Before I had even pushed back the blankets or shaken the lead out of my limbs, I knew about Lebanon, bulldozers in the West Bank, Zelensky’s call for more aid, and also about Moo Deng, a pygmy hippo whose name means bouncy pork. My mother’s mother’s mother woke early, bounced from bed to milk the cows and scatter feed for hens. I wake early, scatter attention, which means I wake tired and go to sleep, mind still bouncing between browser windows that break break break with news.
I love the connection you made here, and the juxtaposition between the two parts. This feels like it came at the perfect time for me, once again. I'm calling this one there's an app for that"
A, I love matter-of-fact, stream-of-consciousness, almost detached tone of this poem (or that's how it lands for me, anyway). Like you're just letting the thoughts float past. Like it's all a part of the meditation. And then without a bunch of fanfare, you stick that ending so powerfully - "it is only just now that my body has found / the ability to tell me how tired I am / and then the meditation ends." This is so beautiful and so relatable, and I am so wishing you rest, my friend!
I love this A. And I can relate. As a underachieving meditator, I have dabbled in apps, books, recordings, silence, music, prayer and bells to bring me to that deep meditative state. A serial dabbler I expect I am destined to be. I love the way you bring us through the winding frustrations of the app to that place where you indeed find that restful place-which as it issometimessaid, has been inside you all along.
As I mentioned in my reply to Lisa, I have been in sheer survival mode lately. I started back to work in August as a PreK secretary/office/floater and it is alternately exhausting - being in the classroom to relieve teachers for breaks and on recess duty - and slow - time in the office where there isn't much to do to mark time. But at the end of the day, I haven't had the mental where with all to concentrate on anything, writing, reading, crafting. Then I got Covid and at least concentrated enough to start a new TV show (The Bear - 10/10 would recommend). But creatively, I have been zapped. I am a deconstructing, questioning, ex-Vangelical Christian and I found a book recently that has helped called Breath as Prayer and it inspired my first poem.
Inhale
And breathe
The words I long to believe.
Exhale
Release
Feel a sense of peace.
Breath is air
Breath as prayer.
The second is more of a sentimental, reflective, nostalgic wandering that is just a draft addressing the fact that so much of our memories are lost to time and maybe if we had paid more attention along the way, we would remember more. It definitely isn't done and needs work.
We heard the years were short but the days were long
And we were going to miss them when they were gone
And how many times did someone mention
That those were the good old days?
But there was life to be lived and bills to be paid
Karri, it's such a delight to see you here and to get to read both of your poems! The first felt like a prayer. My whole body softened and my heart opened as I read it . . . and that last line, "breath as prayer!" Beautiful. That notion is going to stay with me.
And then your second poem is so deeply relatable! I know the lament that runs through it all too well. Others have already said the same, but I have to echo it because the line is just that brilliant - "time is a healer, time is a thief" . . . wow. Clearly your inner genius is still intact, even with the challenges you're going through.
The whole of this second poem has me thinking about the current obsession many have with longevity and with adding more years to their life. I heard someone say recently, and I loved it, that he's less interested in adding more years to his life and more interested in being fully present for each of the moments he has here because presence has a way of stretching time, making life feel richer, fuller, and more expansive. That feels true to me. I would rather have 50 or 60 years of deep presence, connection, and intentionality than 100 years of being blown to and from by the whims of the wider culture (or 100 years of scrolling on my phone, haha).
It’s so nice to see you here, Karri! Thank you for sharing what’s been going on for you. It sounds really intense! I’m glad you’re through covid (past tense now, right?) and REALLY glad that you felt inspired to write a couple poems. I love (and hate) the idea that if we paid more attention, we would remember more. I so feel that! “Time is a healer, time is a thief” — oooh, that line and the few that followed really grabbed me.
