Beautiful poem and contemplation on death. I also appreciate you writing on this subject and throwing out this prompt as I feel it's so important to explore and talk about. Also cool to see your response to these Mary Oliver poems.
I love how this poem turned toward death unexpectedly, that last line — “that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light — in which we are washed and washed out of our bones” leaves me breathless. Love how she invites us into deep contemplation of life & death too. So nice to see you & hear your poetry last night! 💛
I love to hear when the right poem lands in front of someone at the right time 🤍 I felt so held by this one too, such a beautiful meditation on death and afterlife.
Thank you Ash, for sharing this beautifully inspiring poem by Mary Oliver — and for responding to it with such delightful and poetic attention! I love the prompt you offered too.
In response to your calling with good intention, I’d like to share a poem I wrote a while ago in this post, it's about death and becoming.
Oh my goodness, Laura! I love the depth you drew out of the simplicity of turning your face toward the sun as the cycle of winter closes. You described it so beautifully here ‘not a farewell but a threshold’ 🙏🏼💛
I love how each of your poems, both in words and how it’s structured, feels like a guiding light — my favorite: if there is a shape to love, it is right in front of you, it is your life ❤️
I really struggled to write something for this prompt...and I don't really like what I've written, but because I did write something, I'll post it anyway....
This flows like a wave in the ocean, Elyza. Beautiful! This line deeply resonated me with me — maybe love is the gravity that pulls us onto the infinite cosmic shore 🌊
I want to stand beneath the ceiling of poplars 💛 I love the perspective shift this poem invites us into Linda — “maybe everything we think we know is opposite to what the light can bring.”
I am a little late to the party, but I enjoyed this prompt. Mine is a little less nature this time, and instead all the places I feel most attuned to something else:
This is beautiful, Abbie - I love imagining that kaleidoscope of colors behind closed eyes and becoming embodied as you are unbodied, wow! Thank you for sharing 💛
Beautiful poem and contemplation on death. I also appreciate you writing on this subject and throwing out this prompt as I feel it's so important to explore and talk about. Also cool to see your response to these Mary Oliver poems.
I love how this poem turned toward death unexpectedly, that last line — “that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light — in which we are washed and washed out of our bones” leaves me breathless. Love how she invites us into deep contemplation of life & death too. So nice to see you & hear your poetry last night! 💛
Likewise! You do such a great job of bringing your beautiful poems to life when you read them.
Lovely! I’m a big fan of Mary’s poetry, such that it has been an inspiration for many of my poems in On the Edge of Knowing
She is the Fairy Godmother of poetry isn’t she, guiding us all in life and in writing practice with her devotion to all living things.
Looking forward to reading your collection Sam and the poems she inspired! 🙏🏼
Ash, your poem is gorgeous; I loved it🩵🩵🩵
Thank you, Holly! So glad to know it spoke to you ☺️
A beautiful piece 🤍 I’ve been through periods of grief twice in the last couple of months, and I found this very comforting.
I love to hear when the right poem lands in front of someone at the right time 🤍 I felt so held by this one too, such a beautiful meditation on death and afterlife.
Thank you Ash, for sharing this beautifully inspiring poem by Mary Oliver — and for responding to it with such delightful and poetic attention! I love the prompt you offered too.
In response to your calling with good intention, I’d like to share a poem I wrote a while ago in this post, it's about death and becoming.
https://presentwordtravels.substack.com/p/the-dark-embrace
Sammi, this is STUNNING. There are so many lines, but this one made me stop in my tracks: "You are the unworded hymn
the night sings to the unborn".
Thanks Kristen for your comment, which means a lot! :)
These are beautiful and extremely supportive
So glad that these poems comforted you, Bob!
Thanks for sharing this beautiful piece! I look forward to trying my hand at the prompt!
Looking forward to reading what comes through for you!
What a wonderful idea!
Thank you for this beautiful writing prompt from Mary Oliver. Here is my poem:
Maybe death isn’t darkness, after all,
for the great oak tree lays itself gracefully
down on the forest floor, offering its
decaying flesh to feed the sleeping
seeds. There is undeniable beauty in
this I thought, as I laid my beloved’s body
into a womb of midnight soil, witnessing
death transform into life. It is a remarkable
thing I think, to believe we are one thing,
this flesh and bones, and yet know we must be
something more, something uncontainable,
something so full of light, that when we are
done in this body, all we can do is take flight.
Beautiful poem, Laura! I love "womb of midnight soil" and that ending!!
To believe we are one thing and yet know we must be something more... I love this. So hopeful and emotional. makes me tear up!
Maybe death isn't darkness,
after all, maybe it's apricity,
that first touch of light after
the winter's cold has seeped
you of warmth. When you stand
there in the freshly fallen snow,
after days of remarkable
greyness, and let your face turn
instinctively, toward the long lost
sun. Not an ending, but a
homecoming, not a farewell,
but a threshold.
