Poetry Break

This past weekend I engaged in a writing workshop that triggered much synchronicity. The focus was on the somatic.  The bodily.  Writing in the solid grounded world to reflect common human experiences.  Synchronistic because I have been trying to say with the body through this past season.  Meditating, working, existing in my body and not just in my mind.  Not at all easy for me.

Since I did not have time to write a formal blog, I will post some of the poems that emerged from that workshop.

Winding Dusty Path
Fuzzy sweet crunchy peaches.
Sharp rough leaves.
Dreamy jagged rustling trees.
Brittle fragile shivering trees.
Damp
and brittle silence.
Dank squishy startling silence

Hopper: Hotel Room, 1931

Slumped on a bed
waiting.
Pretending to read,
to pass the time.
Waiting.
Alone in a room. Her love,
late.
She wonders if she'll have enough
money to eat, survive.
She tries to read,
alone in the city.
She waits.
Not much longer.
He promised.




In the meantime, she waits.
She sits in the room, filled
with dreams, promises of a
new life.
A better life.
Red lingerie doesn't feel like
enough.
The book doesn't feel like enough.
She waits.
Alone. The room feeling smaller and
smaller around her.