Feeds:
Posts
Comments


Monday, May 10, 2 pm. MST



Join co-hosts Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer and James Crews in an afternoon of poetry that helps us meet the here and now. Special guest this month: Mark Nepo. Special early time, 2 p.m. MST.

The evening will begin with a few poems by each of the hosts, then a reading by Nepo, and then a conversation between the three about poetry and how it is helping us meet this moment.

This free event is hosted by SHYFT at Mile High, whose mission is to provide all people, regardless of ability to pay, with classes and programs shown to reduce stress and anxiety, move through depression, and create connection.This free event is hosted bySHYFT at Mile High, whose mission is to provide all people, regardless of ability to pay, with classes and programs proven to reduce stress, move through trauma, and create connection. This is a free offering that you can support through a donation: onegoodturn.com/donate.

With over a million copies sold, Mark Nepo has moved and inspired readers and seekers all over the world with his #1 New York Times bestseller The Book of Awakening. Beloved as a poet, teacher, and storyteller, Mark has been called “one of the finest spiritual guides of our time,” “a consummate storyteller,” and “an eloquent spiritual teacher.” A bestselling author, he has published twenty-two books and recorded fourteen audio projects. Recent work includes The Book of Soul (St. Martin’s Essentials, 2020) and Drinking from the River of Light, a Nautilus Award Winner(Sounds True, 2019). http://marknepo.com/ and  http://threeintentions.com/.

On Zoom, hosted by SHYFT at Mile High. Registration info here.




For your birthday, Johannes,
I listened to your first piano concerto,
my heart trembling like a tuning fork
as the ivory keys and nylon strings
conversed about tenebrous grief and loss.

No one hissed in the audience
the way they did when your concerto
debuted. In fact, in my kitchen,
I sighed. I gasped. I thanked you
for the turbulence. What a gift when our sorrow

meets a sister sorrow so beautiful
we forget our own story, our own name,
and we tender what’s left
of our aching hearts to the blooming dark
that even now opens around us, inside us.

Want to process the last year in writing? Here are three chances: Two small playshops through Wilkinson Public Library where we write and share, 12 people per class. 
OR
a 40-minute Thoughtshop, hosted by SHYFT at Mile High, that will offer tons of poems and prompts. (Webinar format)

Dear 2020: Writing to explore losses and blessings of the pandemic
 May 19, 6-8 MT OR May 20, 10 a.m.- noon
The pandemic changed so much—how we greet each other, how we meet each other, how we work, how we play, how we move. There were huge losses—loved ones, careers, homes. And there were, for each of us, thousands of smaller losses—celebrations, vacations, events, goals, connections with family and friends, social rituals. For two hours, we’ll read and discuss and write poems (or not poems) that help us to name our griefs, meet them and honor how they have shaped us. We’ll explore, too, the silver linings and small blessings, letting poetry help us meet this moment and all that brought us here. Free. Led by poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. Register here:  https://telluridelibrary.org/events/  
 
Re-Meeting the Self: A thoughtshop exploring losses and blessings of the pandemic
 May 
The pandemic changed so much—how we greet each other, how we meet each other, how we work, how we play, how we move. There were devastating losses of loved ones. Life-changing losses of careers, homes. And there were, for each of us, thousands of smaller losses—missed celebrations, vacations, events, goals, connections with family and friends and social rituals. In this 40-minute webinar, poet Rosemerry will read poems that help us to name our griefs, meet them and honor how they have shaped us. She will also share poems that explore silver linings and small blessings. With each poem, she’ll offer prompts for writing on your own in which we might let poetry help us meet this moment and all that brought us here. To register, https://shyftatmilehigh.punchpass.com/classes/8251189

 


 
 
 
Teach me
to trust
the hope
that blooms
inside
the loss,
the love
that’s at
the heart
of fear—
teach me
to molt,
to slough,
to shed,
to doff,
to meet
the first light
and then
let even that
go.

One Old Friendship

even as we devour
the apple
scent of apple blossoms


 
Some people say there’s nothing out there,
nothing but plains and the Platte and the sky.
A whole horizon of nothing,
and a barbed wire fence to hold back
all that nothing. But when you drive
through that nothing
perhaps a young scrappy man
on a half-breed mustang
will ride through your thoughts,
and hand you a letter
from one hundred sixty years ago.
For you, he’ll say with a tip of his hat
before he gallops away toward the west.
What might the past have to say to you
sent via Pony Express?
Perhaps something about
the beauty of nothing,
or how the road you choose matters.
Go ahead, friend, what are you waiting for?
Open that letter.


It’s like moving west around the earth
so I might stay in perpetual sunrise—
moving to stay in that moment when the day
is blushing with potential.
 
But sometimes when I am very still,
I notice the sunrise within.
And I wake and I wake, and I wake
and by doing nothing, begin again.

What a thrill to have a poem featured today in the fabulous Vox Populi, an ezine for poetry, politics and nature! In fact, I’m feeling Darn Lucky, as the title of the poem suggests! (a poem about friendship, trusting the world, waking up to start again).

I Don’t Know




Today, I notice something green
spearing through the dirt
in the garden, and only
because there are eight such spears
rising in perfect rows do I vaguely remember
last year I planted bulbs there,
but I don’t remember what they are.
How much of the beauty we plant
do we forget?

There is so much in me that grows
because of words you have sown.
I doubt you remember them,
I don’t remember them, either,
only that your words were kind
and now they have taken root.
Who knows what the flowers
will look like? I water them, though,
trust I’ll be delighted when they bloom
into a garden of beautiful I don’t know.

Side Blessings


 
 
I save every
rubber band—
thick purple ones
from broccoli,
asparagus, leeks,
and the thin blue ones
used to keep berries
from spilling.
I could never throw away
a rubber band—
stretchy bonuses
thrown in for free.
 
Perhaps it’s strange
to call them blessings—
but I thrill in side benefits.
Like a talented new friend
hardwired for forgiveness.
Like the swooping choreography
of swallows that helps them
to eat biting flies.
Like how red wine is rich
with antioxidants.
Like a newspaper
filled with bad news,
but delivered with a useful,
flexible, rubber band.
 
 

%d bloggers like this: