I like the silent church before the service begins, better than any preaching. Ralph Waldo Emerson Stuff coming out, stuff going in. I’m just a part of everything. Peter Gabriel My meditation practice, as I discovered it some twenty-three years ago now, has been to sit in silence, either alone or with a group. EvenContinue reading “On the Fifth Day of 2024: Meditation Method”
Category Archives: Poetry
Mindfulness in 2023: A Reflection
It has been five years since I have written one of these end-of-the-year reflections. I’m coming into this one after rereading what I wrote in 2018. In the intervening half a decade, I must have been just too overwhelmed by COVID and the ending of a career in education to be bothered to do aContinue reading “Mindfulness in 2023: A Reflection”
It’s Been A Long Time . . .
. . .since we rock and rolled. So long, in fact, that my hair color has changed from purple to blue and then to silver. Apologies to anyone who might have missed me. It was April the last time I posted something new. I’m not including July’s essay “Reflections on 37 Years of Marriage” becauseContinue reading “It’s Been A Long Time . . .”
#472: When I taught “The Red Wheelbarrow” . . .
Here we are on the last day of National Poetry Writing Month, or, in my neck of the woods, National Write A Sonnet Every Day Month. It has been a trip, to say the least, this project of committing oneself to a particular form over and over. I think I would recommend it. Outside ofContinue reading “#472: When I taught “The Red Wheelbarrow” . . .”
#471: What if May is the new January . . .
Twenty-nine (I) What if May is the new January? How would you move forward if that were true? Think of things you want and those things you don’tAnd make a list or chart to catalogYour life in this moment; don’t forget smallStuff: the dogs, deep breathing, the way it feelsTo put new records on the turntable,Sitting outsideContinue reading “#471: What if May is the new January . . .”
#470: I look up at the index of my life . . .
You would think I might be running out of steam, but after posting today’s poem I looked in at the NaPoWriMo website, out of curiosity, to see the prompt for today, and I could not help myself. The prompt was to write a poem inspired by, modeled after, or found in an index. I thoughtContinue reading “#470: I look up at the index of my life . . .”
#469: I can count on one hand my handy bones . . .
Twenty-eight I can count on one hand my handy bones.They number two or three and that is whyI find myself paying for all kinds of thingsthat other people, like my brother, can Do by themselves for a fraction of the cost.So, I’ll get into trouble, and I tryTo get right by all my deficiencies, Grateful for thoseContinue reading “#469: I can count on one hand my handy bones . . .”
#468: My first year out of a long steady job . . .
If my memory serves me on this lovely spring morning (finally!) I have prefaced almost every single one of my (so far) 27 sonnets for the month of April with a little bit of prose–some context, some notes about process, some observations about the craft of sonneteering. Today, I may have some notes on thisContinue reading “#468: My first year out of a long steady job . . .”
#467: Michael, the archangel, whose essential work . . .
Lo, for the third day in a row the NaPoWriMo prompt suggestion has yielded results for sonnetpalooza. Today’s prompt was to write a portrait poem that focuses on or plays with the meaning of the subject’s name. I decided on self-portrait for this little project–and for some crazy reason, perhaps in keeping with the additionalContinue reading “#467: Michael, the archangel, whose essential work . . .”
#466: This is a love letter to my dear wife . . .
As you may already know, I have taken on the task of writing a sonnet every day for the month of April in celebration of National Poetry Writing Month. This project sort of precludes me from what I typically do in April–which is to respond to as many daily and optional prompts from the NaPoWriMoContinue reading “#466: This is a love letter to my dear wife . . .”
michael jarmer 