Poetry: Allowing And Understanding Feelings — Without Being Ruled By Them

The Golden Rules For Feelings, And Other Thoughts In Verse

CS Sherin, 09-10-2019, edited 9-11-19

Canadian Geese and Tundra Swans, La Crosse WI marsh. Photo by CS Sherin

FEELINGS…

are neither good or bad…
they just are.
If denied
they become like
exiled mice
burrowing and hiding
in hidden places
of the psyche and body,
indefinitely.
Only when
they are felt
and named
can they be released
and resolved…
even if it takes
50 years, or more.

If there is no room for certain feelings
they can get squeezed out
sideways
in unintended words or actions
that may inflict
lasting harm…
a lot of times
upon those
undeserving
and most loved.
Or we may express
inappropriate emotions
at inappropriate times
because we were never given permission
to show certain feelings, like
sadness, fear, or anger.

Feelings are like babies
or art…
they are so often
a surprise, an experience
created and flowing
through us without effort,
a full human experience…
emotions provide a needed function
that each of us is
responsible for…even
while others
may come to their own
interpretations
about it.

Feelings are.
All the feelings
are natural, honest responses
to whatever we are experiencing. Sometimes
they seem ugly and wrong,
sometimes they are
harsh
and exaggerated,
but truth is
they are what they are…
and everyone
has all of them
no matter how repressed and denied
they may be. Sometimes
the full gamut of emotions
haven’t been felt or
experienced, but the
potential remains
the same
within each of us.

What is important,
essential,
absolutely necessary
is
to look at our feelings
and name them,
especially the difficult or enigmatic
ones — whenever we can,
no matter
how clumsy or tentative
it seems in doing so.

Feelings, ultimately
are meant to be felt and then
fade…let go of
in the moment,
and recycled
into other energy
and actions that are needed
in each moment.

If we cannot let a feeling go
it becomes something else…
a thing, a force
that we
consciously or unconsciously
choose
to feed and hold onto…
like a depraved zombie
that is treated like a
beloved teddy bear —
it will surely cause
malfunctions and
other problems both
subtle and obvious.

If it is hard
to let go of a certain feeling
it may require really listening to
and responding
to the feeling, or it may mean
that one feeling is dominating
as a defense
to hide a deeper feeling
that was or is
less
acceptable to us
or to those
who
influenced us.

Look at your feelings,
name them, and
let them go.
Let it be
natural.
Let it be
like a passing moment.

No bird ever soars
by holding on.

Truly,
real and needed fear
can keep us alive,
and generate enough
kinetic energy
to fuel needed
responses to real danger
and emergencies:
like running, rescuing,
putting out fires,
fighting for our lives,
and so on.

Best we don’t hold onto it.
Best we listen to it
and respond. That allows
the natural flow
into
needed actions
and new feelings
and experiences.

Real and needed anger
can alert us to the fact
that our boundaries are being
disrespected, someone is
being harmed,
or that we need to
say no, because we are
allowing ourselves to be taken
advantage of, and we are giving too much.
And, it can tell us
that the other person
cannot be trusted, and shouldn’t be
at this time.
The anger serves its purpose…
we feel it,
we listen to it,
name and understand it,
and respond to it appropriately,
and then,
move on.
Anger too,
can give us new energy
to act, to respond,
to create
positive change,
movements for the good,
and new creations. Anger doesn’t mean
ugly. It means
something productive
needs to happen, adjustments
need to be made. Deep breathing
helps.

As emotions flow through and out of us
channeling difficult ones into
actions and words that do the least harm,
is most preferable.
Seeking to channel difficult
feelings can contribute to
health and creativity.

It is a choice
to be responsible
and transform pain and difficulty into
something helpful and
healing, or at least something
that brings greater health and balance
to self…
rather than creating more,
and unnecessary suffering.

In anger
I have created some
of my most beautiful
art. Channeling emotions
with creativity can be
surprising,
refreshing,
renewing. It can lead
to great things.