And you know
at once, what you've long
forgotten, there never was
a thing to fear, that your soul
exists as then and now, as light
and dark and all this goodness.
Perfectly made of all this
nothing, and
made at once of
everything.
Oh my goodness, Laura! I love the depth you drew out of the simplicity of turning your face toward the sun as the cycle of winter closes. You described it so beautifully here ‘not a farewell but a threshold’ 🙏🏼💛
A homecoming, a threshold. I love the idea of this. Meant to be . It was "never a thing to fear". Gorgeous.
I watch a bird soar over the mountain,
caught in the wind—floating, weightless.
A feeling I’ve longed to know.
To not carry the weight of the world,
But to rise above it.
To see the highest peaks,
to sing among the trees,
and worry only about survival.
Maybe death isn’t darkness after all,
But reincarnation—
into something freer,
where we finally learn to fly.
Felt like flying as I read this, Danii! Love the weightless feeling and that turn towards reincarnation at the end 🕊️
So positive and strength-giving. Beautiful, Danii!
There is beauty
Everywhere you look
And it is in that moment
Of seeing
Of being present
To a leaf
The bark of a tree
The bark of a dog
On a lonely winter night
The snow falling
Through pine trees
The eyes of a friend
As you talk into the night
That you glimpse
Another world
Filled with love.
If there is a shape to love
It is right in front of you
It is your life
Embrace it and you will know
Love is stronger than death.
I love how each of your poems, both in words and how it’s structured, feels like a guiding light — my favorite: if there is a shape to love, it is right in front of you, it is your life ❤️
Thanks Ash. Thanks for the prompt.
YES!! It is YOUR LIFE! Exactly!!
I really struggled to write something for this prompt...and I don't really like what I've written, but because I did write something, I'll post it anyway....
Maybe Death isn’t darkness,
after all, for the ocean wave
comes crashing against the shore
only to return to the infinite flow.
Maybe love is the gravity
that pulls us onto the infinite,
cosmic shore & Death the wave
that rides it. Maybe Death is
an energetic tide rising & rising
to meet the sacred breath
of the universe. Maybe it is
what meets us at our deepest
depth, an interminable silence
lighting the body from within,
until we rise like sunlight
sparkling on the water.
I love it
Thank you, Joe!
You’re welcome
This flows like a wave in the ocean, Elyza. Beautiful! This line deeply resonated me with me — maybe love is the gravity that pulls us onto the infinite cosmic shore 🌊
So glad you liked it…and that it flowed well to you. That line also deeply resonated with me.
I love all the questions. and the rising at the end. Its true: the wave crashes and doesn't end, does it? It returns.
Thank you so much!
Maybe Darkness isn’t Death After All
After Mary Oliver
Poplar branches interlace above us
form of canopy of light,
all around winters dark
is prominent, but here
under the ceiling of poplars
glimmers of light
brings hope and renewal.
Maybe death brings light
instead of darkness,
maybe everything we think
we know is opposite
to what the light can bring.
We are so certain of what we see,
the unseen is a mystery,
let go of what you think you know
and breathe into the hope of more.
I want to stand beneath the ceiling of poplars 💛 I love the perspective shift this poem invites us into Linda — “maybe everything we think we know is opposite to what the light can bring.”
Love this fresh perspective and lens. Love the poplar canopy letting in light!
I am late with mine! I hope someone sees it. Thank you for this prompt!
As a Gift from a Girl
(after Mary Oliver)
Maybe death isn’t darkness after all
what if it is light,
as life is?
If we held death in our hands, as
crystal or courage, or
a gift of delphiniums from a girl,
long-stemmed, lithe lavender petals
with whispered yesses and fistfuls of lacey leaves,
we would easily what shone in our palms
tender and precious as the
legacy it is,
the days we’ve felt love and been lost and
knelt in forgiveness
and stood open-armed in the
sun’s benevolence or
a river’s silent roar,
accepting
the delphiniums as sacred, as a token,
as silver, or pebbles, or a kiss,
or the girl, the gift in us and the
ordinary wonder
of the cobalt, cherry blossom and baby blue hues
she offers in thanks.
Gayle Beavil
I am a little late to the party, but I enjoyed this prompt. Mine is a little less nature this time, and instead all the places I feel most attuned to something else:
Might it Be
Maybe death
isn’t darkness after all,
but the kaleidoscope of colors
behind closed eyes
becoming embodied
as I am unbodied
Rising together
into the plane where
crystal bowls
sing in words
there,
in the release of fear
shadow dreams become visible,
and we move from observer into One
This is beautiful, Abbie - I love imagining that kaleidoscope of colors behind closed eyes and becoming embodied as you are unbodied, wow! Thank you for sharing 💛