re-vision-ing

I have been thinking a lot lately about what makes a good blog (mostly because of our new work blog, which I’ve been maintaining), and I realized that I wouldn’t want to read this one very much because there’s usually nothing happening. I know that there’s very little happening here because I’ve been thinking about a lot of other things besides poetry lately. In fact, I haven’t been doing a whole lot of writing, which always makes me feel as if I am failing myself. It’s a whole lot more complex than that, though. The creative process encompasses much more than these moments of actual creating, whether it is writing a poem or making a painting or forming some other object.

I have been involved in the creative process of my life–trying to figure out what I’m doing here. It’s been interesting, but has definitely kept me from writing about writing. So, I have decided to broaden my scope on delicious ginger to talk about the rest of life too. ‘Cause, damn, it’s been pretty rich lately…

I have been studying herbalism with Maia Toll, which has been opening up some new windows and doors for me. I’ve been making a garden at my house, which has finally (after two years) allowed me to consider this my home (good thing, too, since I don’t have another home…). I’ve been learning how to bake gluten-free–something that kind of rocked my world to begin with, but I think it’s turning out to be pretty amazing. I’ve been thinking about the gifts life has been offering me and how to make the best use of all that juicy energy. Basically, I’ve been moving into each moment more fully, and embracing (as best I can) what I am faced with as I navigate the world.

In all of this transition and shifting, I have been working on feeling more connected to my poetic voice and my living in each moment voice. That has been fantastic. I did even manage to get a poem to paper yesterday, and so here it is for your perusal (with, as always, wonky spacing):

Delicate florescence

the rust sticking–

 

draft version

of shedding                             your skin

the burn and rub

brush of sand-knee-hand

pocket of stones

your hand in my pocket

boys blush

the hurricane

moves ground

see stars through rain clouds
our efforts to outline
what this is about
this gasping accumulation

Oh, how the wind braces

standing naked

all handles and screws–

all fear and abandon–

holding a spectrum spread wide

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