Easy feelings are easy.
Difficult and layered feelings
can be quite hard
and uncomfortable.

Rage and terribly sad can be much
harder. Along with resentment,
jealous insecurity and many
other challenging emotional
states brought about
by many dynamics…

Norms make some of these
unacceptable to feel or express,
except when channeled into
energy that bypasses
perceived weaknesses…

Feelings range the gamut
and can be easy to handle, feel,
name and let go of
unless
we have been in places
in circles
where
we were made to feel
over and over and over
that certain feelings are wrong and bad or
that there is no room for our feelings
or that feelings are inferior
or too big, or too much trouble…
there are so many ways
that our culture
has manipulated, exploited
and exiled feelings,
while also neglecting to
teach healthy processes for them.

Some of us grew up
being told without words that
there will be no support for our feelings
(trusted caregivers did this,
as was done to them)…or that
some feelings are forbidden. This is like
telling someone
that peeing is forbidden.
The pee is going to come out
sooner or later.
Seen or unseen.

Feelings are an automatic
and natural response to experiences
and situations.

Some of us received love when we
expressed pleasant emotions and then
likewise, love was
withheld
if
we expressed anger
or other “ugly” feelings.

Some natural feelings became
confusing, hard, forbidden.

There were so many unspoken judgements
and snares
like barbed wire for our
automatic, natural emotions
to navigate, all the while our brains
weren’t fully developed.

Drugs and alcohol often step in
for so many of us
to alleviate, numb, or mask
the difficult feelings and exile, and the
resulting anxiety and depression
produced
by such a dysfunctional culture
that has developed and upheld such
corrupt systems
that discriminate
and silence
among other things,
natural functions necessary
for
healthy development, comprehension and
coping skills.

Stress can be living in an environment that
denies and forbids difficult feelings
in public and community settings,
while also setting up media forces that feed
on stagnant, underdeveloped, unhealthy
held-on-to emotions.

Seems a stage set for devolution, really.

We have a right to our feelings. Just as
it is a basic right
to go to the bathroom
in a healthy, sanitary way.
We don’t have a right
to piss on others
and to take out
our pissed off state
on others.
Dealing with others
who are doing this,
or being cold and vicious
can be just as challenging
to handle.

We have a right to
our feelings and there is only
one over-arching
golden rule:

While feelings are neither good or bad…
when you are old enough
to understand and respond,
you are 100% responsible
for your own feelings and
how you handle them.

The GOLDEN RULE has many parts,
but it is all one
understanding and code:
We honor our feelings,
we take responsibility for our feelings,
and we take every measure to refrain from
causing harm to self or others due to our feelings.
We find ways to express our feelings
in healthy, honest,
creative ways. We refrain from
holding on to feelings, and instead, we
let them flow. Except,
with an anger that is unreasonably lit
with threat to harm, we engage our
breath, logic, and exercise — we engage
all manners of detaching from the lit rage,
as needed,
so that it does not become
unnecessary harm and suffering
for others
and self.

We are most true when
we realize:
No one makes us feel a certain way.
We experience our own feelings,
through our own experiences
and lens of perception.
Likewise, we aren’t responsible
for other people’s feelings.
Still, we can share a
healthy detachment that seeks to
acknowledge and honor the feelings
of others,
as needed, in order to
address something important.
Then, we let the feelings go,
and move on…
all the wiser.


CS Sherin, WildClover.org 2019©

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Poetry: Each Morning, The Unseen Blank Page

CS Sherin May 21, 2019

I awaken.
I arise
each morning.
We all do.
At first seeing,
what is not seen —
is the blank page.
Upon it are wisps,
remnants of elusive,
felt dreams from sleeping.
They haunt the unseen blank page
like vivid watercolor drops that fade
as they dry.
Each new day, when we arise,
pages have already been written…
in dreaming, and other days, and then
we awaken again upon a new page
where we write our lives
by living,
breathing and being.

Blinking eyes, happily taunt-stretched limbs,
the loud yawn of awakening, the guttural
bellow
of the flexed stomach releasing…

we may wake up with expectations and a schedule.
We may be woken up by interruptions and demands.
We may arise alone or crowded, or something in between…
and we may want it, or not want it.
We may wake up peaceful and content, afraid and
worried, or neutral, or excited, or confused.

Still
we wake up living
and so
we write upon the blank page
of morning.
Each blank page becomes filled
with feelings, thoughts, actions, words —
the seen and the unseen, and
by choice and by no-choice —
consciously and unconsciously.

For me, in the past year and three months,
ever since a kitten was unexpectedly adopted…
every morning, my blank page begins
with the most persistent shower of
warmth and affection —
a cuddle like no other on my tip-top upper area
of the chest
with a complete nuzzling-in of a little face
deep into my neck, where he
purrs… and then sleeps, if I let him there long enough.
He is soft as a marshmallow
and just as sweet.
He is a being who comes to me
like a patiently timed magnet
instantly attracted — upon my awakening.
I do not write this on my page exactly,
it is a repeating miracle shining upon me
by a little mysterious being
of love, brought here by
my life partner. So,
our pages can change in certain ways
that are beyond us alone.

This young cat’s constancy,
his persevering
affection and gratitude
changes
my page of awakening.
He softens and warms my voice
and has been applying a medicine to
my heart each morning
that it has not known in this way
and sorely needed at this time.

The unseen blank page and
what I write upon it
is up to me…
because it is me…
living and breathing. No one else
can actually write it. Though others
may influence and affect it.
A life partner doesn’t write my pages for me
but he writes beside me, and I with him.
We fall asleep holding hands, waking up
we are next to or near each other.
Yet, everyone too…
because everything
and everyone
are connected to all that is.
We are all connected. If I forget that…
my page can lose its strength.
And if I forget
that I am writing my own life by living it
and that no one else can…
then my page can lose its magic.
That has happened before.
That was
something I wrote on pages of my life
at one time. And…
it is not happening anymore.
Today
I am writing a poem,
as the silence holds
my breath, writing, and
being in spaciousness.
That, for now, is all there is
in this moment
upon the page.

There is one more thing to say
about
all of this…
shining sunshine upon others
may not write upon their pages
exactly, because it is our own pages we write on.
Yet, what it does, is it
uplifts and warms,
it comforts, relaxes, and inspires, and can
help to welcome in
all kinds of
goodness and healing.

CS Sherin, Wild Clover | WildClover.org 2019©


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A Tribute, In Loving Memory of Dr. Mary Oliver, Poetic Goddess

January 17, 2019
CS Sherin

Please Note: The article below was originally written and posted on a former version of this site. This article from 2012 has been edited and re-published in honor of Dr. Mary Oliver, who died earlier today.

Before you read the following article that I wrote after meeting Mary Oliver back in 2012, I would like to say a couple of things about her now, for today. Some of her childhood consisted of neglect, sexual abuse, and loneliness. Her life as a poet was the truest self she could be in this life, and the best. When young and throughout life, she found comfort, life, and what is sacred out in nature and with animals. She was a contemplative poet, with a naturalist’s passion for nature and simplicity. Every part of that encapsulation of her has given me hope and saved, affirmed, and encouraged me—as a survivor, poet, human, and naturalist soul. I send her well wishes on her soul journeys that begin today, and so much love and gratitude for all she shared with us. Shine on, dear Mary Oliver, holy voice for this earth—and what is so precious in this life.

The program for Mary Oliver’s honorary Doctorate at Marquette University on Nov. 12th, 2012; and my copy of “Swan” that Mary signed that night.

