poetry reflection

Water ~ A Poem by Pablo Neruda

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When the Flower Falls, Water Rises: Let Pablo Neruda Wash Over You

Water

Pablo Neruda

Everything on the earth bristled, the bramble
pricked and the green thread
nibbled away, the petal fell, falling
until the only flower was the falling itself.
Water is another matter,
has no direction but its own bright grace,
runs through all imaginable colors,
takes limpid lessons
from stone,
and in those functionings plays out
the unrealized ambitions of the foam.

Source

Reflection:

Neruda transforms water into a metaphor for motion, purpose, and grace that resists confinement. While everything else withers or falls, water finds its own way—fluid yet determined, reflecting lessons it gathers along the journey. It reminds us that there’s dignity in adapting, power in persistence, and beauty in being shaped by the world without losing our essence.

Three Questions to Dive Deeper:

  1. What might Neruda mean by “the unrealized ambitions of the foam”?
  2. How does the contrast between the falling flower and the flowing water reflect the human experience?
  3. In what ways can water’s lack of direction be seen not as aimlessness, but as wisdom?

since feeling is first ~ A Poem by e. e. cummings

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Grammar can’t kiss you goodnight—and life doesn’t fit neatly between parentheses.

since feeling is first

e. e. cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all the flowers. Don’t cry
– the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

and death i think is no parenthesis

Source

Reflection:

Cummings tosses out the rulebook—literally—arguing that love, emotion, and surrender are more vital than logic or structure. His poem invites us to live and love boldly, even foolishly, because wisdom without passion is hollow. In a world obsessed with control and correctness, he reminds us that the flutter of an eyelid can speak more truth than a thousand well-ordered sentences.

❓ Three Questions for Deeper Reflection:

  1. What does this poem suggest about the limits of intellect when it comes to love or connection?
  2. Have you ever been held back by overthinking when your heart was trying to lead?
  3. What does it mean to “wholly kiss” someone—and how is that different from loving with restraint?

Light for the Journey: Why Poetry Listens and Rhetoric Shouts: A Truth from Robert Hass

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Ever notice how poetry whispers truths you didn’t know you were holding? That’s because poetry is the mirror we argue with, while rhetoric is the megaphone we aim at someone else.

Poetry is a man arguing with himself; rhetoric is a man arguing with others. ~ Robert Hass


When Robert Hass said, “Poetry is a man arguing with himself; rhetoric is a man arguing with others,” he reminded us why poetry feels so personal—it dares to ask the questions we pretend we’ve already answered. Poetry is raw, unresolved, and beautifully uncertain. It’s not trying to win. It’s trying to understand. And in that internal dialogue, we find not only our truest voice, but also the quiet path toward peace.

The Traveller ~ A Poem by John Berryman

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Wander far enough, and you don’t just find new places—you confront the parts of yourself you thought you’d left behind. Berryman’s traveler isn’t just crossing land—he’s crossing into meaning.

The Traveller

John Berryman

They pointed me out on the highway, and they said
‘That man has a curious way of holding his head.’

They pointed me out on the beach; they said ‘That man
Will never become as we are, try as he can.’

They pointed me out at the station, and the guard
Looked at me twice, thrice, thoughtfully & hard.

I took the same train that the others took,
To the same place. Were it not for that look
And those words, we were all of us the same.
I studied merely maps. I tried to name
The effects of motion on the travellers,
I watched the couple I could see, the curse
And blessings of that couple, their destination,
The deception practised on them at the station,
Their courage. When the train stopped and they knew
The end of their journey, I descended too.

Source

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Reflective Questions:

  1. What does the act of “traveling” represent in your own life—movement or escape?
  2. Have you ever returned from a journey feeling like a different person? Why?
  3. In what ways does this poem invite you to revisit the parts of yourself you’ve forgotten or hidden?

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Poignant Reflection:

In “The Traveller,” Berryman strips the idea of movement down to its bare, raw essence. The traveler is not a hero but a soul in search of footing, memory, and belonging. There’s no map—just the ache of experience, and the quiet hope that even wandering can lead us home. For all who have loved, lost, or simply lived—this poem reminds us: we are all travelers, and the journey within is often the most profound.

The Enduring ~ A Poem by John Gould Fletcher

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The Enduring

John Gould Fletcher

If the autumn ended
  Ere the birds flew southward,
  If in the cold with weary throats
  They vainly strove to sing,
  Winter would be eternal;
  Leaf and bush and blossom
  Would never once more riot
  In the spring.

  If remembrance ended
  When life and love are gathered,
  If the world were not living
  Long after one is gone,
  Song would not ring, nor sorrow
  Stand at the door in evening;
  Life would vanish and slacken,
  Men would be changed to stone.

  But there will be autumn’s bounty
  Dropping upon our weariness,
  There will be hopes unspoken
  And joys to haunt us still;
  There will be dawn and sunset
  Though we have cast the world away,
  And the leaves dancing
  Over the hill.

Source


The Strength That Whispers: A Reflection on John Gould Fletcher’s The Enduring


The Enduring reminds us that true strength isn’t loud or flashy—it’s the quiet presence that survives wind, fire, time, and grief. Fletcher paints a portrait of something deeper than survival: endurance as grace. His words echo the experience of those who’ve walked through hardship without applause and kept going, not because it was easy, but because stopping wasn’t an option. In a world obsessed with speed and noise, this poem is a whispered invitation to honor what holds us up when everything else falls away.

New Podcast: You Can’t Return Grief at the Self-Checkout

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What do a mistaken tea purchase and a 100-degree South Texas day have to do with grief? Everything. In this reflective episode, Ray unpacks how life, unlike a supermarket, doesn’t offer exchanges or refunds—and how we must keep moving forward through the world grief leaves us in. Guided by the poems of Theodore Roethke and Jane Hirshfield, we discover that taking our waking slow, learning as we go, and finding deep resilience is how we begin to heal. Pour yourself something cold (check the label), and join us on a poetic, personal journey of strength, sorrow, and survival.

5 Salient Points from the Episode:

  • Life isn’t like a supermarket: You can’t return the parts you didn’t want—grief stays with you.
  • Theodore Roethke’s poem “The Waking” offers a gentle mantra: “We learn by going where we have to go.”
  • The importance of movement: Both literal and emotional—“mobility is movement” applies to healing, too.
  • Jane Hirshfield’s poem “Optimism” reminds us of the inherent resilience in all living things, including ourselves.
  • Even in grief, growth is possible: Slowly, painfully, and beautifully—we unpeel layers, step by step, toward life.

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