Posted in Uncategorized, tagged faith, poem, poetry on July 24, 2015| 1 Comment »
My fingers slip
as the hand holds crumble,
but I am so high
and I know there
are others below me
so I climb on strength
that is not mine,
though I cannot see
the destination nor
can I imagine how
I will keep going,
but I keep going,
I keep going,
one hand reaching
higher, then the other.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged meditation, poem, poetry, purpose, what are we doing here? on July 18, 2015| 1 Comment »
How soon I forget
the reason I walked into this room.
It is not hard
to walk back to where I was
moments before
and usually I remember.
Sometimes I forget
the reason I am here,
and I do not know where
to go back to, wherever
we came from,
to retrieve the purpose,
though sometimes
when I sit very still
it arrives, not as an answer,
not as a word, more
as a sense that I am being breathed
and that I have not
travelled so far,
that whatever I have come here for
is right here.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged loneliness, poem, poetry, yodel on July 18, 2015| 1 Comment »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged garden, healing, memory, poem, poetry on July 17, 2015| 3 Comments »
Nothing grows here in the courtyard, not anymore.
Once there were roses in every bed,
impossibly always in full, unguarded flower.
Once there was always perfume, always opening.
It is not hard to remember the peonies, the parsley,
the surprising upstarts of basil, the hanging baskets
with long sweeping tendrils of bloom.
Once there were minstrels who never stopped singing.
The air always wore a silken song.
And now it is gone.
I do not know why I have come here again,
I who once planted these gardens, I who once
played the lute. I thought I had left them for good.
I’m surprised there are not even weeds here. Nothing
in the cracks of the sandstone steps.
Nothing in the empty beds.
It was not exactly a wrong turn
that brought me here, more of a wandering.
It was not really curiosity, more coincidence.
But isn’t it strange? Not even bindweed? Not lamb’s quarters?
Not even a blade of cheat grass?
The fountain in the center has not crumbled,
though no water flows in it. All the bricks
in the archways are still intact.
There is a gate. It always used to be locked,
but now it swings open at the slightest push.
It is innocent. I was the one who had locked it.
I knew what it was for.
If I’d known I were coming, would I have brought
some kind of offering? A poem, perhaps, or
tea leaves? Some flowers to scatter? Some seeds?
My hands flutter empty. They are unembarrassed
by their lack. There are no sacrifices to be made.
Once there were birds making play out of sky.
There is no sadness in remembering this.
I walk the paths. The way is still worn.
My feet know where to go. There is nothing
to bring back, nothing hidden in the walls.
Perhaps this is what I came for.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bicycle, learning, parenting, poem, poetry on July 16, 2015| 5 Comments »
After the training wheels come off
she wobbles and crashes and jumps up
to cry again. She pushes her helmet back
into place and rubs her hands of the gravel.
I force myself not to offer advice. Some
things must come from the center.
Vivian picks up the bike and straightens
the wheels, finds her place on the seat.
The pedals are not too far for her to reach.
She is ripe for this skill, and mostly willing.
She jerks on the handlebars, over rights
herself and falls again. There is such a thing
as too much right. She once told me
that if you do not learn to cartwheel
before you are eight, then you never will.
Something in the vestibular system, I wonder.
I don’t know if it’s true, but I do know
there are certain windows that close.
An eye that is unused in the first few months
of life will never learn to see, though
its parts are all in working order. Perhaps
there are windows for the heart, too,
so that if by a certain age it does not learn how
to get up and try again after it has fallen,
it will stay down and never learn how
to love beyond itself. Come on, I say under
my breath, you can do it, I say to my daughter.
And then out loud I say, Yes, yes, dear girl,
you are doing it. You are doing it, I say
as she falls, falls again, and gets back up.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hunger, poem, poetry, survival, syllabics on July 16, 2015| 3 Comments »
Three open
beaks, oddly
pink, bony.
Their silent
hunger pre-
historic.
Some of us
learn it is
safer to
hunger in
silence. And
some of us
learn that with
so many
mouths and so
many hearts
to feed, it
feels safer
not to list-
en.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged carpe diem, poem, poetry, thirst on July 16, 2015| 4 Comments »
If you follow a bee,
my friend says, it will lead you
to water. Suddenly
I have never been
so thirsty. I have spent
too much time living
close to the water
without drinking.
I have spent too many hours
not following bees.
I have my excuses—
all the ways I like
to appear busy-ish—
but they all have the same
stale scent excuses always have.
In the tombs of Egypt,
they found honey,
perfectly preserved.
Some things keep.
I look at my dry hands.
Some things have only
so much time.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged growing up, poem, poetry, self-perception on July 16, 2015| 1 Comment »
she likes to sashay
for the mirror—
already her eyes see
her self as if they belong
to someone else
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breaking open, poem, poetry on July 12, 2015| 2 Comments »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Ah Haa School for the Arts, poetry workshop, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Weehawken Arts on July 12, 2015| 1 Comment »
Going Out, Going In: An evening of writing play for women
ROSEMERRY WAHTOLA TROMMER
July 16, 2015
Telluride, CO
Wilkinson Public Library, 6-8 p.m.
A teaser class for the upcoming four day poetry and painting retreat at Ah Haa, see below. Open to any woman, free.
Not with a Bang, but a Whimper: The Art of Ending Poems
ROSEMERRY WAHTOLA TROMMER
July 19, 2015
Ridgway, CO
Weehawken Arts, 10 a.m. – 4 p.m.
<span “font-size:10.5pt;mso-fareast-font-family:”times=”” roman”;=”” mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;mso-bidi-font-family:”times=”” color:black”=”” style=”color: rgb(98, 98, 98); font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;”>In poetry, crafting a memorable, attention-grabbing first line is important. But a poem’s final lines are absolutely critical. Why do some poems seem unfinished? In this workshop, we’ll look at endings of some well-known (and not-so-well-known) poems and talk about what works and what doesn’t and why. And using writing prompts and exercises, we’ll write and rewrite and practice the art of ending it well. If they are interested, participants can bring a poem or two with unsatisfactory endings that they have previously written. https://apm.activecommunities.com/weehawkenarts/Activity_Search/1720
Putting the Polish on Your Poems
ROSEMERRY WAHTOLA TROMMER
July 28-August 25, 2015
Telluride, CO
Ah Haa School for the Arts, Tuesdays, 6-8 p.m.
Kill your darlings. Show don’t tell. These are a few classic bits of advice written in red pen on the poet’s page. But improving your writing goes way beyond such adages. In this five-week class, We will also discuss how and where to send out your poems for publication. For more info, visit http://www.ahhaa.org/calendarize/putting-the-polish-on-your-poems/
Going Out, Going In: A Four-Day Art & Writing Retreat for Women
ROSEMERRY WAHTOLA TROMMER
August 13-16, 2015
Telluride, CO
Ah Haa School, 9 a.m.-3 p.m.
Here. A chance to step out of the rush of your life and dedicate time to your creative, playful, wise and unfolding self. What memories, stories, images and patterns might appear? In this four-day intensive, poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer and painter Brucie Holler guide and encourage women as they explore in two genres, a practice that allows for surprising insights, clarity and vulnerability. A workshop for women who are ready to go deeper, take new risks, and move more wholly into their creative process. http://www.ahhaa.org/calendarize/going-out-going-in-a-four-day-art-writing-experience-for-women/