What are you doing in there?

Is it a dance recital
Or are you practicing a martial art?

What is it like to live
Entirely upside down, feet in my ribs?

Do you really get to taste
A little of every thing I eat?

Can you hear my singing
Over the rush of blood through the placenta?

Are those hiccups hurting you
When you have them for over a minute?

Do you dream in color
Or are there only soundscapes and emotions?

Poetry

As you many have noticed, this post is not a poem. Do not be alarmed, you are still at JP's Poetry. As part of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), there are prompts Monday through Friday all month. Today's prompt asked bloggers to discuss their secret (or not so secret) passion.

For a long while, writing poetry was my secret passion. It wasn't a huge secret, but I certainly didn't volunteer to share my poetry with many people. As a kid, I often made up little songs and loved poetry units at school. I wrote some angsty stuff during my teen years, but it wasn't all bad. As college approached, things got busier at school and I didn't do much of anything related to words during my free time. If poetry came up as an option during classwork, I always chose that form of the project. Occasionally I would submit a poem to an online contest and even had half a dozen or so published in anthologies.

College was even busier. I managed to squeeze in some semi-regular journal writing, nearly daily reading of about five pages from a personal novel, and an occasional poem writing session. I wasn't feeling totally uncreative, but there was lots of science and learning happening. Plus, I was meeting new people, helping to run campus organizations, and having all kinds of new experiences.

I graduated in May 2010 and moved in with my boyfriend. Not finding much available in the way of work gave me some free time and a flexible schedule between chores. I wrote more often and read a lot more. I've even started helping to run the alumnae book club, taken up sewing, and learned how to meal plan on a budget. I heard about National Poetry Writing Month a few days before it started, and decided I'd set up a blog to help keep me accountable. I loved it. There weren't tons of visitors, but I was sharing my creativity, meeting other poets, and learning new forms and styles. After April, I wrote regularly for a while and then let life get in the way.

I'm glad to be back for another month of regular writing and posting. Sometimes I think about collecting some of my work and publishing a book. Making a little money from it would be nice, but mostly there's something magical in seeing your work published.

Mind you, poetry isn't my only passion. I love biology, especially aquatic ecology. And I enjoy helping others learn. I even have waves of other creative pursuits: sewing, painting, cooking, and crocheting. Some days are more creative than others, but creativity is an important part of life. Creating something, even if you don't think of it as art, helps replenish the soul.

What about you, do you have a secret passion? Did you or do you keep it to yourself?

Connected

Energy flows through every cell

of every body.

My joy is contagious.

My excitement,

my energy,

my desire to help

and to affect change

can all be felt

if you just stand near me.

Feel the love,

the peace,

the hope.

Open your body

to the vibrations.

Open your heart 

to the emotions.

Open your mind

to the new notions.

Energy flows through every cell

of every body.

Feel it.



I went to an organizational meeting tonight for Occupy Raleigh.

Occupy Wall Street is a beautiful movement gathering some awesome power and amazingly positive energy for change. The movement is spreading in the form of protests and marches happening across the country and the world. Look up your town or city and you'll probably find something nearby related to the Occupation. Check Facebook and Twitter for #Occupy and there is tons to see. The amazing energy this evening really moved me.

Today's service at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Raleigh (where I attend somewhat regularly) featured humanity's ability to share emotions and energy through proximity and movement.

Today's poem is perfect for the day I had!


Part of: NaBloPoMo October: Between

Coping

This poem was featured as a guest post at The Wounded Warrior on 31st August, 2011. It's a great blog with some good poetry and some writing about being a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I wanted to give the poem another chance for reading and make it a little easier to find, so here it is:




When stress is high
or bad times arise,
we all have our ways
to get through the day.

Some of us laugh,
pray the moment will pass.
Some turn to drink,
bottle's gone in a blink.

Some of us cry,
and then wonder "why?"
Some of us scream,
hope it's all a dream.

Some of us smoke,
find peace in a toke.
Some meditate,
deep breathe it away.

Some of us lie,
smile, say "I'm fine."
Some need a hug,
show a little love.

So we can survive,
we cope with our lives.


Inspired by lyrics from Starsailor's "Some Of Us"
"Some of us laugh
some of us cry
some of us smoke
some of us lie
but it's all just the way
that we cope with our lives"
You can hear it here.

Coping: Guest Post on The Wounded Warrior

Jan Metal Man allowed me to do a guest post for him today on his blog, The Wounded Warrior! I enjoy his poetry. He also writes about being a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. From his blog description, "This is my place to offload, share and let go. Have a seat, kick off your shoes and join me. Leave your prejudices at the door, open your mind and learn." Take a look at his page, maybe enjoy some of his poetry, and let him know you've visited by leaving some comments (perhaps on my poem).

Love Lost: Philip Levine Cento

She remembered or yearned.

“I found you whole.

