An Open Letter to My Son’s Friends at the Prom After-Party Weekend
May 14, 2018
21 Days of Yoga
May 17, 2016
Where the Light Enters You
February 6, 2019
The Future Drinks Coconut Cream Iced Coffee
April 24, 2018
Ohmygod ohmygod. This confectionary concoction just happened in my kitchen. Well it didn't *just happen*. I dreamed it up from angel coffee goodness and sheer tasty geniusness.
➺ A gooey drizzle of honey, a quick tip of vanilla, about 1/3 cup coconut milk, a creamer or two's worth of half-and-half, and half a glass of cold brew coffee. (Remember, my way of making cold brew is by brewing some coffee, then refrigerating it. Pretty simple. It's brewed, and then it gets cold. Cold. Brewed. Boom.) Also remember that I DO NOT DRINK CAFFEINE. So here I go, DRINKING CAFFEINE. Because this badboy sweet-ass afternoon bevvie is Fully Loaded.
I teach Yoga for Creative Writers workshops in which we explore the unnameable juncture between Spirit and Self, how when we move in divine connection with our inspired, uninhibited mind and our sensual, physical body, magic happens. But it is not plaything of the occult which allows this erasing of boundary; it is the spark that always resides within. All it really wants is to be heard. Pour it a big tall glass of Ohmygod Honey It's Coconut Cream Iced Coffee, (that's what I'm calling it. Watch for it to be the Next Big Thing) set up your speaker right next to your yoga mat and get your journal and pencil ready. Be prepared to move fluidly from unrestrained places in your body and unrestrainable places in your mind. Be prepared to Write It All Down.
Now I'm not claiming this is poetic prize-winning material or anything. I'm just putting it out here for you to see what I've been up to on this glorious blue-sky day, when all the world is brutal and ours for the taking. When the doors and windows are open, the laundry is folded, and time allows for movement and freedom, observation (of the breath, of National Poetry Month, of Earth Day, of gratitude and good fortune), and introspection.
The questions in the first part comprise a workshop activity. They were originally part of an exercise conducted by John Beloit, late editor of the Beloit Poetry Journal. They are an excellent "in" if you are trying to get at the heart of why you write, or why you do anything that you do. Ask yourself, what am I supposed to do? What Should I do? What MUST I do? It is this Must that gets me on my mat and at my writing desk. Find your Must's, my friends. Oh, and you simply MUST make some Ohmygod Honey Iced Coffee.
The second part was an eyes-closed, hands-on-the-keyboard, music-loud-on-the-crappy-computer-speakers free-write. Put the playlist on. I'm telling you. Magic/ Not Magic. Souls get hungry too and this is what feeds mine.
What are the poems/ stories/ books/ articles you are supposed to write?
To be an explanation of myself
What are your “Still Lifes, Instructions, and Symptoms”?
This life is glorious and brutal; breathe and love anyway. find the way to say it. say it again. say it anyway. do it before it’s too late. we walk around, running over and over in our minds what we should have said/ what we really meant/ what s/he thought about what was perceived that we should have said meant to say, didn’t say/ do , eat, wear. Then when you talk about it with the other person involved you clear all that up and get to the heart of who you both are.
What poems do you want to write?
Rather than an explanation, a heartening.
What poems must you write?
Poems that bring food to the hungry.
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Honestly this is the best way I know to tell the story that comes to me flying through my fingers as a firebird flies through tropical gale force winds without skirring its feathers, without assuredly knowing that its tail won’t blow off in the wind, that it won’t bust its ass taking a landing or drown in sorrow simply waiting on the jetway for taxi and take-off and what about the turbulence. my eyes are closed. I just typed a period what if my fingers are off their position what if position means nothing astral speculation triangulation. celestial navigations
So I open my eyes and the music is loud and soaring its like transcribing fireworks.
The thing I haven’t told you is that once I tied my eyelids open with a strand of fetal (dental) floss and woke for three days the neighborhood with the sounds of dry desert scorpions running across my —-
the thing i haven’t told you is i am prone to lying.
The thing is, to tell you i would have to let the dragon out of the paper bag I sealed up with a flask of firewater and a pen do you hear him roaring
The future is a disobedient female, the future doesn’t care for your sticks and stones
the future lets her dragon out of the bag and fills the whole world with its howls
The future knows that poetry doesn’t feed the hungry.
The future is as trusting as a cur, as ear-splitting as a library, all its spines cracked open against absence and silence and closed airports due to fear of encountering electric dragons unhinged by the storm.