The following is excerpted with permission from "Odes to Ordinary Things", published by A Network for Grateful Living, 2017
Introduction
Some years ago a neighbor gave me a gift—a collection of “odes to common things” by Pablo Neruda. What I didn’t immediately realize was that she had given me, not just the gift of a book, but the gift of seeing “common” things with fresh and celebratory eyes. Neruda writes playfully and lovingly of lemons, salt, socks, a box of tea! And in doing so, he heightens our attention and appreciation for the everyday wonders which fill our days and lives. Odes (themselves miraculous) bring life, depth and wonder to all manner of things.
Inspired by this experience, we, at A Network for Grateful Living (gratefulness.org), extended an invitation to our community to submit odes to “ordinary things.” The response was happy and immediate. Our inbox steadily filled with poems celebrating weeds, streetlights, shoes and crickets. There were love letters to a blender bottle, an acorn, slippers, an iPad – even to the veins on the top of someone’s feet! This glimpse into joy elicited by simple things has been a true gift and we are grateful to each one of the authors who expressed their adoration in a buoyantly broad range of styles and focus.
In order to refine the collection for this publication, we called together a small group of authors, editors, and poets—all lovers of poetry. After much thoughtful consideration, along with discussion both playful and serious, the Grateful Ode Appreciation Team (GOAT)—in a process where the poets remained anonymous—selected the twelve odes you see here.
We hope that these odes to ordinary things enchant you, but, perhaps most importantly, we hope that they open your eyes, as ours have been opened, to the myriad wonders that surround us, waiting to be seen and celebrated.
Saoirse McClory
On behalf of A Network for Grateful Living
Ode to 5:30 AM
Only I know, only I see
the light softly dancing over the canopy of trees.
Falling softly across the dew filled grass,
moving up to my window as the minutes tick past.
Yes, only I see, For the house yet, it sleeps.
The dreamers dream while the
soft light caresses.
The day starts to glow
as the night, she undresses. The cardinals call out
In sheer ecstasy
I share the same song as They sing it to me
We give ourselves fully, No other above her
My joy rolling down my face, Early mornings are my lover.
– Nicki Hayes
Ode to My Bedroom Slippers
They wait patiently beside my bed Agreeable twin sentries, ready for duty.
They know me so well—the darkened imprint of heels and each toe worn into the
balding fleece.
They are the first thing my feet search for in the morning,
Grounding and protection for my midnight shuffles to the loo.
They are the comfort I seek when I return from the day’s labors,
The ones I turn to as I cast off heels, polished leather, buckles and laces.
They carry the stains and flaws of familiarity—a splash of iced coffee, a drip of
toothpaste,
The teething marks of a puppy now grown.
They have logged hundreds of miles but rarely leave home, these slippers of mine.
Once I forgot and wore them to choir practice. I sang well that night
– Margaret Faeth
An Ode to Silent Poets
You see
the precious gift
of ordinary things
as Pablo Neruda did,
but need no words,
pen or paper,
to bow
to olive oil
to the great night sleep
to the mossy rocks
to the blooming ocotillo
to the perfectly ripe avocado
to every day heroes
to hand-written letters
to spontaneous laughter
to fresh farm eggs
to the smiling stranger
to the desert’s wildflowers
to the world wide web
to bittersweet moments
to afternoon naps
to grey clouds
to slowing down
to stinging nettles
to soft blankets
to strange dreams
to the garbage man
to the graceful death
The simple gifts
your devotional being sees
as you move through life
fills you with that deep warmth
you silently beam out.
And that
is the gift
you are.
Ode to the Onion
I open the front door and walk headlong into the oh so heavenly scent
of onions sautéing on the stove.
Of course, growing up we would have said “frying” but onions speak all languages.
The aroma is the same
and the groundedness is the same.
It is the subfloor
upon which the precious hardwood is laid, the canvas
on which the masterpiece is painted, the staff
on which the opera is charted, the ink
with which the poem is written, the bass note
in the broth.
– Susan Whelehan
Tea Break
Take the water, flowing up a tap from the earth—
old aquifer, luscious remnant
of prehistoric streams, refreshed by rain. Take the teapot—heavy,
curvaceous—a potter’s spin on old clay, drawing upright the soft mud
into cone then vessel, fired carefully to stoneware—azure glaze flows speckling on black; aurora frozen on night’s round bowl. The cup
as small affirmation.
Take the tea – dried orange peel, anise, ginseng; African rooibos and chicory, and mint—
Silk Road treasures,
Far-flung fields and groves becoming Market Spice—the blackened tendrils’ mysterious wanderings
arriving in an ordinary kitchen.
Take a brief block of morning— sun highlighting the pot and cup; the kettle, red on a white stove— take the boiling water
flashing as it fills the pot, the fragrant steam.
Before the tea touches your lips, take a moment to feel the eons, the miles come together
into your hands—your hands!
Those soft wrinkled cups enfolding
fired clay, holding the steam beneath your nose— those hands sheened with age, eloquent
of journeys and mornings and years—all of it coming together.
– Catherine McGuire
Tea Break was previously published by Raven Chronicles in May 2016
The Artichoke
The artichoke sits on my plate A vegetable that begs debate
The novice may but sit and bristle when asked to eat the ugly thistle. The uninformed defy all taste
And call the bud a terrible waste.
But others, like the connoisseur Or grand gourmand, will all concur The artichoke of lovely green
Is not a veggie to demean.
To scrape the teeth against its leaf Brings utter joy, however brief, And when one bites into the heart Gastronomy is set apart!
Now, as for me and this debate
I find it wise to abdicate
– Joyce Holmes McAllister
Ode to My Sleeping Lions Bookends
Fearsome former Kings of Jungle, Recumbent now in peace you slumber,
your toothless duty: guarding Shakespeare’s mighty works.
Past deeds of kill and plunder for protection of your lair now long forgotten, unaware.
Your loins and manly manes in soft repose
as you uphold aright a shelf of prose...
No piercing growls release to warn, defend, Even Kings fall silent at the end.
– Betty B. Brown
This Moment
I’m smiling because
a million possible alternatives which would have precluded this moment we’re sharing didn’t happen.
Safe passage through countless intersections
this week;
The absence of calamity since breakfast;
a thousand breaths received in the last hour, delivered right on time.
The tapestry of the present moment is, complete and continuously refreshed courageous, wholehearted, raw & alive. Look—here it is, again!
– Howard Olivier
Syndicated from Gratefulness.org, the website for A Network for Grateful Living, a global organization offering online and community-based educational programs and practices which inspire and guide a commitment to grateful living, and catalyze the transformative power of personal and societal responsibility.
On Sep 24, 2018 Patrick Watters wrote:
Gratefulness in small things is the key to walking in harmony (beauty) - hozho naasha doo mitakuye oyasin. }:- ❤️ anonemoose monk
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