Posts Tagged ‘practice’




meeting my shadow

every day I practice this—

walking in the dark

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To be grateful not only for flower,

but also for mud, grime,

slug, slime, the dingy,

the filthy, the tired,

to be grateful not only for star

but also for what is prickly, thornsome,

tricky, testy, sore,

to be grateful not only for warmth

but also for the cold that holds it,

the chill, the bite, the nip, the freeze,

the breeze that blows always head on.

To not only say thanks, but live it.

To not only know thanks, but give it.




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In my heart, a mandolin

just waiting to be played—

there are music sheets,

ignore them. Doesn’t matter

if you know how to play.

What matters is you try.

What matters is you practice

tuning the strings

until you find the way

to make them sing.

What matters is that

we both know there’s

music in there just waiting

to be found and

your hands are curious,


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The Lesson



I asked the world

to teach me of truth

and waited and waited

for a lesson. Anything.

A bird. A rainbow.

A bug. A storm.

But nothing.

And so I went in

and made a cup


the beans and steamed

the milk and cradled

the cup in my hands.

And I tasted it.

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Remember, says my friend, to look

for beauty every day. And immediately


I think of the blue heron I saw this afternoon

as it flew upriver, its elegant neck tucked


into its body in flight, its deep, slow wing beats

guiding it through the curves of the wide canyon.


In my chest, I felt it, the rising urge to fly,

the pulsing, the thrill of blue heron.


In that instant, I did not wonder

if a moment of beauty is enough


to sustain us through difficult times.

I knew only that I had to remind my eyes


to watch the highway instead of following

the great blue weight as it wove


through the empty cottonwood tops,

its silhouette charged with improbable grace,


its long legs dangling behind,

a reminder we all must land sometime.

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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

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Just because it wasn’t here yesterday
doesn’t mean it won’t be here today.
Some things arrive only in their own time.
Just because I am talking about morels
doesn’t mean I’m not talking about love.
And here it is, golden and misshapen,
something I step over once before discovering.
I mean, isn’t it wonderful when sometimes
we choose to show up and then, well,
it’s not really an accident, is it, that we find ourselves
with our hands, our hearts so full.

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beside the petals
curled tight in the bud—
learning to find
them beautiful whether they ever open
or not

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I bow to the ache of it,
the deep inner eating
away at itself, I bow
to the shivers, the gooseflesh,
the waves of nausea and pain.
I bow to the unnamed,
to question, to dark.
And I bow to the fear
that swells in small spaces
and the vast quiet
that dissipates the fear.
I bow to every other human
who hurts and I bow
to the yellow flowers tonight
blooming in the muck
where the river used to be.
I bow to the ache, goddammit,
I bow to it and I bow
to the reluctance to bow to it,
bow to the longing to shove
it all away, and I bow,
hush now, just bow.

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Leaping: How to Wildly Advance Your Writing
A five-week adventure in growing your voice
led by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Wednesdays February 1-February 29
11 a.m. to 1 p.m.

When a stranger on the corner asked, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” pianist Arthur Rubinstein famously replied: “Practice. Practice. Practice. “

What’s true for the pianist is true for the poet. If you want to improve, it takes practice. In this five-week class, participants will be asked to write a poem a day for a month.

A poem a day?!

Mmm hmm. You can do it even if you’ve never written a poem outside of English class. All participants will receive a 30-day inspiration booklet with 60 possible prompts written by the workshop leader. This year will also feature experiential prompts. But her prompts are merely suggestions. You can scribble a late-night haiku about your cat or type a 14-line sonnet in rhymed iambic pentameter. It doesn’t matter. Nor does it matter if the writing is “good.” It matters that you write. It matters that you play. It matters that you try new things. More than poetry as product, we’re exploring a poetic life—poetry as path and lens and anchor and kite.

These just might be 30 of the most fun, creative, door-opening, writer’s-block-busting, voice-changing, provocative days of your life. Let’s play.


Passionate about language and writing, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer earned her master’s degree in English Language and Linguistics, and for 10 years, she directed the Telluride Writers Guild. Her poems have been featured in O Magazine and on A Prairie Home Companion. Her books include Holding Three Things at Once, a finalist for the Colorado Book Award, and most recently The Miracle Already Happening: Everyday life with Rumi. For seventeen years, she’s taught in libraries, schools, businesses and universities. Clients have included Camp Coca Cola, The Aesthetic Education Institute of Colorado, Think 360, Business and Professional Women and the National Endowment for the Humanities. You’ll find her own poem-a-day practice at ahundredfallingveils.wordpress.com

www.weehawkenarts.org * Questions@weehawken.org * 970-318-0150

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