Poem · Poetry

Under the Weather


Nothing like a virus

to help you appreciate

normal breathing.

Wheeze, sputter

blow, cough.

Normal comes to a stop.

Voice exercises?


Good luck with that.

My pipes are clogged –

making my voice

sound like a cat about

to hurl a hairball.

Hydrate, hydrate.

Rest and sleep –

Being sick sucks.

I am not good

at slowing down –

interrupting my patterns.

I prefer to stay on track

to be in my well-crafted groove.



Maybe that is the point.
More tea, Honey?


Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017


storm image



Poem · Poetry

Morning Walk

We are built to move
the way a bird is built to fly
or a flower is built to bloom.
Sleep has a way of stiffening us –
setting us in our ways and patterns
long in place –
like a mold we conform to.
the couch can do the same
as it swallows us.
But a morning walk
can loosen
unfold and inspire.
I literally start my day
by moving forward.
I spring out of bed
for this.

Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017

morning walk image

Poem · Poetry

What If?

You know that time
when you put your phone down
so you could attend to me instead?

Or that moment when I was starving,
and about to eat my 20 gram protein bar in the car
but saw a homeless man in the intersection,
and chose to go hungry –
handing him the bar through my open window
with a smile
and no regrets.

Or, how about
that day when I was terribly hurt and angry
and simply let it all go,
suddenly, and with faith and forgiveness
so I could refocus
on something larger than me,
beyond the anger
and the suffocating hurt.
Both just disappeared into a peaceful feeling.

There is a thread –
powerful in its connection
through these moments.
It seems to show
that when we step aside –
dare another way,
beautiful things can happen.

It makes me wonder…
What if?
What if God is the thread?
And the thread connects us to Love
And, well, everything that matters?

And what if God needs us?
Needs us to get out of our own way
and notice the thread?
What if

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017

woman on the beach

Poem · Poetry

Blessed Assurance


No more a need

to solve, cling, or do.

I am done with all that.


Just be.

I turn my attention outward

trusting that inwardly,

I am whole.

This is an important shift

and not one that is

familiar –

a down shift,

into trust –

rather than constant acceleration.

True freedom comes in

letting go of the wheel,

not needing to see the road ahead.

Gradually, I am learning to be

more of a passenger.

It is strange how unfamiliar it feels.

I have learned so deeply

to be on my own,

driving solo.

But I repeatedly follow the wrong directions

being the simple human

I have learned to be,

confused by which GPS to heed.

Now I call upon my divine nature.

It has taken decades to

own it.

Such a beautiful feeling…

to know it is not all

up to me –

that no map is needed.

A look back

in the rear view mirror


All is well –

and has been all along the way.

Blessed be.

Copyright © @Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017

serenity stones


Poem · Poetry

She Kept to Her Schedule


I remember a time
when time was not just another consumable,
and moments were embraced
instead of thrown away by distraction
and the addiction to over-doing.
A time when moments were moments
and clocks were wall decorations,
their faces barely noticed.
There was no inward push
or unrelenting need to get from here to there,
to check off this list or that.
I remember a time
when moments unfolded
with youthful joy and presence.
That was eons ago.

When did keeping time morph into losing it?
We schedule, we plan, we run around getting things done
and in a flash, another day is done.
Do the morning routine,
get the workout in,
clean up and put on the public face and accessories,
suffer the commute,
work long hours,
scrape together some nutrition,
eat fast and mindlessly,
catch up with social media,
the news,
go to bed.
Then try to sleep with a restless mind in full gear,
still ticking through your list.
Get up.
Do it all over again.
Time is spent.

But not wisely.

Life is short.
We all say it,
but few of us get it
until we get to be fifty something
and our friends start getting sick and dying.
Life is really short!

What if we get to the end of our life,
and this is what our tombstone says:
“Loving mother and wife. She kept to her schedule.”


We must learn the art of The Stop.
Stop the inner push that moves us forward
into the next thing
when we have not even experienced
what is before us
right now.

How many times have I been so busy planning
that I forget to notice
what is in my current vision?
How many times have I missed the colors, the beauty, the scents
the loved one next to me
because I am in my head
instead of my moment?

How many times have I pretended to listen
while I get something else accomplished simultaneously?
How often did I forget to look into your eyes
to see the longing
or the love there?

We are taught to do
instead of to be.
We are deceived into believing
that filling up our days with busyness
means we are doing well in life.
It is not true.

We must stop.
Push the pause button as often as possible.
Notice. Relish. Honor. Appreciate.
Embrace fully
as if our life depended on it,
because it does.

Otherwise, we spend our life
like we are on a credit card binge
which leaves us empty and bankrupt
in the end.

Life is short.

Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton 2017


Poem · Poetry


Limping again

with another broken bone.

A repeat injury

only this time

on the other side

as if it had to happen

for a symmetry in the lesson.

I am feeling a little picked on.


Feet are important

for grounding and balance.

Standing is now clumsy and awkward

with one foot in a walking cast.

Walking is even worse.

I am forced to slow down.

Is God toying with me?

Forcing me to look at what I am made of

and what kind of condition I am in?


Now there is talk of potential disease

a thinning of my bones,

a weakness that clearly has been hidden
until this year.

All this makes me feel old

and envious of all those effortless walkers

out there.

I have heard that healing

can make us stronger in our weak spots.

I hope this is true.

And now that I have run out of feet,

perhaps I can get grounded again.


Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton 2017

bone 2