Nov. 13th, 2012
CS Sherin

Did you happen to feel a big bliss vibe yesterday?  It could have been from me.  I got to meet my favorite poet of our time, an inspirational goddess of poetry–Mary Oliver–yesterday.  Because of this, I have residual Mary Oliver bliss that I know must be radiating out into the rest of this place.  *big smile*  Read on to learn what it was like to: see her, listen to her read her own poetry, get writing advice from her via the Q & A, how it was to meet her, and what it all meant to me.

I went to Marquette University with some of the best poetry loving friends, in order to witness Mary Oliver receive an honorary doctorate there. Mary Oliver’s smile, in reaction to the donning of the Doctorate robe, was such a revelation to me! In general she has a serious and drawn face.  And quite suddenly, it burst open like a shimmering flower of tropical sunshine.  It was a jolt–an amazing joy to behold.  We then listened to Dr. Oliver read her poetry to us. It was an hour, which passed like a few minutes. After, there was a Q & A, and then a line formed for book signing.  My best poetry buddy, Marci, and I got to speak with her briefly together, when our turn approached for signing—more on that later.

The main and briefly summarized impression I had from the poetry reading itself was of: Mary Oliver’s affinity and compassion for nature, her dog, and for the real connections of this life that she expresses in ways that soothe, affirm, and stir my soul.  This is why she is beloved–her poetry is transpersonal and deep, yet accessible. The whole experience was holy.

In person, Mary Oliver is small, and she is older now, so she has a cane and white hair.  She was very much like a fairy-godmother presence, especially while delighting in choosing which poems to read to us. She seemed to me to be mostly: witty, cute, wild, rebellious, tender, open-hearted, bold, wise and magical. Also, Mary Oliver’s heart and mind seem to have beams of focused energy, clear and strong, that are able to shine out upon the world–wherever she may be sitting, standing, or speaking in the moment. There is an air of serious concentration about her. And, it is clear, she adores the natural world, and has a passion for it beyond simple observation—she is in deep relationship.  It is also clear, she deeply cares about people, no matter how humble, shy, and introverted she is. She made a tremendous effort to transmit her love and appreciation to us with grace, humor and oomph.

During the Q & A, a fiery passion came forth as she responded to a question, giving advice about how to be a successful poet. I can’t quote her word for word, but it was something I can paraphrase as this:

Forget about being successful! Spend every day caring about your writing. In this economy, forget about the nice car and nice apartment.  Focus on doing the best you can, writing every day! 

She did answer my question, which was something like, “Does poetry flow from you in the same way it did 10-20 years ago?”  She revealed, in not these exact words, that inspiration doesn’t hit as hard as it did once; that things have slowed.  And yet, there was a new book in front of her and she mentioned another was on the way.  She told us that she never had trouble with writer’s block.  That if there was a little of it, she knew the answer was always connecting with the earth and being grateful, and it would come back, and flow.  She also mentioned that, if anything, she wrote too much.  I could tell that having inspiration leave her would be like an athlete suddenly becoming immobile with no hope of future mobility.  It would be devastating.  But I don’t really think that will happen.  Her very being has become poetry, just as Whitman had described.

Her eyes are full beams of mystical presence…they struck me as powerful, yet gentle–a concentrated energy that I really haven’t ever seen in someone before.  Her eyes are full, with presence–that is it—fiery, grounded, watery, elemental.  Her life has been a discipline of not only presence, but deep relationship with all presence.

Speaking of those poetic goddess-like eyes, I had a chance to look right into them, across a table, at the book signing.  I was feeling extremely shy and in awe, but I managed to say awkwardly, but honestly, “Thank you Dr. Oliver.  I love you.”  There was a significantly silent pause as she looked down at the book I had given her, before she wrote in my copy of Swan, then she said quite slowly and deliberately, “Well…I don’t know you, but…I love you too.”  Then, she looked up and gave me the gift of presence, looking intently into my eyes–really looking.  All I could do was smile at her with love and gratitude.  It. was. awesome.

