A Poem a Day, Week 25, June 18 to June 24, 2022
Welcome to Sifting the Rubble's weekly blog and podcast of my poem-a-day challenge for 2022. I am your host, and poet, Emily Gibson. The poems for the 25th week of the year, June 18th to the 24th, find their origins primarily from various quotes and memes that passed across my desk in the last few weeks. Each sparked a conversation in my head, which developed into a poem. This week I sought to share these conversations with you and other readers.
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And now, for this week's poems!
All energy travels through waves
only visible at their intersection
with an other.
Wind on trees or clouds,
Water on shores or boats,
Sound on ears or plucked strings.
We are energy beings.
Who we are,
how we meet the world,
translates into waves.
Our energy becomes visible
in the feelings of others.
How do we reach others’ shores?
A crash and thunder of ourselves
or a gentle lap of invitation,
a hold back of our tidal swells
to give space for others’ energy,
or a graceful tube of curl
for others to surf through.
And what kind of shore
are we, in receipt
of others’ energy waves?
A soft sandy place for rollers
or rocky crags fracturing their waters,
a stone wall, impervious and impenetrable,
or protective and resilient when necessary,
a low atoll endlessly submerged,
or a strong push back surge
that forces a crest midway in wasted energy.
I think being mindful is to purposefully
choose our waves going out,
and the receptivity of our shores.
About "We are the Waves": This poem came to me after many days of ruminating on the repeated patterns in the world, from organization of atoms and solar systems, to the ways that blood cells travel in arteries and water travels in rivers. This vision of energy waves developed from those ruminations.
Alone
A quiet space.
The company of one.
Chance or choice, alone is a gift.
Insight.
About "Alone": This poem follows the strict form of an American Cinquain, with syllables in a 2, 4, 6, 8, and 2 pattern. I had the idea of how being alone is a gift, whether we choose it, or it is forced on us. I like how the formal structure made me focus deeply on the idea without wandering in the weeds of words.
Meaning of life?
Only humanity asks,
and asks, without satisfaction,
no matter the sage advice.
Life, to a tiger salamander,
a five-finger fern,
or a crane fly
has meaning, assured.
No monumental gesture
of architecture
or work of art
or land conquest
motivates their lives.
All life seeks the same:
torch of DNA passed on.
Simple, perhaps.
Yet each life is a
cathedral
of hope.
Money cannot satisfy hunger,
despite the purchase of food;
it can’t bring inspiration,
though it can supply the tools;
it can’t create beauty,
unless beauty exists already;
it can’t procure an education,
although schooling occurs;
it cannot guarantee artistry
with the price of a painting;
it cannot bestow rest,
no matter the price of the vacation.
Money can buy the opportunity,
but only you can realize the dream
Connection to all around you
yearns in every heart. Hear
nature’s call to be in and with
earth’s place of right.
Feel with your skin and spirit,
island of perfect, for you.
Nestle down, make yourself home.
We are born knowing our real work,
the purpose of our journey in life.
We spend our childhoods forgetting
as we learn how our bodies
and the world work.
Spend our adolescence forgetting,
as we figure out how relationships
and expectations of others work.
Spend our early adulthood forgetting
as we figure out how to make a living,
a family, a life.
Until we look up, lost, and wonder
about our life’s purpose and journey.
Then we go back, back, back,
through our memories,
back to before language,
when sensation was real,
and remember.
Then our real work begins.
About "Real Journey": This poem was born from a Wendell Berry quote: “When we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey.” It relates to my own work, trying to uncover my purpose and my good work to still be done.
by Emily Gibson, June 24, 2022
Long-term thinking
means putting your cereal dish in the sink
now
instead of later, when it will scowl at you
along with other dishes in random places.
It means filling that dish with warm water
now
instead of later when it will be hard and crusty
and twice as difficult to clean.
It means putting a bit of soap on a scrubber
now
instead of later when the water will be cold
and cloudy with oily residue.
It means taking a moment to wash that dish
now
instead of later.
Long-term thinking
doesn’t actually take
long.
About "Long-term Thinking": Another quote I saw this week about how the investments we make in the short term, like 30 minutes spent learning a new skill, can have benefits that far outlast that initial expenditure of energy and time. The notion of long-term thinking became this poem.
And that concludes Sifting the Rubble's poetry for this week! I hope you enjoyed this collection of poems. Perhaps some of them spoke to you, or maybe you found one begging to be shared with someone else. If so, I hope you will pass it on! Either way, thank you for listening and reading. Hope to see you next week!
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