These are beauitful Karri! The first flows so easily and gently, and truly feels prayer like. "Breath is air?breath is prayer." Aloha to that. Your second poem is tender and bittersweet, and describes a journey I can relate to and I expect others as well. "Time is a healer, time is a tghief/softening edges of pain and grief." That is creatively genius. Your sharing is always a gift. Blessings as you continue on the journey of this new work.
I'm sorry to hear your job has been such a drain on your energy, and about Covid. I'm glad to see you back, and I love your poems. I just started meditating again and found your first poem relaxing. And your second - Time is a healer, time is a thief"- really spoke to me.
First of all, thank you Lisa for checking in on me - I have been in strict survival mode lately and a lot of my thought processes were directly related to your first poem. My attention seems scattered in so many directions and it paralyzes me to any action at all. I have missed you guys and I am making an effort to slow down and try to concentrate, especially on things that I enjoy. And your second poem... Sheer delight.
I feel like we live in a world where the scattering of our attention is the default. We have to consciously choose something else . . . and we won't always succeed! I'm so glad you were able to rake together the scattered leaves of your attention well enough to leap into the pile and join us here today. 🧡
I love how your poems spins and churns, turning in on itself like a hurricane (or, you know, like the human race). The tone and cadence of it match the subject(s) so perfectly. And these lines, oh my - "I just want to know if there is something / I can count on without having to / open my eyes."
This is an increible poem, Rebekah. You have, as thety say, a "beautiful mind." I read your poem several times, and each time brought a new discovery. Your use of direction and clockwise/counter clockwise is brillant, and quite engaging. So many of your lines moved right into my soul: "I just want to know if there is something/ I can count on without having to/open my eyes." Oh my! "The Poet disguised as an agency meteorologist"--fantastic! " She hasn’t slept since Thursday and/is starting to loosen to that place,/letting her limbs senesce/as she quits the mountain." Thank you for the introduction of a new word for me--senesce, and for the marvelous wrap to your epic poem!
Last night, I had the joy of attending a celebration of former students at the University doing good work in the world on diversity, equity, inclusion and freedom. This poem emerged throughout the day today.
I love "drawing maps to a brighter day." I picture a treasure map, straight out of Peter Pan, except it's marked Somedayland instead of Neverland. Larry, you always manage to weave grief and hope together so beautifully. Your poems never skip over or attempt to erase injustice. And yet they brim with hope, like "the book is still being written / our song is not yet sung." This is lovely!
Thank you Lisa! I like the notion of a treasure map, ther Peter Pan variety! And SomeDayland--thart is brilliant! We have such a remarkable guide and inspiration alng the way in you. Thank you.
"A kaleidoscope of colors, languages,/ gender expressions and abilities,/ drawing maps to a brighter day." I love the way you celebrate diversity in your writing and in your life, Larry. Every part of me feels welcomed by you and your words.
Thank you A.! What a kind and generous comment, and I am glad ths is so. One of my sadnesses of the past twenty years is how the attack on good and solid work on being more inclusive in our society has been caricatured into "woke" and conspiracy nonsense. To the extent that some folks, including myself, "We ahve tio kick at the darkness until it bledrift away from the work, or are afraid to raise issues of diversity and inclusion. "We have to kick at the darkness until it bleeeds daylight." (Bruce Cockburn, Lovers in a Dangerous Time).
Brilliant pair of poems. You put your finger right on a serious pandemic of attention Abbs just when the despair peeps over the horizon, you pose the solution right there. Not as an idea, but as a felt and lived experience.
Thank you so much! That means a lot to me. As I was writing these poems (and a few others that arose from inventorying my attention), I kept thinking about how what I really wish for is to just bring a reader into the experience . . . let them hear the rain, not just my words about it. So if in the end it felt like I was offering a lived experience (rather than a mere idea) as a solution, I'm so glad!
I love the connection you made here, and the juxtaposition between the two parts. This feels like it came at the perfect time for me, once again. I'm calling this one there's an app for that"
.
I sink farther into the couch to listen
to a meditation I technically paid $70 for -
the first of many exercises which promise
to retrain my brain, helping me cope
with stress, and alleviating my chronic pain.
I can hear the frustratingly repetitive show
my toddler is now watching across the room,
a slight improvement from having it right
next to me, and just as I begin to tune it out,
a woodpecker begins its excavation
of our siding, though I can't imagine
there are many bugs hiding inside of it, and
now the dog is barking, and then growling,
and then grumbling...
.
I rewind the meditation and begin
the process of settling in, again.
I close my eyes and feel
the pulsing sensation at my temple,
at the base of my head.
I inhale and exhale to relax my jaw
because this is the only way I can remember
how to unclench, and I repeat this
as many times as it takes to relax enough
for it to stay unclenched, meanwhile
the woodpecker moves on, and the dog
drops back into her snooze, and my jaw
is finally loose. The tension in my head
has eased, and now I can feel the grief
and anxiety inside my body, as if
through a dream, which at this moment
sounds like such a relief, because
it is only just now that my body has found
the ability to tell me how tired I am -
and then the meditation ends.
A, I love matter-of-fact, stream-of-consciousness, almost detached tone of this poem (or that's how it lands for me, anyway). Like you're just letting the thoughts float past. Like it's all a part of the meditation. And then without a bunch of fanfare, you stick that ending so powerfully - "it is only just now that my body has found / the ability to tell me how tired I am / and then the meditation ends." This is so beautiful and so relatable, and I am so wishing you rest, my friend!
Thank you, that was my intention so I'm glad to hear it translated for you! And I'm very much working on the rest. 🤞🏻
I love this A. And I can relate. As a underachieving meditator, I have dabbled in apps, books, recordings, silence, music, prayer and bells to bring me to that deep meditative state. A serial dabbler I expect I am destined to be. I love the way you bring us through the winding frustrations of the app to that place where you indeed find that restful place-which as it issometimessaid, has been inside you all along.
I found myself unclenching my own jaw as I read along. I too wish you rest and relaxation!
As I mentioned in my reply to Lisa, I have been in sheer survival mode lately. I started back to work in August as a PreK secretary/office/floater and it is alternately exhausting - being in the classroom to relieve teachers for breaks and on recess duty - and slow - time in the office where there isn't much to do to mark time. But at the end of the day, I haven't had the mental where with all to concentrate on anything, writing, reading, crafting. Then I got Covid and at least concentrated enough to start a new TV show (The Bear - 10/10 would recommend). But creatively, I have been zapped. I am a deconstructing, questioning, ex-Vangelical Christian and I found a book recently that has helped called Breath as Prayer and it inspired my first poem.
Inhale
And breathe
The words I long to believe.
Exhale
Release
Feel a sense of peace.
Breath is air
Breath as prayer.
The second is more of a sentimental, reflective, nostalgic wandering that is just a draft addressing the fact that so much of our memories are lost to time and maybe if we had paid more attention along the way, we would remember more. It definitely isn't done and needs work.
We heard the years were short but the days were long
And we were going to miss them when they were gone
And how many times did someone mention
That those were the good old days?
But there was life to be lived and bills to be paid
And we hoped that enough memories were made
In the moments that we paid attention
To carry us through the haze.
And we look back on the pictures and try
To remember our ordinary lives
We wonder why the details of those times
Seem to slip away.
Time is a healer, time is a thief
Softening edges of pain and of grief
But stealing thoughts of happy times
We made along the way.
Karri, it's such a delight to see you here and to get to read both of your poems! The first felt like a prayer. My whole body softened and my heart opened as I read it . . . and that last line, "breath as prayer!" Beautiful. That notion is going to stay with me.
And then your second poem is so deeply relatable! I know the lament that runs through it all too well. Others have already said the same, but I have to echo it because the line is just that brilliant - "time is a healer, time is a thief" . . . wow. Clearly your inner genius is still intact, even with the challenges you're going through.
