What would we find if we stopped pointing fingers? I'll tell you: we'd find we're all good at our core. So why don't we? Foolhardy to ignore this.
The Prompt: write a poem that takes the form of the opening scene of the movie of your life. Wow, a first for me! What fun. I hope you enjoy it.
For Day8 we're asked to name our alter-ego, describe him/her in detail, and then to write in our alter-ego’s voice. Hope you like what I penned for you today.
I hope you enjoy these facts about April, the giraffe that lived and died so far away from home. Happy April, everyone.
Dear friends, the answers to those though questions are anchored safely within each of us. Inhale & exhale, then action. Let's reclaim what we've temporarily forgotten: We live in a world of abundance.
Do you have time for an espresso/expresso shot? Or for an escapade to indulge in a fave sobering drink? Great, let's! #shortpoem on the go! xoxo
Are you happy? Or are you one who thinks that happiness is yet to come to you? Say, after you achieve such and such a thing? Or perhaps you feel that you are not deserving of happiness? That everyone gets a quota on happiness, and since you already experienced some once, you've already met yours. Or perhaps you feel you need to give up something -- which you're not ready to give up yet -- to get you there? Or, and this is the saddest, perhaps you're clinging on to old beliefs, sabotaging you from getting you to that happy place? Here's the thing, you are deserving of happiness.
A nonsense poem is what I was going for: something like Jabberwocky, you know. But this is what resulted. For sure, I'm no Lewis Carroll, or Mary Oliver. I'm just Selma and I don't need saving. *wink*
Thanks for coming. I wish you miracles.
This poem titled "Impermanence" is about our Moon nearing the melting point. A sad reality for all. The only thing that could save us is if we change our ways and think more seriously about our carbon footprints. I hope you like it.
All those constructs that restrict, all those 'social norms' that hold us back. May we find fortitude to chisel them away. In nibbles, perhaps.
"One's writing is a kind of mirror of one's self," wrote Mary Oliver in A Poetry Handbook. Does this apply even to magnetic poetry, I wonder? Writers, what are your thoughts?