prompts, whether you’re gulping them up or letting them settle into your bones. You never know when a poem will suddenly arise. Let it sweep you off your feet, even if its one line with a ton of dot dot dots…
Today, we’re going to let Sunday be Sunday.
I invite you to observe your day with poetry in mind and gather a list of words. Whenever and wherever you see a word, pick it up and write it down. Sometimes when I walk a path in the woods I’ll see a leaf, or a rock- like it called out to me for some reason - and I’ll pick it up. I hold it in my hands for a little while and then let it go. Do the same on this day with words.
As you witness your ordinary tasks today, watch for words, sounds, colors, things people say or do. Write them down in list form like this:
morning skipping down the stairs essence blank stare papery dark marks surrender gladness my sound "no i go first"
Let the Sunday speak to you. Let the words sit there all day. Maybe write the poem tomorrow.
Prompt~ Write a poem with your list you gathered from Sunday
A place to start~ “It’s a Sunday Morning…”
This is one of my favorite ways to write. Maybe it feels like a puzzle. Maybe I’ll see a poem strung throughout words I didn’t know could go together.
I can’t wait to hear from you!
with love,
nicole
It's a Sunday morning.
That comes with its own essence doesn't it?
Just those two words exude their own sort of poetry
Sunday morning...
There are blank stares between you, a page, and I.
We both await a papery conversation, an exchange in dark marks of the heart.
And who will go first?
The idea? My hand? Will you suddenly blurt out what you wish to become?
Or do you enjoy the surrender, patiently waiting in gladness,
(like you trees seem to do) for the visitor to become their own answer?
The first word is the hardest. The most dwelled upon. The one that will start the fall.
My own voice, my sound...it startles me.
__
Nicole
I tried so hard to find these beautiful words but eventually gave in to all of the stormy ones. They were so much easier to find. But thats not to say there wasnt any good in the day. It felt good to allow myself to brood. So i did. Its okay to have a magnificent amount of joy and helplessness all in one day. Im not punishing myself for being so dark and gloomy. Just learning to live with both and thats life.
Heres my word list and poem? Following
Gleam
Cozy
Plaid??
Intention
Slow
Screaming
aching
hurting
Too much sound
Too much effort
Crushing weight
Dark
Solitary
Joyless
Cry for help
Useless
Helpless
Hopeful
Let it go
Melts away
Plaid.
A shout. A cry. A shriek. My aching feet. I close my eyes. Find the good. Whats the good word in this? Gleam? The tears gleam. Gleam is nice. Im trying to live slow. Be intentional. Give everything purpose. But whats mine? I make breakfast. I am optimistic. A beautiful slow sunday full of beautiful Meaningful words in front of me. Right at my fingertips. And then words, sounds, noise. Too much noise. Being thrown at me. I cant think anymore. I cant hear the good words. Then silence. Darkness. Too much. I wished for it and now i sit alone in the dark on my perfect slow sunday. I cant move. I am frozen again. She wails. I cry. Quick find the good. Blankets are cozy. Thats nice, cozy is nice. I bet i can find something to do with cozy. But I'm alone and i dont want to be alone. Im tired. I cant sit, i cant stand, stop complaing. But my feet.. stop. It hurts. It all hurts. My heart aches and it grieves. The weight is too much. I let it go. I let it be as it is because i know in the end it will just be a faint memory and i will say 'why did i try so hard'. Great. That was too loud. Here we go again. I give in. Dark. Solitary. Helpless. Hopeless. Useless. Joyless. Dred. And then.. what is that? Warmth. Its a hand. Hope. A cry for help answered. A hand in mine. A reminder that there is so much love my heart wants to explode. A reminder that I am not alone. We are here together. A reminder of hope. And moments cherished. Smile. A laugh? Bliss. Pure. Fresh. Everlasting. The bad washes away. It was never really there. And yet it was everything. And the good comes swooping in and yet it was never really there but the only thing that mattered. And that is where the good meets the bad and intangles itself like.. plaid
The honesty in your writing hits me every time. You don’t shy away. You look the page right in the eye and then I’m looking at it right in the eye, and then I see myself in your story. You just gave an emotional bookend to “plaid” and I’m swooning!