The whole of this second poem has me thinking about the current obsession many have with longevity and with adding more years to their life. I heard someone say recently, and I loved it, that he's less interested in adding more years to his life and more interested in being fully present for each of the moments he has here because presence has a way of stretching time, making life feel richer, fuller, and more expansive. That feels true to me. I would rather have 50 or 60 years of deep presence, connection, and intentionality than 100 years of being blown to and from by the whims of the wider culture (or 100 years of scrolling on my phone, haha).
It’s so nice to see you here, Karri! Thank you for sharing what’s been going on for you. It sounds really intense! I’m glad you’re through covid (past tense now, right?) and REALLY glad that you felt inspired to write a couple poems. I love (and hate) the idea that if we paid more attention, we would remember more. I so feel that! “Time is a healer, time is a thief” — oooh, that line and the few that followed really grabbed me.
"a healer AND a thief"
.wham.
These are beauitful Karri! The first flows so easily and gently, and truly feels prayer like. "Breath is air?breath is prayer." Aloha to that. Your second poem is tender and bittersweet, and describes a journey I can relate to and I expect others as well. "Time is a healer, time is a tghief/softening edges of pain and grief." That is creatively genius. Your sharing is always a gift. Blessings as you continue on the journey of this new work.
I'm sorry to hear your job has been such a drain on your energy, and about Covid. I'm glad to see you back, and I love your poems. I just started meditating again and found your first poem relaxing. And your second - Time is a healer, time is a thief"- really spoke to me.
First of all, thank you Lisa for checking in on me - I have been in strict survival mode lately and a lot of my thought processes were directly related to your first poem. My attention seems scattered in so many directions and it paralyzes me to any action at all. I have missed you guys and I am making an effort to slow down and try to concentrate, especially on things that I enjoy. And your second poem... Sheer delight.
I feel like we live in a world where the scattering of our attention is the default. We have to consciously choose something else . . . and we won't always succeed! I'm so glad you were able to rake together the scattered leaves of your attention well enough to leap into the pile and join us here today. 🧡
Karri, I agree. I, too, have msised you and always joyfully exult when I see your name in here!
I have an image of you seeing hosannas, which makes me very happy!
I gave myself permission to go full ADD with this poem. I'm calling it "With the Heavy Rain Lessening, this will be the Last Advisory on the System."
.
I wake in motion, stepping out of the burn
and into the featheryellow sweep I seek
each year. Some call it the Larch March
but I won’t do that, that would be like
exploiting a near-death experience,
which I guess some people also do,
but not me, not yet.
.
My white noise is called stream water flowing
but it’s a roar in truth, dialed up past base flood,
what my hairtrigger brain needs.
It is important to remember which direction
I walked then, and then.
Which way does a circle go? It certainly
goes, any climber will tell you that.
For me it was counter, then clock,
but it wasn’t easy to figure that out
while half-asleep.
.
My feed is poorly alphabetized,
Hezbollah comes before Helene.
At this hour I can hold one kind of despair
but not the other, so I skip ahead to the fall
of our whole planet, a largely bloodless story.
Sister’s winds are northerly
and the stormcenter is to her left,
so does that make it clockwise?
Does it change every time?
I just want to know if there is something
I can count on without having to
open my eyes.
.
The poet disguised as an agency meteorologist
observes that the post-tropical cyclone
"continues to slowly spin down today
into tomorrow across the Tennessee Valley."
She hasn’t slept since Thursday and
is starting to loosen to that place,
letting her limbs senesce
as she quits the mountain.
I love how your poems spins and churns, turning in on itself like a hurricane (or, you know, like the human race). The tone and cadence of it match the subject(s) so perfectly. And these lines, oh my - "I just want to know if there is something / I can count on without having to / open my eyes."
