Monthly Archives: February 2014

Sending Love

Hey yall, I know this isn’t poetry(there is a poem about her on this blog though), but this is my wonderful friend Adriana and she needs your help achieving a goal.

Naturopaths Without Borders is a way to educate communities about preventative and natural medicines, such as nutrition, noninvasive natural treatments, and garden grown medicines(among other things). Her goal is to go to Haiti, where Naturopathy is a far more affordable option than traditional western medicine, and provide the care and education to care for oneself to its communities. Far too often proper health and nutrition can be traced to the root of problems, and NWB can help to change that. I believe in Adriana and the journey she is on. Her spirit along can change the world.

Every little bit helps, even sharing this post with friends! Thank you for taking the time to listen. I could not figure out how to embed the widget so I have included the link to the site and the video. Take good care.

http://www.gofundme.com/6kf25g

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Free Air! + Letting Each Other Safely Pass

I believe in honoring my writing. What ever hits the page, hits the page, and I wear my heart on my sleeve for the whole world to see. However, my heart feels heavy after my last post. What I haven’t been giving you(the writing I have been keeping to myself), now seems to have been the better choice in all of this. It was not right of me to post/read that to anyone. It was beautiful, but painful. I see that clearly. I’ve gone back and forth about taking it down, but for now it’s still there.  I am going to be making a conscious effort to be more present,  and not give so much of my overwhelming sorrow to anyone who will listen. For the record, sorrow and I may be old friends, but I have learned how to be happy, how to move forward, how to finally be a part of my own life. I smile more now, and that’s huge for someone who’s always been internally sad. The sorrow lives deep in my mind, not my heart, and my last post was closer to a subconscious train of thought than conscious.

“Forgiveness is for anyone who needs safe passage through our minds.” – Rev. Dr. Kathianne Lewis.

I’ve had the honor of meeting Buddy Wakefield a few times in my life. The most recent being a feature at Northampton Poetry. Two years ago my life seemed to fall apart; I could do nothing right to hold it together. A friend recommended Buddy’s poetry to me and he quickly became something of a spiritual mentor, or guide. Along with poetry, I soaked up every book and article on human behavior, learning how to help myself through breathing, and learning to be present. Through all of this and a good therapist, I saw my self worth grow to a healthy place for the first time in my life. I encourage everyone to watch, learn Vipassana, or at least remember that stopping, letting go of all thought other than listening and being conscious of your breath, even for just one 3 second in, and 3 second out(average breath), will start to change your life. Your thoughts(even your stress if you choose to let it back in) will still be there 6 seconds later, what could it change. . . except everything!


Train of Thought (edited spring 2014)

Tonight while punk/noise bands played in the room, I free wrote. My train of thought felt broken, disrupted by the erratic nature of the bands, and the harshness of the transitions. I had no idea at the time I was writing anything coherent or that even followed a theme. It is what it is. What I’ve written lately is not ready for the world(or maybe just a pair of eyes), so I owe this blog something. In my teachings I call it the “Junk”, or the words that are in the way. Whatever happens, happens; it’s an exercise. Often it’s the truth that we sugarcoat later in refined poetry, the raw form or thought. So this is me raw, unknowingly.
2/1/14

__

My dreams tell me otherwise. I give thanks
for love and years long embrace, manifesting
our arms to do as designed. Planets working
in alignment with the rhythms of thanks, holy
the absent thought.

G-d damn. What is it about you that makes me
forget all the motions I should be taking? It’s
that smile erasing pain, the attitude in the
looks of playful judgment.

What’s your name, have I seen you before?  Could
I pry through your thoughts non-evasively, the way
this caused in-coherent thoughts? What’s your name?
Can I be your buddy system? Does the fractures
in our pasts cause callused hearts to bleed
the way they’re suppose to? Have you seen
my mind, wind soaked eyes curl the phrases around
the distance between us, is it yours to
manipulate, am I in this room as always
the question outspoken in loud places without
escape? Talking to you is the clot in
my terminally winded wholly hearted, my lungs
filled with tea and words like, forever overwhelming,
vulnerable, absent minded, love and alone.

Holy the random smiles as you walk by, loving me,
I’m confused___ And without judgment.
I wish to snuggle on words and cats, Mamma Jamma rolls
in the dark, lit by the universe rooms, and boxes
of blankets and galoshes, tights you ripped and
forgotten, smiles I still can’t shake, could
you just stop and say ‘I love you’. It’s okay.
I’m adjusting to this connection of disconnected passers
by, in love with the moments in which we
just give these whole stories safe passage to cleansing
sinks, washed with soft soaps and harsh
moments of written verse. My arms miss
hugs, the kind you’d save just for me, where
our days would melt away and this breath out
existed. I’m missing those moments, your loving
legs tangled, ice cream lips sticky with promises
and sleepy sex, moans in motion, hold me in
forevers, and bed hog four legged stinkers
content to watch and hammock the covers
between us, the windows open to
allow your heart to leave, you took
the chance and left. I’m sorry I could
not let you do so gracefully, my heart is healthy around
you, in you, so the apologies mean shit
in email, and the cats save my life daily,
the guilt is overwhelming
my voice no longer comforts, not that I
have your number anymore, anyway.
Where’d you go? My fingertips need the
skin of your hips, curled crease of
your bum at night when I’d go searching through
covers, the soothing life of your ass
in hand, strange, but it’s where my
comfort lived, g-d damn!