Beautiful Poetry to Move Your Heart and Spirit—Inspired by “I Am Maria” & Submitted by You!

We want to extend a huge thank you to everyone who shared their beautiful poetry with us. Please keep sharing your poetry in the comment section below or tag us on socials: @MariaShriver, @TheSundayPaper, #IAmMaria.

Another New Year to be Me...

Family and fireworks begin a new year
Hopeful 
A clean slate; a story to be written
With love
Looking forward; making plans
Adventures, trips, a new baby, 
Birthday celebrations
My lovely granddaughter turns eight;
My soulmate.
Time shared together with
Friends and family
Enjoying each moment, every day.
Mindfulness and movement
Crisscrossing the country
Knowing no matter where I am, 
I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.
Alone; not lonely.
Fighting the good fight;
Spreading love.

— Joyce Lutz

the harp lesson

on the worn wooden bench
clock ticking above, the girl sits and waits
2 long braids down her back, plaid kilt and matching vest

other students step of the elevator
onto the old scuffed linoleum
the hallway is dim with yellow light

Wednesdays, year after year , the girl waits
(picking at her cuticles, biting her nails)
for the harp music inside the door to stop
as the door handle turns, she rises to meet her teacher, gathers her music, with a deep sigh

she enters into the silent forest of golden lyres
she turns the stool ,adjusting it and sits down

she places her ten year old fingers on the strings
raising her elbows, straightening her back,
letting the harp find its place against her shoulder

the lesson begins

— Polly Chapman Parker

Talking To A Stranger

I sit across from you
You sit across from me
The chasm even wider than expected –
Each of us avoiding eye contact 

You lift your shirt and show me
The angry scar from where
Your cancerous lung was recently removed
I physically cringe and turn away –
It looks like a machete swipe 

I lift my level of courage and
Try to tell you about
The new directions recovery has taken me
You physically cringe and turn away –
A different kind of machete swipe 

And so we return to neutral ground
Avoiding the honed edges
Of our damaging tongues –
Our hearts, minds and souls encumbered
With scar tissue of past lacerations

The old adage proves wrong –
Absence has not made the heart grow fonder
Knowing I have come not to make peace
 with him but within myself
I begin the closure of all doors
With this man who was my father

And so with shoulders square
I talk only of daily pleasantries
Knowing this avoidance of selves
Is almost at an end
Saying only the things I would say
If I were talking to a stranger

— Carol D'Agostino

My life

My life is not your life
And as I look back on it
I am filled with love, wonder
Sadness and regret

My life is not your life
I am the product of diverse cultures
I am the blend of many people and thoughts
And I am the expression of what can be

My life is not your life
And I have been angry at times
That you would grind me down
Into something I am not 

My life is not your life
And I am glad, and not sad,
That after all these many years
I can see the value of my life
Which was never your life

— Edith Santana

I want to hold onto this feeling
That I know will likely change as the wind blows
Yet a feeling still, that I am living my best life 

As I evolve each new day
Who I am and how I live in each twenty-four-hour segment
A gift – a place I have long wanted to land 

Love, nature, spirit, relationships
The gift of knowing what’s important and what’s not
I think I’ll rest here for a while

— Amy Renalds

To Think or Not to Think

I don't want to think,
I just want to be
to float through the air -
be caught on the breeze,
blow bubbles like daydreams,
grow flowers in my hair,
catch hope on the wind,
scatter caution and care.
So thoughts when they come
will be wild, will be free,
like dandelion clocks
they'll float and they'll fly
butterfly moments
to live 'til they die.
You see I’m not young
in fact I’m quite old,
so now is the time
to be brave, to be bold,
catch hold of a rainbow 
and fly to the moon
there's a fling to be flung 
and a song to be sung
No more waiting,
it's time we began.

—Sally Angela Sugg

Even the Dust of Stars

We have so much in common, you and I.
We both sprang from seeds and
traveled down canals.
Our bodies launched
from the wombs of women.

Fancy that-
we both journey around the same
fiery ball every year,
our warmth and light depend
upon that globe's existence.

And then there's this tiny blue
planet we each occupy,
a speck that spins and spins,
so far, not out of control.

When we made our first appearance
we were mere infants,
innocent clean slates
reliant on some other human.

Speaking of that, the moment we slid
from those wombs, we started to die.
Strange how we don't liked that,
how we must admit none of us gets out alive.

And another thing,
there's this huge sky
which wraps us both in wide arms.
Have you noticed how moody the moon is?
It comes and goes - its slivered stages in between.

As if this weren't all enough,
there is an infinity of stars.
We both came from the dust of stars.
97% of our selves. Incredulous!

And what about the hearts we harbor
that beat on their own,
just as our breath breathes us.
Our hearts can break and mend
over and over.
We must stop meeting like this,|
you and I.

As if we were not related,
as if one of us were better,
as if these very words
hadn't brought us together.

— Maryann Russo

The sun is peaking over the mountain.
My soul is waking up.
A new day is calling me to grow.
I sit. I listen. I smile. I read. I heal.
I adjust to a new day, new thoughts, new challenges, new conversations, new experiences.
I embrace the everyday.
God is quietly calling me to new growth. I hear Him in the silence of my day.
His voice is calm and reassuring. His love is evident and profound.
I carry Him with me throughout the day, and attempt to share His love.
Sometimes I fail. Sometimes I bring light and joy. I try my best.
My purpose is clear….to love, to listen, to grow, to bring peace.
My cathedral is my daily life. My garden is my altar.
So blessed.

— Joan MacDonald

Rain Drops

Quiet abounds
as the storm rages within.
The heart is breaking,
the mind is racing.
Dark clouds gather,
time stands still.
Vision is blurred
while the rain drops
stream down the window panes.
Perhaps not....
The sun breaks through the dark clouds,
all is clear now, as I wipe the tears
streaming down my face...
I gaze at the sun, and hope remains....

— Eva Petruzziello