Mantra for a Monday
I have lately come to the habit of starting my day with poetry.
After all has been set for the morning - I have showered, dressed, eaten, and packed up - the last thing I do before leaving the house is to walk over to the bookshelf and pick up The Pocket Robert Frost (when I complete this collection I will move on to Neruda). I crack the pages to where my marker is left and read aloud one poem. I read it to my empty room, an audience of furniture and myself, as I strongly believe that poetry is to be heard and not kept quiet. As such, it hits me three fold. Once, Digested by my eyes upon contact. Twice, grazing my lips on the way out. And third, caught by my ears as though an enthusiastic outfielder.
Frost has done well to set me on a proper morning track. I step out the door with a lyricism not my own, and a rhyme scheme ever shifting.
His words may not be for all, but such options are plenty. I have built this morning diet off of a seventy-five cent purchase at a library book sale. Most assuredly do I endorse the value of this daily investment.
Give it a go.
Kudos to reading poetry outloud. Many are good for this, but I especially enjoy the sound of Poe.