I followed a flock of birds today

I followed a flock of birds today,

brown and gray,
colors of my hair. 

I tried to time my wing to theirs—
it’s red and soft and
beating all the time,

though most of me
is an ache of blue

and an island,
moss bright,
green tongue stretching
from the deep
to lick
every color.

Photo by Michael on Unsplash

The Prompt

Most of me wants, above all else, to be alive to my own aliveness. I want to taste every color, feel every feeling with its full range of intensity. Most of me. There are, of course, other parts, who find the whole project of feeling things quite inconvenient. Mostly, I’m kind to these parts. I get why they’re here, and I think they’re kinda cute. Mostly.

If it’s true that life is an ongoing conversation each of us has with the world, then it’s equally true that I am a conversation. I am an around-the-clock dialogue between a multitude of parts, voices, beliefs, and longings, as well as between my own past, present, and future. If you’re human, then I suspect this is true of you, too. What’s happening within this conversation today?

If you’d like a prompt to play with, then I invite you to tune into the conversation making up your inner landscape. As one possible doorway through which to enter, I invite you to take the phrase “most of me” from the poem I shared above and make a list of ten or so different true-for-you ways to complete that sentence. “Most of me is just furious that Herman’s bamboo is encroaching on my side of the fence.” “Most of me believes that people are basically good.” “Most of me just wants to eat pizza.”

If you want to keep going beyond ten items on your list, have at it! Follow whatever pulls you. Notice if there are patterns to your list. Notice if there are one or two statements that feel the most true. Notice if you write down something that surprises you, delights you, or makes you feel a little uncomfortable. With this prompt and every prompt (and maybe the whole of life), the magic is in the noticing.

If you already have the beginnings of a poem bursting free from the seams of your soul, feel free to give yourself over to that and write. If not, play and explore and notice a little more. What parts of you, what voices or beliefs or longings or emotions or limitations, do not show up on this list? You might make a second list. Explore what true-for-you statements want to follow the words “but part of me . . . .“ “But part of me is actually just angry at myself.” “But part me is afraid that’s no longer true.” “But part of me is mumbling some judgy shit about eating salad instead.”

Again, notice.

Let your noticings swirl until something presses or pulls. Until something excites your curiosity or desire for creative expression. Until something makes you wonder, “huh, what might I find if I tug on this thread?” If you’re up for it, then give it a gentle tug. Let that experience inspire your next poem.

And then share it if you’d like! It’s always such a delight to get to read your work. I’m still pinching myself—are you all real? Am I just dreaming up the notion that all of you lovely people are reading my poems and responding with your own beautiful words and reflections? If so, it is the best dream.