I find you in these tears,

and it would do no good.

I will never make it"

Now she shakes her head,

shakes him away,

and she's herself.

Something began here

and nothing comes back.

This poem is a cento: a poem created by rearranging another writer's verses or lines. I greatly enjoyed reading many of Philip Levine's poems in order to find this poem. The lines came from the following poems:

In the New Sun (1, 5)

Father (2,3)

Heaven (4)

A Woman Waking (6,7)

Late Moon (8)

My Fathers, The Baltic (9,10)

Prompted by The Found Poetry Review

Poems found via the plaigarist.com poetry archive

Viable

My wife gasped.

The doctor kept talking, 

but,

my world was on mute.

I drove home on auto-pilot.

Sitting on the couch,

it finally sank in:

the embryo wasn't viable.


Three Word Wednesday CCLLV
gasp, mute, viable

Who am I?

I am more than words can describe,

yet I can't find any good words to write.

I love circles, blue, rubber duckies, and friends.

I believe in conservation education.

My poetry expresses my thoughts and wants

but can be fiction, a story I thought up once.

Hopefully I can inspire others

to love and protect the Earth Mother,

to want know more about biology,

and maybe to create their own poetry.

Write what comes out based on the prompt and just post it. 

You can always clean it up later.

Free Write Friday: Do You Know Who You Are

Dream Dancing

Down into a 
deep sleep in the 
dark of night.


Daily doings forgotten:
door hinge creaking,
dripping faucet,
dumb jokes,
dog's mess.


Desires revealed:


Dropped into 
drums beating a
delightful rhythm.
Drinks all around.
Dancing begins.
Deemed worthy, I 
dance with them.


Dipping in the ocean.
Daring to 
dive for
dollars of sand.


Dawn arrives,
drawing me awake.
Dear, sweet dreams,
done for now.
Don't forget me.


ABC Wednesday Round 9 D

Carlos

The goal was to use the letter C for inspiration (via ABC Wednesday). While listing C words, a migrant's story started to form. I've been reading Sonia Novario's book Enrique's Journey. It details the struggles of a boy from Honduras attempting to reach his mother in North Carolina and what happens after.

I survived Chiapas, the beast.

An unlucky comrade was

cut off from the group.

Border police have corralled him

in confinement with other migrants.

I am crazy to attempt this

journey from central america

crossing Mexico

to the United States.

But, it is the only cure

for missing my mother,

who used to coddle

and cuddle me

when I was cute and small.

I hop on and off moving trains.

Churning wheels threaten to cut off

a foot, a leg, a life.

Men chase me.

I hide in a clump of bushes.

A church!

I burst in and

careen into a corner.

Churches often provide sanctuary.

It's cool in here.

A clergyman appears.

"Breathe easy.

I care for children of the train."

I notice others. 

For dinner, we consume

cucumbers and chimichangas.

I even get a cookie!

We console one other.

We cajole one other.

We cheer up for the safety

of resting in the church.

I cover up for sleep,

and dream of mami.

Thousands of children travel along the tops and sides of freight trains through Mexico. Children as young as seven jump on and off of the moving trains, trying to avoid immigration agents. Some states are generally friendly and the people are helpful to the migrants, like in Veracruz. Chiapas, the southern most state, is notoriously difficult to cross without deportation, and the people despise migrants. These children are typically trying to reach a parent in the US, most often a mother. Single-parent households appear more and more in Central America, and parents who cannot make enough at home leave for the US. They plan to stay 1, 2, or 3 years, but many end up staying for 10 years or more. Children who can barely remember their mother, or have only an idealized version of her, undertake deportation, gangs, rape, physical mutilation, starvation, and dehydration for days and sometimes months hopping trains in order to find mom and love.

Aug 7: Included in Poetry Pantry #61

I'll try anew

After all that I have been through
tomorrow is going to be
another day. I'll try anew.



Carry On Tuesday #116
"After all, tomorrow is another day"
Scarlett O'Hara (Vivien Leigh)
Gone With The Wind 1939


Another poem inspired by this same prompt

All that I make now is for me.

When you feel like

they all mock you,

say to yourself

that it's for you.

All of your work

is not for them.

Lost in deep thought,

all creative,

is the real you.

Not what they say.

Lost your mind yet?

No, still making

all my art. It

is part of me,

not made for you.

Lost my way once

at your prodding. 

All that I make now is for me.

Today's poem inspired by OK GO's "All Is Not Lost"

"When they say that all is lost,

all is not lost.

No, all is not lost at all."

Check out the way awesome video with Pilobolus here.
Spread Love


**1 Aug: Featured on The Bar None Group Daily online newspaper Poetry section

Night's Advice

Beware thoughts that come in the night,
even if they feel alright.
Dreams show the twisting of your mind;
and they show the truth, at times.
You never know what you will find.
Every person has both sides.
Be careful when seeking advice
from the voices in the night.