This signature in my copy of “Swan” represents a powerful memory I have of  encountering a person who improved my life, and inspired me, through poetry and parts of her life she was willing to share. I am thankful for that day and time.

What I have always known, since I was 12 years old—was presented to me in the flesh yesterday, as pure and utter gift:  A great poet speaks for and to the soul, as much as to the person.  She is voice for the soul, for presence.  She is also the medicine.

”For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.”  ~ Mary Oliver

Those words of Mary Oliver’s came to me as we all listened raptly to her, reading her poetry to us.

I felt, indeed, that I was hungry and cold, and maybe even a bit lost, and that she was feeding me (us) and my deeper self–like a mother bird feeds her babies. Yes, I felt that yesterday with Dr. Mary Oliver, and it was bliss.

CS Sherin, WildClover.org 2012, 2019©

Poetry: Even In 1984 With Treason

CS Sherin
October 17, 2018
tinydaisylikeflowers_cssherin2018_wildclover.org copy
What gracious time is this

when I walk through air on

earth and swim through water

under the sky? What grace

filled time is this

where I am sheltered every night

surrounded by six other beings who

wish and show me only love, who

stand by me no matter the weather

or time?  What glorious synchronicities

are these that orchestrate order in spite of

chaos, beauty and kindness in spite of active

hatred, wild regenerative wellness in spite of

polluted toxic disease? What timeless peace within

is this that reverberates endlessly in the

midst of cacophonies of strife and unrest?

What beautiful mind-bending grace is this? –this

breath, this heart — the rhythm and song within

us? PurplePrairieFlowers_2018_CSSherin_wildclover.org copyWhat is this glorious triumph of love that

travels beyond atrocities, that has no rival–

unmeasured goodness surviving here,

beyond the vision and grasp of all the

twisted distortions that destroy, erase, consume,

and assimilate. It is the great mystery of

ultimate reality beyond this, yet it is evidenced

through and through. Just as we give up hope,

just as the darkness enfolds, just as the distortions

distort yet more, the day after, the breath after that,

PrairieFlowers2018_CSSherin_wildclover.org copythe morning after that, the week after that–woven

through everything, invisible yet ineffable,

indelible — Great presence endures — untraceable

even in the worst 1984 with treason.


CS Sherin, WildClover |WildClover.org 2018©


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Visual Poetry: Moments In Photos Become Art And Stepping Stones Along The Way

October 12, 2018
by CS  Sherin

Photo: Skeeze on Pixabay

I remember in college when I was going to art school that I kept a postcard up on my locker. It was a photograph of a golden eagle soaring in a clear blue sky. That photograph reminded me of a spiritual experience I had at the top of a mountain in the Rockies on my 13th birthday. It was a long, tiring climb, and it was my first ascent up an actual mountain. At the top was a revelation that engaged my whole being. At the top I could see across the range of mountains. At the top were trees, and ponds with tiny fishes or tadpoles, and very close above me was the silent grandeur of golden eagles soaring. Everything I saw and was a part of transformed me. It is an indelible experience and memory for me. The postcard was an image that kept that kind of energy present in my consciousness. It set the tone for every day that I earned my Studio Art degree. The meditation for today is photography, and specifically images that are meaningful to us.

When Autumn begins, the leaves fall, the air gets chilled, and I naturally begin to look forward to bedtime when I snuggle under the weight of blankets at night like a little squirrel in a nest. I delight in having reason to heat up some hot cacao to drink, and my inner bear feels the deep pull into, not hibernation, but into the inner cave of introspection, where I look back at what the summer was, in photos and dream journals mostly, and then look at what is changing outside, and what my goals are for the coming winter. As much as winter can be a challenge sometimes, there is nothing like transitioning from season to season, embracing each one as much as possible, flowing with the ancient rituals of our Earth’s rhythms and cycles.

