they didn’t look
like a cage, those years,
until I was offered a key
and realized I knew not
how to use it
Archive for September, 2016
I Never Knew Dreams Had Wings Until They No Longer Flew, And
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cage, dreams, poem, poetry on September 28, 2016| 1 Comment »
On the Edge of Cold
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, offering, poem, poetry on September 27, 2016| 2 Comments »
They will say it is impossible,
but I want to give you things
they say no one can keep—
the scent on the trail
this morning, a golden smell,
and the amber light inside it.
Or the pause before the dance
commences. Or the moment
when falling becomes flying.
I want to give you elusive things—
the moon in the river, the way
the sunset turns the whole world
to rose, the feeling that love
not only is possible, it’s as
inevitable as blinking, as
unavoidable as noon.
It is not too late. In fact,
already we are here.
Poetry & Meditation: Sept. 30-Oct. 2
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged meditation, poetry retreat, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Susie Harrington on September 27, 2016| 1 Comment »
There are still one or two spaces left for a retreat this weekend in La Sal, Utah
The Grand Embrace: Writing and relaxing into not knowingness
sliding fee of $170 – $220 for room and board and a suggested teacher donation of $150 – $400
La Sal, Utah
We live in a culture that wants to know—we chart and graph and test and outline. We codify and classify and name. But what do we really know? What is all this messiness and mystery that breeds underneath our longing for orderliness and certainty? What would happen if we could really rest in uncertainty? How deep might that relaxation go? How much more open might our lives be if we made friends with letting go?
Join retreat leaders Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer and dharma teacher Susie Harrington. We’ll read poems that don’t bring answers, poems that lead us deeper into paradox. We’ll sit in the midst of the not-knowing, sit with our joys, our challenges, the what is here of each moment. We’ll write our own explorations of what if and what else and see what even a small bit of wonder might do … if you’re willing to risk a little, meditation and writing can open doors where before you didn’t even realize a door existed. Spiritual doors. Healing doors. Doors where there used to be walls.
No previous writing experience required. No previous meditation experience required. This poetry and meditation weekend is for anyone who is curious about weaving spiritual awakening and the creative poetic impulse.
Letting the Small Ache Sing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, poem, poetry, song on September 26, 2016| 1 Comment »
Not yet dirt,
the outline
of squirrel is still visible
on the hard earth
of the back road—
I step over what remains,
wonder
how many other lives
I’m walking on.
There are infinite ways
to praise,
among them
these words:
I am sorry.
One Simultaneous
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, poem, poetry on September 25, 2016| Leave a Comment »
Dear Rachel
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aesthetics, friendship, memory, poem, poetry on September 25, 2016| 2 Comments »
It’s so curious what we choose to frame.
You could, I am sure, with your art degree, explain
to me how aesthetics change. And why.
But I have too much dirt and dust in my home
to want an image of dirt and dust on my wall.
And I don’t relate to women in gowns
parting floral drifts with a white parasol.
I remember the first time I went to your home
and saw in your hall a painting—just one color, red,
you had painted it yourself—and I recall
how easy I found it to stare and stare and get lost
inside. So much of the world is black and white.
On my walls, it’s mostly nudes.
It never seemed strange until my children
asked why there were so many naked women
in our home. I didn’t know what to say
to make it okay. I said, “Because they are beautiful.”
If I could, I would frame the laughter
you left on my answering machine
and hang that on my wall. Or frame
how warm the sun was when we went for a walk.
Or frame the taste of peaches, the scent
of wood smoke and poems in our hair, the easy
silence we sometimes share.
But I would frame, too, the mornings
we speak of our children and weep.
And I’d frame our hurt and our fear
and the nights we’ve fallen apart.
So perhaps that’s not so different
from framing dust and dirt. And those
two women strolling in the sun,
on second thought, they look familiar.
In a Low-Angled Light
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aging, autumn, poem, poetry on September 23, 2016| 1 Comment »
Already shriveled, these marigolds
that line the fence. Something soothing
about the way the flowers keep their color,
though the leaves are brown and dried.
From a distance, they are vibrant.
From a distance, you might forget
that the garden will soon be filled with snow.
So much is ignored in the name of beauty.
Here, here is the season with your name on it,
your name the scent of gold. You find yourself
longing to be more like a lily, dropping everything,
not even pretending to survive the cold.
Art & Poetry Opening October 6, 6-9, Telluride
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged 81435 gallery, Jill Sabella, poem, poetry, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on September 23, 2016| Leave a Comment »
Join me and Jill Sabella at our opening for In Three Lines, a two-year collaboration. We’ll have food and wine and live music by cellist Kyra Kopestonsky, and 5-minute readings on the 1/2 hour … plus we HOPE to have our new book, Even Now, by then. Join us at the 81435 Gallery.
One Survival
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged improvisation, poem, poetry on September 22, 2016| Leave a Comment »
Positively
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged calendar, no, poem, poetry, scheduling, yes on September 21, 2016| 9 Comments »
Saying yes to too many things at once
is like eating dark chocolate truffles one
after another after another. The first
is infused with wild raspberry, which leads
to a caramel truffle with fleur de sel, which leads
to two smooth champagne truffles, which leads
to a tummy ache, bittersweet. My calendar
has a tummy ache. Its numbered squares
are filled in with rows of rich invitations…
a book club infused with Louise Erdrich
and Sauvignon Blanc, a meditation retreat
handcrafted with extra silence, a trail run
through aspen groves filled with silky light.
How could I pass on any of these delights?
Saying yes to too many things at once
is like crossing a remote border at midnight,
and though your pulse races with the thrill,
you have no idea if you will ever know
what home means again. Saying yes
to too many things at once is in fact
a disguise for saying no. No to openness,
no to spontaneity, no to whatever surprise
might have found its way into the vacant
possibility of that deliciously empty square.