When you’re struggling
when everything feels lousy
when your thoughts are jumbled
like a messy room
when optimism feels
like a foreign language
keep on breathing
– this too will pass
ThoughtForToday – 2 December
Another day
means
a fresh start
dawned opportunities
and
forgiving yourself for past failures.
“What a writer” – poem by Charles Bukowski
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what i liked about e.e. cummings
was that he cut away from
the holiness of the
word
and with charm
and gamble
gave us lines
that sliced through the
dung.
how it was needed!
how we were withering
away
in the old
tired
manner.
of course, then came all
the e.e. cummings
copyists.
they copied him then
as the others had
copied Keats, Shelly,
Swinburne, Byron, et
al.
but there was only
one
e.e. cummings.
of course.
one sun.
one moon.
ThoughtForToday – 1 November
There isn’t enough short- term thinking
like :
why should I improve my world – today?
like:
how can I make a better world in the next hour?
like:
what do I do now to make a difference?
Think short-term.
ThoughtForToday – 30 November
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Weather
Love your weather
You have no control over it.
The more you love
the weather you’ve been sent
the more love you have
for what means most to you.
Get an umbrella.
“Life Hack”
We are meaning-making machines.
ThoughtForToday – 29 November
Cogito ergo sum
Even when I feel
v ulnerable & delicate
– I am
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ThoughtForToday – 27 November
Imagine …
There’s a new discovery
– an imagination machine
you carry round with you.
It generates
daydreams & fairytales
at the flick of a switch.
Will you use it today?
Walt Whitman on Thanksgiving Day
Note: I found this (via Google) published on Every Writer (1 November 2010)
_____________________
THE PLACE GRATITUDE FILLS IN A FINE CHARACTER
by Walt Whitman
From the Philadelphia Press, Nov. 27, 1884, (Thanksgiving number)
Scene.—A large family supper party, a night or two ago, with voices and laughter of the young, mellow faces of the old, and a by-and-by pause in the general joviality. “Now, Mr. Whitman,” spoke up one of the girls, “what have you to say about Thanksgiving? Won’t you give us a sermon in advance, to sober us down?” The sage nodded smilingly, look’d a moment at the blaze of the great wood fire, ran his forefinger right and left through the heavy white mustache that might have otherwise impeded his voice, and began: “Thanksgiving goes probably far deeper than you folks suppose. I am not sure but it is the source of the highest poetry—as in parts of the Bible. Ruskin, indeed, makes the central source of all great art to be praise (gratitude) to the Almighty for life, and the universe with its objects and play of action.
“We Americans devote an official day to it every year; yet I sometimes fear the real article is almost dead or dying in our self-sufficient, independent Republic. Gratitude, anyhow, has never been made half enough of by the moralists; it is indispensable to a complete character, man’s or woman’s—the disposition to be appreciative, thankful. That is the main matter, the element, inclination—what geologists call the trend. Of my own life and writings I estimate the giving thanks part, with what it infers, as essentially the best item. I should say the quality of gratitude rounds the whole emotional nature; I should say love and faith would quite lack vitality without it. There are people— shall I call them even religious people, as things go?— who have no such trend to their disposition.”
“Thanks-Giving Day” – poem by Paul O’Mahony
sometimes our thank you is said so casually
or quickly that it is nearly meaningless.
(Martin Seligman)
______________
I was never thankful
to my father
or my mother
I wasn’t even thankful
to the Universe
for what I had.
the house, clothes, water, food, shoes, shirts, bath,
garden, roses, grass, apples, hens, cabbage, loganberries,
hedgehog, lizard, bushes, even the bees
tortoise, trees, dogs, cats, fire, pocket-money, prayers,
holy water, statues, carpets, paintings, music, jelly, eggcups,
fireplaces,books, radiogram, even the plums
school, transport, brothers, sisters, God, cod-liver oil, mass,
chickens, eggs, lamb, salmon, ox-tongue, bread and butter pudding,
golf clubs, cut glass, even the gooseberries
ice cream, pancakes, rice pudding, red currants, peaches, pears,
record player, transistor radio, Luxembourg, milk, football, rashers,
cards, chess, rugby, even the blackberries
dobbers, conkers, tiddlywinks, compendium of games, holidays,
stories, photographs, confession, friends, short trousers, novenas,
nuns, thermometers, even the wagtails
pillows, pencils, bicycles, blazers, socks, sweets, pepper, porridge,
underpants, sandals, gospels, rules, knives, teaspoons, commandments,
gongs, conversations, birthdays, even the earthworms
If you asked me then whether I was grateful
I’d have said ‘yes’
If you ask me now whether I was thankful
I shall stay silent.
