|We are all unique and amazing. With this notion bouncing around inside me I offer to the world what I have to share. The words inside my head have reached to overflowing and in an attempt to keep from exploding I have taken to writing. What follows is the result of purging my mind. If you like what you see, SUBSCRIBE at the top of the page.|
I too am Compassionate CreativityMay 3, 2018
Spring has finally settled in. The warm weather has hopefully truly claimed it’s place and the creative juices have begun rising like the sap. That was an attempt at poetic prose since the creative juices in me never seem to cease. There is always some outlet that needs to be accessed as a release valve for the creativity that constantly wells up inside me. I am currently editing the audiobook of a dear friend. We recorded the audio last year with sessions once a week over a couple of months. It was quite a fulfilling experience listening to Kali speak her words from the book each session. Now I get to revisit the words again as I listen to soul touching stories of her book “I Am Compassionate Creativity”. Many of the stories resonate at a deep personal level, although the stories of Kali’s life there is a common thread that is also in me. Each day I work on the project I am fortified by the words and the content. I am encouraged to boldly be me. I am empowered to find my authentic voice each day. I am eager to complete this work so that more people can have the chance to experience Kali’s powerful message in another way. As my creative juices flow I reflect and identify that audio editing was not something I set out to do as a creative outlet and yet here it is.
A poem a day - continuesMay 2, 2018
April is National Poetry month. For the past four years on of my poems has been displayed in the PoemCity Festival in Montpelier, VT, which would theoretically make me a "Poet" with works displayed. This year I tasked myself to write a poem a day for the month of April, as a tweet (I began in the middle of the month). I found the process rewarding and not at all burdensome. Using the tweet format did provide some limitation yet I found that the tweets could be sketches of larger poetic works. I will continue tweeting a poem a day and they will also be posted here (for those who do not tweet).
a poem a day (5/2/18)May 2, 2018
with each new day dawns new opportunities,
new aromas to smell new food to taste,
fashioned from our mind new worlds new cities,
bringing yesterday's sadness and sorrow into this new would be a waste.
a poem a day (5/1/18)May 2, 2018
As the teacher, what I must do,
is create an environment
that is physically and emotionally safe for you.
Grieving (Stanley Strong)Apr 30, 2018
I drove past Stan’s shop the other day and was hit by a wave of hurt. He is still not there. He is supposed to be there. He isn’t coming back. He isn’t coming back. Six months after he died and I still look for him. All the stuff I wanted to say to him the next time we spoke is still waiting to be said. My eyes start to leak. Hell, I should call it by it’s name…. I am crying. I am crying I cry I don’t want to cry. I don’t know why half a year after his death I still cry when I pass his place or when I sit down and think about him not being anywhere. The big smile under the bushy mustache anytime I passed by his shop. We weren’t that close. We were as close as brothers who have a few things in common. Man, this aches right in the middle of my chest. It feels like a giant hand is squeezing my heart not enough to stop it but enough to make it have to really work. I don’t only miss Stan when I pass by the shop. Stan is in my garage too. My bike has a couple little drips that Stan was gonna get to when I brought the bike in some time. Two years of riding and we were gonna get to those drips. We both knew without saying it that if he didn’t get to the drips when I brought the bike in it was a good reason for another visit. I must have stopped in 10 times to deal with those drips only to leave after a good chat with plans to drop by next week to deal with them. We had time. The time we had together was so much more important than the bike or the drips or any of the material things that surrounded us. I’m not guessing at that, we actually talked about it. We had advice for each other. What we shared flowed both ways. And now it doesn’t flow at all. My eyes flow from time to time when I think of him. Did I really appreciate him this much when he was alive? Did he know it? Yeah, he knew it. Stanley was one of the guys who would say “I love you” to me while surrounded by gruff biker dudes and it was not awkward. And I would say “I love you” right back. One day this might not hurt so much, but today it still does.
a poem a day (4/30/18)Apr 30, 2018
The space within is greater, itself, than the thing
the unknowable far exceeds the known,
it is not hearing or seeing that is accepting,
it is fully grasping the un - known.