Posted in Uncategorized, tagged conflict, food, human nature, poem, poetry on January 31, 2017| 3 Comments »
Tonight,
slicing ginger,
I think about
not thinking
about the news,
how I would then
sit down
at dinner
and look
around the table
at my family
and enjoy
this peanut sauce
on brown rice,
and for a while
I am two women
in one skin—
one who stews
about the supreme court,
one who thrills
in the hot pepper oil,
the way it blazes
on the tongue.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged broken, human nature, monostitch, poem, poetry on January 30, 2017| 2 Comments »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged joy, poem, poetry, sunshine on January 29, 2017| Leave a Comment »
One minute you’re sitting on the porch
in the warm morning sun and ten minutes later
it’s been an hour or more and you have forgotten
your name, forgotten the year, forgotten
who’s president, all that you know is the sky
has never been so clear and your body
has never been this starved for blue—the way
it steeps so deeply into you that by the time
you enter yourself again, you forget to wonder
how to make this radiance last,
can’t imagine you could ever feel
any other way.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged craft, interview, poetry, practice, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on January 29, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Last year, I did an interview with poet and writer Eduardo Brummel, and today he’s posted it on his blog … more about practice, on how a poem might save your life, and the dance between inspiration and crafting … thanks, Eduardo! Here’s a link to the interview
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged knitting, love, monostitch, poem, poetry on January 29, 2017| Leave a Comment »
I imagined pearling a silk shawl of prayers generous enough to cover the whole cold world, the color of the moon.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, fear, poem, poetry, self talk on January 27, 2017| 9 Comments »
Even after I turn off the radio
there is a red voice below my gut
that repeats, “You should be very afraid.”
Out the passenger window
I see three elk bedded down
in the snow beneath a spruce,
and then I am past them,
looking up valley at the mountains
where the wind blows the snow
in long white curls off the peaks.
I want to return, I think,
to a different chapter—
but I don’t believe it.
There are no fewer opportunities
now to fall in love,
and there are a whole lot more
chances to be of service.
I tell myself I was born
for exactly this life—
born to see the frosted cottonwood trees
on the valley floor
flood with the low light of morning,
born to meet the fear in my gut
and carry it with me to do brave and beautiful things.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, monostitch, news, poem, poetry on January 26, 2017| 5 Comments »
In the bedroom of my heart, kicking out the stinking news, opening the window to hear the river song.
Posted in Uncategorized on January 26, 2017| 3 Comments »
I had so much fun doing this interview with my new friend Bill for his blog. If you read the interview, I hope you also take time to check out some of his work at https://pinklightsabre.com/
Here we talk about poetry as practice and how to move our practice forward. Enjoy!
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged koshti, poem, poetry on January 26, 2017| Leave a Comment »
In Persia, they used to wrestle
each other to ready themselves
for combat. They’d grapple in secret
meeting places, learning first
to sing, to juggle, to chant poems,
to whirl to the beat of a drum.
Let’s wrestle, love, it can only
help now. There are battles
aplenty to wage. Let us
cultivate strength on our own,
then bring our power to a hidden circle
where we’ll strengthen the other.
Imagine how our bodies will meet
each other then, moving
to a faithful, inner drum. With some practice,
imagine how strong we’ll become,
how when we emerge,
we’ll be ready to take on the world.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grammar, monostitch, poem, poetry, politics on January 25, 2017| 3 Comments »
Before I press send, I edit the last sentence so the adverb doesn’t split the infinitive—not that I care for grammar, just that it feels good today to have one small thing I know how to fix.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, joy, poem, poetry, wushdan on January 24, 2017| 5 Comments »
In dark times it is sometimes hard
to speak of joy—not because
it doesn’t exist but because
of the guilt in feeling it.
The dark clots our arteries,
it keens in our ears, floods the streets.
Still, my friend sends me a word—
wushdan. It’s pronounced like swush,
she says, not swoosh. Wushdan.
I say it aloud, and the syllables
hush my tongue. It means,
she says, “heart awareness,
conscience,” as in a practice
of inner discipline. Wushdan,
I say again, as if to speak a word
is to know the secrets harboring
inside it for centuries.
The root, says my friend, is wush,
which is Persian, means joy.
It feels as if someone
has slipped me a piece of chocolate
in math class during a test.
Or as if, while reading
the headlines of war I look out
the window and see the big brown eyes
of a doe looking unwaveringly
into mine. And I put the paper down
and watch out the window
until the light is gone.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged parenting, poetry workshop, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on January 23, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Western Slope Moms! Join me for a writing class this Saturday, 9-1, in Ridgway–no experience except mothering necessary. Read all about it and register here: Lost in Motherland: Writing to Discover Who We Are(n’t)
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged activism, poem, poetry, politics on January 22, 2017| 8 Comments »
throwing my small voice
into the big conversation,
part of me thrills
part of me shivers
to think it might really matter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, speaking out, unity, women on January 21, 2017| 3 Comments »
It hurts to be silent—
the unsaid words
sharp as frazil ice—
needle shaped and
able to slice what
inside is tender.
Still, we found ways
to be silent.
I give thanks
for the chill
that woke up
the millions of women
around the world,
got us moving
in one direction.
I give thanks
for the diversity
of messages
that inspire us
to be not one voice
but millions
together.
As we march,
I think of the fish,
how they move as one,
sometimes daily,
sometimes annually.
They know
when to stay,
when to move,
when to give it
everything they’ve got.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged parenting, peace, poem, poetry on January 21, 2017| 3 Comments »
Mommy, she says,
her face still warm in candlelight,
why did you start to cry—
and I hear not just curiosity
but the itchy vest of embarrassment.
I don’t tell her
the math of the world
is just too sad,
perhaps I cry more
because for a moment I believe
the words I tell her—
it’s going to be okay.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged paradox, poetry, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, uncertainty on January 21, 2017| 4 Comments »
Yesterday, I spoke with KSJD radio in a 10-minute interview about how poems–both writing and reading them–might help us navigate uncertain times. You can listen to the interview here.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attention, light, poem, poetry on January 20, 2017| 4 Comments »
rubbing ideas
together like sticks—
lucky to get a spark
but sometimes,
just noticing
the world as it is,
our attention
builds entire bridges
made of light
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chemistry, connection, poem, poetry, spider mite on January 19, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Wiping the spider mites
off the gardenia,
I am not proud of the work.
I know the nearly invisible pests
will not go away
if nothing is done.
The gardenia will die
if they thrive.
I reduce us all to protons
and electrons, gluons and quarks,
all of us more similar than not,
perhaps even exchanging
parts as I move the damp cloth
across the leaves
in an attempt
to keep something whole
even as the world
spins apart.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged monostitch, poem, poetry, revelation, surrender on January 18, 2017| 2 Comments »
All these days trying to turn a stone into a song, such relief, its splash in the river
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged jude Janett, poem, poetry, what is a poet on January 16, 2017| 5 Comments »
—for Jude Janett
It was cold,
and so
when she said
I am not
a poet,
I mean
I write them,
but only
to survive—
I don’t think
I even
like poems
I watched
as her words
turned to mist
in the air,
swirling
transparent lines
that danced
before they
disappeared,
and
I knew
there was
never
a poet
more true.