If you’re curious to know whether I am thankful today
I am more full of thanks than ever
– for all that and more.
The Walt Whitman Show (25 November)
ThoughtForToday – 26 November
If I was a creative
I’d put three syllables after my name
If I was a muse
I’d go amusing
If I was inspired
You’d find me high on a church.
ThoughtForToday – 25 November
Being kind to others is fluffy
sweet
noble
soft-hearted
an aspiration
like living a sin-less life
admirable & saintly
apt for heroic souls bound for salvation.
Horse-shit.
Avoidance of the issue …
What kind act will I do today?
“I used to love hating poetry” – poem by Lars Blichfeldt
I made the poem ‘one day’ after a period of not being able to write anything I thought was good enough.
No matter what, it ended up with me being frustrated or disappointed.
It left me with two choices.
I could give up trying to write because I wasn’t the new Whitman – just an average guy that actually needed to practice and make mistakes to learn and improve.
To actually believe that two months of writing would place me anywhere near what others have taken years to master is ridiculous…. I know.
Nevertheless, it was exactly what I hoped for. Being good at something without doing any kind of effort to achieve it.
But maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe that’s what stops us from giving up before we even begin.
My second choice was to face the facts and just carry on practicing. To keep writing no matter how lousy the outcome would be.
I choose the last.
Now give me 10 years and I will write you a masterpiece. In the meantime, here’s a hell of a try😉
Thank you for taking your time to read this.
_______________
I used to love hating poetry.
Written by those who failed
living the expected life themselves.
Now wrapping-up words
in riddles and fancy glitter.
To attain the unattainable.
Narcissistic socialists
breathing the universe
while reminding the masses
to be satisfied just looking at the sun.
I did.
I looked at the sun.
Astonishing…
Perhaps I was wrong.
Perhaps I was the failure.
I started writing.
It felt refreshing.
Pats on the back,
Polite comments and praises.
I was seduced,
intoxicated by appreciation.
Soon I would be the lump of coal
transforming into a diamond
The winning ticket
The one in a million.
Flawless.
Unique.
Without practice.
Without effort.
A unicum.
This “new” me..
A thinker..
A writer..
A word wrapper..
A poet..
What I loved to hate,
I now hated to love.
Thinking like a child,
naive like a child,
I believed the sun turned around me.
One day I might grow up.
One day I might loose this spirit.
Hopefully it won’t be soon.
________________________
Note:
A big thank you to Lars Blichfeldt
ThoughtForToday – 24 November
How young are you?
You look so fresh.
So free of the cares of life.
What desires flourish in those soft folds?
How long have you sucked on milk?
How young are you?
Clung to your Mother the Earth?
How childish your spirit?
How lively your smile?
ThoughtForToday. – 21 November
The most attractive story
you can tell
about yourself
is
how
you went from
corrupting to trustworthy
rags to riches
carnal to holy
alpha to omega
– thanks to a force outside your control
ThoughtForToday – 20 November
Time is a word.
It’s meant to mean something
to people.
But
the passing of time
means different things
within different cultures.
Obviously.
How would you like a second helping of time?
The Walt Whitman Show
The Walt Whitman Show is live streamed on Periscope.
The show is a gathering of people who
- want to hear Whitman’s poetry read to them
- love the good company of other people who like poetry & chat
- are curious to find out what’s going on
- like the sound of my accent
- are motivated by some other reason
“Sick” – poem by Paul O’Mahony
“I am sick”
the old man said
fingers interlocked
behind a hairy neck
as he rocked in a kitchen stool.
Arrogant son of a bitch
nowadays referred to more kindly
as “self reverential omnipotent”.
Paul loved his style
even more than the secondhand suit
he had from Armani.
His journeys to charity shops
were retail adventures
in the stories he expounded to strangers
on anthropological field trips
to pubs
in search of the community
where he’d be appreciated.
Because he was sick to himself
he made a difference
to the universe.
Personal pride in his sickness
his tombstone he designed.
It would say
“Here lies one sick man
– look up to him“.
ThoughtForToday – 19 November
Being kind
is tough
demands an effort
stretches your love.
Not a marshmallow.
Being kind
is easy
demands an effort
grows your love.
Warms the heart.
Tough love is kind.
