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  • A POEM A DAY 234
  • Friday Favorites: Dreams
  • A POEM A DAY 233
  • WORDS OF WISDOM #74
  • A POEM A DAY 232
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  • A POEM A DAY 209

    A POEM A DAY 209

    January 14, 2026
    PEACEFUL REVERIE

    In the tender light of morning, I find myself on the porch swing, gently swaying to the rhythm of a new day. The air is crisp, carrying the sweet scent of dew-kissed grass, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers. As the first rays of sunlight pierce through the canopy of trees, they cast a golden glow, illuminating the world in a soft, warm embrace.

    The chatter of birds fills the air, a symphony of nature’s own making. Each tweet and trill, a unique note in a harmonious chorus, sings the promise of the day. Cardinals, robins, and wrens flit from branch to branch, their wings a blur of activity, as they greet the dawn with exuberant song. Their melodies weave through the air, a delicate thread connecting me to the heart of nature’s awakening.

    Leaves rustle softly in the gentle morning breeze, whispering secrets of the night just passed. The trees, steadfast and wise, stand as silent sentinels, their branches reaching skyward in a gesture of quiet reverence. The world is alive with the subtle hum of life stirring—bees buzzing in search of nectar, the distant murmur of a stream, the gentle rustle of a rabbit darting through the underbrush.

    As I sit on the porch swing, the steady creak of wood beneath me envelops me in the serene beauty of the moment. The swing’s motion lulls me into a peaceful reverie, my thoughts drifting like the clouds that lazily meander across the sky. The simplicity of the morning, the purity of the natural world, fills my heart with a profound sense of gratitude.

    In this tranquil space, time seems to slow, allowing me to savor each breath, each sound, each flicker of light. I am a part of this waking world, yet also a silent observer, soaking in the symphony of life around me. The birds’ chatter, the rustling leaves, the soft whisper of the wind—all converge to create a tapestry of existence, vibrant and ever-changing.

    Here, on this porch swing, I find solace and connection. The morning’s gentle embrace is a reminder of the beauty in simplicity, the wonder in the everyday. As nature comes to greet the day, I too rise to meet it, my spirit refreshed, my heart light, ready to embrace whatever the new day may bring.

    Simona A. Brinson

    Photo by James Garcia on Unsplash

    © Simona A. Brinson and mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.

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  • WORDS OF WISDOM #61

    January 13, 2026

    ©mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.

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  • A POEM A DAY 207

    January 12, 2026
    My-Life-In-Word-Haiku-02

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  • Friday Favorites: Anyway

    Friday Favorites: Anyway

    January 9, 2026
    ~by Kent M. Keith
    People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.
    Forgive them anyway.

    If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
    Be kind anyway.

    If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies.
    Succeed anyway.

    If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you.
    Be honest and frank anyway.

    What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight.
    Build anyway.

    If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous.
    Be happy anyway.

    The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow.
    Do good anyway.

    Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough.
    Give the best you've got anyway.

    You see,in the final analysis it is between you and God ;
    it was never between you and them anyway.

    The poem commonly attributed to Mother Teresa, titled “Anyway,” was written by Kent M. Keith in 1968 as part of his work, The Paradoxical Commandments. Although Mother Teresa displayed a version of the poem in a children’s home in Calcutta, she did not author it. This association led to widespread misattribution over time. Keith has publicly confirmed his authorship and expressed appreciation that the poem’s message was embraced and shared in humanitarian contexts.


    The poem “Anyway” resonates with me because it strips life down to its quiet, stubborn truth: that meaning is not granted by recognition, fairness, or reward. It reminds me that doing good has never been about applause or protection from disappointment. People may misunderstand, doubt, or even undo what we try to build—but the poem insists that our responsibility is not to outcomes, only to integrity.

    What moves me most is its insistence on inward accountability. “In the final analysis it is between you and God; it was never between you and them anyway.” That line reframes everything. It suggests that kindness, honesty, and effort are not transactions but commitments—acts of faith in who we are choosing to be, regardless of how the world responds. When I feel discouraged by ingratitude or disillusioned by broken systems, the poem reminds me that goodness does not lose its value simply because it goes unnoticed.

    The poem also challenges my instinct to wait for ideal conditions before giving my best. It acknowledges that people may forget, take advantage, or tear down what took years to build—and still asks me to act. That courage feels radical. It asks for perseverance without guarantees, generosity without protection, and hope without proof.

    Ultimately, “Anyway” feels like a quiet moral compass. It doesn’t promise that things will work out, only that choosing kindness, honesty, and effort still matters. And sometimes, that reminder—that meaning lives in the doing, not the outcome—is exactly what I need to keep going anyway.

    Simona A. Brinson

    Photo by Hyunwon Jang on Unsplash

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  • Friday Favorites: How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

    Friday Favorites: How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

    January 9, 2026
    ~by Elizabeth Barrett Browning~

    How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
    I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
    My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
    For the ends of being and ideal grace.
    I love thee to the level of every day’s
    Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
    I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
    I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
    I love thee with the passion put to use
    In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
    I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
    With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
    Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
    I shall but love thee better after death.

    ©mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.

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  • A POEM A DAY 206

    A POEM A DAY 206

    January 7, 2026
    Quiet Gravity
    I loved you
    like the moon
    loves the night sky—
    not loudly,
    but constantly,
    by remaining.
    I suppose that is why
    goodbye never learned
    how to leave my mouth.
    Even eight years on,
    I am still holding on,
    knuckles white with memory.
    I carry the pain
    as if it were proof—
    a quiet gravity
    pulling me backward
    through ordinary days.
    Grief does not fade;
    it rearranges the light.
    Some mornings
    I wake in disbelief,
    surprised the world still turns
    without you anchoring it.
    Yet here I am,
    learning how to exist
    in a sky that keeps its moon.

    Simona A. Brinson

    Photo by Emilia Niedźwiedzka on Unsplash

    © Simona A. Brinson and mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.

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  • WORDS OF WISDOM #60

    January 6, 2026

    ©mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.

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  • A POEM A DAY 205

    A POEM A DAY 205

    January 5, 2026

    My monster is not under my bed
    She drapes my waking hours in shame
    She resides in my head

    She plays her careful games unsaid
    And trains my breath to speak her name
    My monster is not under my bed

    Night turns on night where fears are fed
    Each thought repeats, each loss the same
    She resides in my head

    She grows where silence is misread
    A blight that learns my pulse by flame
    My monster is not under my bed

    A bacterium where doubts are bred
    She feeds on guilt and answers blame
    She resides in my head

    I search for serum in words she’s said
    To cleanse what cure alone can’t name
    My monster is not under my bed
    She resides in my head

    Simona A. Brinson

    Photo by Point Normal on Unsplash

    © Simona A. Brinson and mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.

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  • Friday Favorites: A River Runs Through It

    Friday Favorites: A River Runs Through It

    January 2, 2026

    “But when I am alone in the half light of the canyon, all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul in memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm, and a hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one. And a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s Great Flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.” ~Norman Maclean, read by Robert Redford

    This quote from A River Runs Through It is on of my favorites because it feels timeless—quiet, layered, and deeply human. The words move like the river itself, carrying memory, loss, and connection without ever forcing meaning. The film’s power lies in its restraint, especially in the final scene, where everything—family, grief, faith—merges without explanation. The river becomes a symbol of continuity, reminding us that life flows on, even as it holds what has been lost.

    What makes this quote especially meaningful to me is how I first captured it. I sat beside the television with my journal open, pen in hand, rewinding the VCR again and again with closed-captioning on, carefully writing each line. This was long before words were easily searchable, when saving something meant listening closely and taking the time to earn it.

    Remembering that moment reminds me how central words have always been in my life. Perhaps that’s why the quote has stayed with me—not only for what it says, but for how it entered my life, slowly and deliberately, like a river finding its way.

    ©mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.

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  • A POEM A DAY 204

    January 1, 2026

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