I push aside the stresses that would demand my attention. I shut off the social media. I walk away from the phone. I resolutely choose, over and over, in each season, to walk in nature with my beautiful little dog, Samantha and with my husband and daughter. I choose to write and photograph what I see, what grabs me in the moment. And that is what they are, passing moments captured on digital photography. And it becomes not only a memory preserved, but also awakens a deeper appreciation in me of what potential, wonder, and beauty there is in every moment.

“People take pictures of each other

just to prove that they really existed…”

~ “People Take Pictures Of Each Other” by The Kinks

If that statement in the song by the great British Invasion era rock band, The Kinks, is true–there must be a fevered desired like never before to prove our existence to one another and ourselves. Yikes. Yet, I would like to think that even as we try to grasp beyond chronological time and the fleeting moments that slip on and on, just like the waves upon the shore of our ocean–that each art piece, photo, and movement for creativity is a stepping stone on a wonderful journey that is actually filled with mystery.

My inner bear of introspection is feeling very happy to share some of my favorite pics that journal moments in this past summer leading up to now. I have added some in-the-moment poetry with the images. May this be a joyful meditation and moment of recharging for you. Happy Friday!

Anniversaries bring out the pale pink rose vibrant with hope, love, and scent to heal the heart. It speaks of our love first-born, and then weathered and seasoned over decades, still new and emerging. Pink Rose Opening, 2018 Chandra S Sherin©

Out of hand (and foot) dangling like notes of music in the air, shoes that weren’t needed as one flies up like a bird? or left behind as one runs barefoot away from tight-fitting shoes with flimsy souls. Heavily populated wires mark territory for the imagination. Shoes On Wires, 2018, Chandra S Sherin©


We walk together through gardens, marshes, forests, city-scapes, and beaches. We meet the bees, birds, squirrels, butterflies, and other critters with wonder and love. We stand by the sunflowers praising the bees. We walk side by side through time and dreams. Bee On Sunflower, 2018, Chandra S Sherin©


The trees send out a proliferation of seeds in both the Fall and Spring. The amount of persistence required to carry out survival and ancestry. And in the cold climate the leaves burst in orchestrations of color as they die and fall. So much movement and beauty that flows from a stationary being, who is deeply rooted. Red Leaf With Yellow Leaves, 2018, Chandra S Sherin©

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Haiku ~ Fourth Week Of April

Lilac Buds, 2018. Photo by: CS Sherin

By CS Sherin
April 28 2018

This concludes this fun series of daily poetry that I began in honor of poetry month. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have. I love the discipline of the haiku. I have been writing poetry since I was 13 years old, but have rarely had a regular practice of parameters like the sonnet or the haiku. It is worth doing! In mid-life now, writing poetry is as joyful and mysterious a flow as ever–and even more satisfying. Poetry, at its best, is a voice of truth and of the soul. Thank you for listening to mine.

April 23
One inch closer to
my goals. Meanwhile this world has
lost its mind alright.

April 24
Everything shifts with
weeding, letting go. Garden
of what is real now.

April 25
Dreams are riddles
decoded in patterns of
the following day.

April 26
What do you like so
much that you want to chase it?
And what chases you?

April 27
Perpetual waves
of ocean, sun rise daily—
our love, enduring.

April 28
That weight is gone like
heavy snows melted turning
into bright lit Spring.

April 29
The kids frolic as
we step into our deeper
selves of skylark too.

April 30
I know the dragon
that bites you. For she bit me
too…insomnia.

CS Sherin, WildClover.org 2018©

The Poetry Month Series by CS Sherin, links:
Week One | Week Two | Week Three | Week Four (current page)


Tips of gratitude are welcome here! Click the pic to support this site.

Haiku And Poems ~ Third Week Of April

CS Sherin
April 22, 2018; Earth Day

I have been writing daily poetry to honor my inner muse, poetry month, and the voice of the soul–which is a salve of relief for the spirit. I have been disciplining myself by doing daily haiku, with the exception of a couple. Today, as this practice converged with Earth Day, I decided to try writing a sonnet. And that is what I did! –with love for poetry, creativity, goodness, and Earth.

