A Mid-Life Poetry Crisis
Dusting off the old composition books and introducing 'The Sunday Poem'
For a long time, writing poetry has been a quiet, personal practice for me – a way to distill my thoughts and capture the small, fleeting moments that make up life. It’s a practice that feels deeply connected to all that I am exploring here at The Art of Quiet Living (AQL).
In many of the circles I’ve traveled – mindfulness, therapy/psychology, and personal development – the recommendation is almost always to journal. Personally, I’ve always found my solace in the crafting of poems and the collecting of favorite words, terms, and phrases.
My preoccupation with words began long before I ever wrote a poem. I loved (and still love) to read, and was particularly drawn to encyclopedias and thesauruses. One of my favorite hobbies was to sit with a thesaurus and highlight my favorite words in a hierarchy of colors that corresponded to different feelings. When I’d finished with one, I would start a new one, fascinated by how my preferred words would change over time. This is a small exercise I still turn to, especially in times of stress or creative depletion.
That deep love for individual words found its form in 6th grade. My teacher, Ms. Petriello, introduced our class to Emily Dickinson, and I was immediately (forever) captivated. From Dickinson (after whom my daughter is named), my world expanded. I discovered poets like Sylvia Plath, Maya Angelou, Sandra Cisernos, Tao Lin, Warsan Shire, Minnie Bruce Pratt, Anne Sexton, Edna St. Vincent Millay, E.E. Cummings, Anne Carson, Charles Bukowski, Audre Lorde, and oh so many more. Inspired, I finally found a home for the words that had been tumbling around my head.
Now, stacks of filled composition books reminiscent of a scene from Se7en, I’ve decided it’s time to share this part of myself again. It feels both exciting and vulnerable, as I haven't published or performed my work since my late twenties.
With a gentle nudge from my partner, I am introducing “The Sunday Poem.” This new bi-weekly post will feature my original poetry and, at times, poems by others that are close to my heart.
My hope is that these words might resonate with your own experience and offer a brief, thoughtful pause as you begin your week.
To kick us off, the poet who started it all for me.
A word is dead
by Emily Dickinson
A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