Carry On Tuesdays #108
"Beware thoughts that come in the night."
First sentence from William Least Heat-Moon's novel Blue Highways

Collection of Horoscopes

Equilibrium is
not that valuable.
Stylish lopsidedness and the 
beauty of irregularity display
incongruous details that
reveal fresh, hot truths.
So-called flaws are to be celebrated.
Lucky accidents are serendipity.


"Imagine greatness in others," says the man
not renowned for his optimism.
Activate your own dormant greatness and
fantasize aggressively.


The income gap is
absurdly grotesquely humongous.
Raise your voice against this inequity.
Discrepancy exists
in your own personal sphere.
Immediate effect in the immediate area.
Rich aspects of your psyche steal from the poor parts.


The smartest words you have ever said in your life and
two of the top five thoughts of the past decade have
popped into your brain recently.
Inner sources of wisdom are strongly
aligned
with the Divine Intelligence,
formerly known as God.
Be wilder and freer.


Status quo, no!
Uncertainty and
transformation are
shifting the mood.
Experimenting with the rules is healthy.
Imagine different ways of doing things.
This superpower should be shared.


The rupture in the order of things has cause people to
completely forget why they started doing it.
People
are in a daze,
hypnotized by a certain 'rupture' which
took place some time ago.
Wake them up, gently, 
to move on.


You're an animal!
Vitality is heading toward peak levels.
Every move you make is a dance.
Explore the righteous blending of grace and power.
Be a fluid bolt of ingenious fun.
Play hard and
with sublime ferocity.


"Make the invisible dark force beautiful.
Create a song out of your moans.
Brag about your wounds.
Dance reverently on the graves of your enemies.
Sneak a gift to your bad self.
Dissolve the ties that bind you to hollow intelligence.
Seek the angel near the funky gully that winds through no man's land.
Dig for treasure in the mud puddle where the single lily grows,"
my dream said.
Align yourself with its spirit.


Happiness should be reclassified as a 'psychiatric disorder,' he says.
Pathology of joy, he says.
'Happiness is statisically abnormal,' he says.
Cluster of symptoms and
cognitive abnormalities abound, he says.
Be besieged by a massive influx of good feelings and
surges of unreasonable joy.
Rebel mode, activated.
Flaunt you abnormal bliss.


Epic Deed Ahead:
Capacity for amazing feats is bigger than usual.
Accomplish what's beyond your expectations.


You had to relinquish and were
forced to sacrifice what you love.
Be awakened to an unexpected new source of excitement
liberating you to rise again.


*Freestyle wacky fantasies:
indulging in your own version of
healthy for you.
Depart from you usual raps and
unveil some unpredictable self-expressions.



Found words in horoscopes from Independent Weekly 5.4.11.
All lines start with Indy words. Some lines end with my own. A few sections are all Indy.
*May 25: Found the one that didn't get copied in originally. Thanks jaanpehchaan from Heartbeat for noticing and letting me know.

After you have lain down to bed

After you have lain down to bed,
all the day's thoughts have left your head,
tomorrow starts to roll around.
Is true love what you really found?
Another dream just broke your heart.
Day breaks. Awake to play your part.



'After all, tomorrow is another day.'
Last line from 'Gone With the Wind'
Part of Carry On Tuesday 105

Dreams Pass

In the merry month of May
In a morn by break of day
From a peaceful, made up place,
From a sweet dream, I awake
To find I am not at home,
But in a field. I'm alone.
My love is gone, though last night
we slept in bed side by side.
I wander about to see
Where this place might really be.
Seeing naught for many miles
I sit down and crack a smile.
This place just can't be real.
I pinch myself, try to feel.
I lie down, enjoy the grass,
Then let another dream pass.


Part of this week's Carry On Tuesday
Lines from: Phillida and Coridon by Nicholas Breton

Hesitations

A dream realized,
a fantasy fulfilled,
if you just take the jump.
Put yourself out there.
Opportunity only come knocking
when he knows where you live.
Nervousness is normal.
Change is unavoidable.
Take a deep breath,
remember your goal,
and go for it.
Sounds easier than it feels, huh?



Part of this week's Poetry Potluck from Jingle Poetry. Which, part of the reason I checked out the blog was due to the initials JP, same as mine.

Grandma and the King's Son

"Yes ma'am," the boy told grandma.
"Heard about you out here in the living room from mama.
About nine-thirty last night you were laughing, mama says."

"The king's son was there, in my dream," grandma explained.
"'Like meat loves salt' he claimed he loved me. I was young.
And when they got a right long ways off, his guards I mean,
squintin' squirrels were the only ones left to see us."

Grandma just laughed and hollered last night through the whole dream.
"The two boys slept on, too tired to notice," Mama added.


Found poem using arbitrarily selected first phrases on pages out of Grandfather Tales, edited by Richard Chase.