5 Mindfulness Poems
Mindfulness poetry can be a powerful tool for reflection and meditation. Here are five poems that beautifully capture the essence of mindfulness and presence:
- “The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver
- This famous poem by Mary Oliver asks the reader to consider what they plan to do with their “one wild and precious life,” while beautifully capturing moments of attention to small details in nature, like a grasshopper’s movements.
- “The Old Pond” by Matsuo Bashō
- A classic haiku by Bashō, this short poem embodies the essence of mindfulness in its depiction of a frog jumping into an old pond, emphasizing the stillness and the ripple of momentary disturbances.
- “Keeping Quiet” by Pablo Neruda
- In this poem, Neruda advocates for collective stillness and the introspective calm it can bring. He invites us to stop and appreciate the moment, promoting peace and self-awareness.
- “Today” by Billy Collins
- Collins’ poem is a gentle reminder to be present in the everyday activities that make up our lives. It emphasizes taking in the moments as they come without looking for grand events or occasions.
- “A Noiseless Patient Spider” by Walt Whitman
- Whitman uses the metaphor of a solitary spider creating its web to explore themes of connection and reflection. It invites the reader to ponder their own soul’s explorations and the threads they send out into the world.
These poems each offer a unique perspective on mindfulness, using vivid imagery and thoughtful words to encourage a deep, appreciative awareness of the present moment.
Five mindfulness poems
“The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver
Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean— the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down— who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
“The Old Pond” by Matsuo Bashō
Old pond…
a frog jumps in
water’s sound
“Keeping Quiet” by Pablo Neruda
Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about…
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with
death.
Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.
“Today” by Billy Collins
If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house
and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,
a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies
seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking
a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,
releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage
so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting
into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.
“A Noiseless Patient Spider” by Walt Whitman
A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.