April 14
There were ten eagles
soaring high above our house.
I slept well that night.

April 15
Letting go of old
pain and mistakes hurts yet it
ends and is healing.

April 16
Writing over old
programs deletes them. I use
song and word sunshine.

April 17
Migrating birds have come,
singing, eating worms. Melting
snow reveals deep mud.

April 18
THE MUD IS DEEP
under the snow
even though it will
snow more–
past mid-April
as it is.
Robins are still finding worms,
birds are still singing
lilting melodies above our heads,
visitors passing through still
arrive and stay awhile,
squirrels still gather to play
and scrounge for morsels.
The pelicans have come
to our great river
with their
compelling size, unmistakable
beaks with impossible folding
pouches that can hold
three gallons of water–
who soar in slow motion glory on
the highest of winds…
The sun will emerge
the snow will melt
it will flood the rivers
as the marshes begin to arise
teeming with life.
Life will course back
into the greening of the
trees, buds will break open
into the miraculous unexplainable
beauty that are flowers.
As we persevere and breathe in
and out without trying,
we will continue to bring
cause and effect upon ourselves
and this Earth.
We will continue to form our
own realities whether we
take responsibility for ourselves
or not. As for me,
where I am torn, I am set on mending.
Where I fell, there are scars–
evidence of the ability to heal.
Invisible hard work done
in inner winter
floods into Spring
and Spring does come
inside
and then out
one way
and then
another.

April 19
Maple blossoms have
emerged, along with the sun
and real warmth, waxing.

April 20
Uninvited joy—
what a welcome guest! It comes
with sunshine and warmth.

April 21
A.I. think we are
pretending to be human.
Are they mistaken?

April 22, Earth Day
Over twenty years ago, I walked the gravelled marsh trails alone.
Today the paved marsh trails were teeming with people and each phone.
People with big cameras waited to capture the beauty there.
Wood ducks, coots, great blue herons, geese, teals, egrets, and turtles fair.

Earth day for some means a business ploy.
Or to enjoy being out in Nature spotting birds so coy.
As we walked past countless active people, I saw beyond the brambles to down below,
so much garbage—styrofoam, plastic, and an entire garbage can in the water’s flow.

I looked with frustration as it was out of my reach.
All the toxins in our marsh, with chemicals that leach.
Noticing the joy of us all enjoying warm weather, and at the same time,
so many ignoring the signs of our negative impacts that just don’t rhyme.

Earth day is every day as long as we live and breathe.
I hope we each can awaken to a daily Earth day before we leave.

by CS Sherin, WildClover.org 2018© 


Tips of gratitude are welcome here! Click the pic to support this site.

Haiku ~ Second Week Of April

By CS Sherin
April 13, 2018

Photo by: CS Sherin, 2010

Here are my daily poems I wrote this week in honor of Poetry Month (April 2018). All of them are haiku except for April 12th. Enjoy! In case you missed last week’s daily poetry summary, click here. 

April 7
When I dream I save
everyone, and when I
wake, I save myself.

April 8
Awake, we trade in
a veritable tomb of
doing, for being.

April 9
Emptiness can be
hunger, thirst, a place to start,
space for something new.

April 10
It remains too cold
for April. Awakening
happens anyway.

April 11
Remember active
conscious love, unlimited,
unconditional.

April 12
Little bird
high up in the bare tree branches
sings a song all her own
alluring, sweet, varied—
in the dreary cold
she shares a bright song
of warm sunny days
coming.
I believe her.

April 13
Your heart is so big–
mighty and tender. Love is
what you are made of.

CS Sherin (Chandra S Sherin), WildClover.org 2018©


Tips of gratitude are welcome here! Click the pic to support this site.