Creative writing

Home

Is home a hole I can crawl into when I am scared?
Or a more luminous way of living?

homemade cookies
chicken and mashed potatoes
hot baths and hugs
old friends with warm hearts

the place I go after
the adventure

I want to go home where places and people and things are familiar
but where my life is still alive
changing
evolving

adventure bursts into the stillness of the moment
sitting writing with the summer cactus at the kitchen table

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

Young Adult Program

Where would I be without it?
doing the same job but more stressed
the same height but less tall

I would still drive standard
but would be more scared
and I wouldn’t know that I love to drive tractor

my life would be full
but less bright
fun but less funny
and long but less lived.

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here. All proceeds go to the Young Adult Program at Yasodhara Ashram.

Body of Work

to create a body of work
you need
a body

and not just any-body
or some-body
but your very own body

to create a body of work
you need to breath into your lungs
and feel into your toes
and listen to your heart
your mind
your gut

you have to want it so badly that it hurts
and trick yourself to keep going when you forget

you have to run fast towards the finish line
sprint even
in your first draft

get it down!
fast.

polishing can come in leisurely afternoons
getting it down must be squeezed into crevices
as you wait for the bus
the 5 minutes before the dental hygienist calls your name
before you go to bed
for 10 minutes before you call your partner
squeeze it in!

and how do you keep going at this breakneck speed
when your project is much larger than a postage stamp
and you do and don’t know where it’s going to end up?

trick yourself
any way you can
and keep going
To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

Fate

Is it my fate to be sititng in bed at 10:39 pm
trying to push out one-more-poem?

they can’t be pushed
you know
only loving called from the caves that they hide in
the crevices within your heart

coaxed, called, soothed, spoiled,
delighted into the light

and is it my fate to be 27 years old
alone on an adventure towards meaningful living
trying to keep my cool
and live freely
joyfully
trying to live the life of a poem freed from its crevasse?

And what if my life was a poem
and I didn’t know what was coming around the corner until I got there

what if listening, not planning was my work?
and opening not limiting was my life?
and loving not living was my home?

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

Fire

It’s the end of the day
And I’m tired
And I don’t want to write about fire

The fire that is in our hearts
The fire that destroys the forest
in one fell swoop

Standing in the desert alone
The fire consumes a five story sculpture
That took all year to make
Burns it to dust

All art must be destroyed
And the fire in our heart must be kindled
Built up until it’s raging

Putting your blood sweat and tears into your real work
Nothing more,
Nothing less.

Build a fire.

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

In the Name of Hair

He winks at me and I cut it all off
brusquely
I am not who you think I am
I am not some submissive human
who will cook you the perfect breakfast
and then walk with you arm and arm in the park
I am not your trophy

I cut it all off and swear off
men like him

I meet another
who likes my short hair
but I cut it all off anyways
he is wrong
he is not perfect
he is

and I am dropped
plummeting
land
bruised
black and blue

i get up and keep running
and I couldn’t see the bruises then
I can now

and there is a heaviness in my heart
why so hard?
and so unseeing?
why so?

now I pause
as I lie on the ground
and breathe into the pain

I am hurt

I get up
holding my bruised heart
and carefully
step forward.
To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

Canoe Trips

and we’re off!
a pack on my back
a canoe on your head
we are travelling

we are going to nowhere in particular
except for you have a specific campsite in mind and a map

i have my book
you have your headphones
and we’ll lie in the dirt
beneath the trees
blissful

I can only write poetry at the side of a lake
I can only be free in the mountains

my mind is the lake
my body the mountain
and i can find freedom with you

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here. All proceeds go to the Young Adult Program at Yasodhara Ashram.

Animals

baby geese on the beach
who doesn’t love their cuteness?

and can I be cute in my poetry?
will anyone care if i’m not clever?

if I claim to love
will you laugh at my story?

if I cackle and wit
will you think I’m brilliant?

and what if they don’t love my poetry?
and what if they don’t love me?

what if its cute?
and plain jane?
and there’s no edge?
will my world wither into nothingness?

and will you love me as i am

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

Beach Stones

lying in perfect patterns
you crunch beneath my feet
and she knows that i am coming

i walk slowly
listening as the waves lap against the shore
shading the sun from my eyes
it is hot
and sweat rolls down my back

are you reading?
she shakes her head
and i sit beside her in the shade
are you still singing?
sometimes, she answers
not enough

what would make it enough?
i ask
freedom, she answers

we stand together
and walk slowly into the water
up to our necks
wearing our clothes

i look up
a bird flies overhead

do you think the birds are free?, i ask
she looks at me
and answers
yes.

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

Singing on Rooftops

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Getting out of the window is awkward
Pass the guitar
The bottle of wine
The cool breeze makes its own way over

When we were young
we sang on rooftops
When we were young
we knew what was in our hearts
When we were young
we held hands – just to experiment

You make it out too
We look over the garden
And out to the lake
And we sing

We sing what is in our hearts
We sing the songs of our childhood
I sing my mother’s songs
You sing your’s
And we sing our history right back into the present

I don’t know what’s in your heart
But I know what’s in mine
And we sing.

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here. All proceeds go to the Young Adult Program at Yasodhara Ashram.