This is an increible poem, Rebekah. You have, as thety say, a "beautiful mind." I read your poem several times, and each time brought a new discovery. Your use of direction and clockwise/counter clockwise is brillant, and quite engaging. So many of your lines moved right into my soul: "I just want to know if there is something/ I can count on without having to/open my eyes." Oh my! "The Poet disguised as an agency meteorologist"--fantastic! " She hasn’t slept since Thursday and/is starting to loosen to that place,/letting her limbs senesce/as she quits the mountain." Thank you for the introduction of a new word for me--senesce, and for the marvelous wrap to your epic poem!
.
Powerful words about powerful storms - both Helene and humanity writ large.
"At this hour I can hold one kind of despair/ but not the other" - yes.
"i have
officially
crossed over from a
'take two & call me in the morning' patient
to a
'let's give this one a try'
guinea pig"
he proclaims to no-one,
as the infusion machine
clicks and whirrs.
That sounds like a really hard crossing over, Chuck. I'm sending hopes of happy-guinea-pig outcomes for you or whomever this is about!
Thinking of you in this crossing with that familiar tune of the infusion machine marking time.
Wishing you wellness, Chuck.
Last night, I had the joy of attending a celebration of former students at the University doing good work in the world on diversity, equity, inclusion and freedom. This poem emerged throughout the day today.
^
America’s Room
^
Rainbow rhythms cover the ball room,
celebrating the brave ones who keep shining,
even when the way seems darkest.
A kaleidoscope of colors, languages,
gender expressions and abilities,
drawing maps to a brighter day.
Affirmations of work well done,
of sparkling possibilities to come,
complete oneness expressed in diversity,
a commitment to justice and equity
in hopes we all will wake up.
^
After the music and speeches have ended,
standing alone on the great lawn,
light of a cool autumn evening
winds it way into my heart.
American flag flapping mightily in the wind,
anchor pin ringing in tune
with each ruffle and ripple,
the spirits long ago left behind
release a mighty roar.
^
The book is still being written,
our song is not yet sung;
History is waiting for the midnight cries
and the waterfall of tears
to finally be left behind.
I love "drawing maps to a brighter day." I picture a treasure map, straight out of Peter Pan, except it's marked Somedayland instead of Neverland. Larry, you always manage to weave grief and hope together so beautifully. Your poems never skip over or attempt to erase injustice. And yet they brim with hope, like "the book is still being written / our song is not yet sung." This is lovely!
Thank you Lisa! I like the notion of a treasure map, ther Peter Pan variety! And SomeDayland--thart is brilliant! We have such a remarkable guide and inspiration alng the way in you. Thank you.
"The book is still being written,
our song is not yet sung;"
Thankful for you and others who help to keep writing and revising and get us further down the path Larry!
Thank you Karri. I am thankful for you!
"A kaleidoscope of colors, languages,/ gender expressions and abilities,/ drawing maps to a brighter day." I love the way you celebrate diversity in your writing and in your life, Larry. Every part of me feels welcomed by you and your words.
Thank you A.! What a kind and generous comment, and I am glad ths is so. One of my sadnesses of the past twenty years is how the attack on good and solid work on being more inclusive in our society has been caricatured into "woke" and conspiracy nonsense. To the extent that some folks, including myself, "We ahve tio kick at the darkness until it bledrift away from the work, or are afraid to raise issues of diversity and inclusion. "We have to kick at the darkness until it bleeeds daylight." (Bruce Cockburn, Lovers in a Dangerous Time).
So very nice being inside that song, with the smell of lavender and the bright goldenrod. clappy hands emoji.
I am so honored by your clappy hands emjoi! 😂 Thank you, Weston!
Thankyou for the lecture. I soaked it up. There was still the scent of rain amongst your thoughts, smiling.
Maybe all lectures should be rain-soaked? Thank you, Peter! And how lovely to see a new "face" here.
Brilliant pair of poems. You put your finger right on a serious pandemic of attention Abbs just when the despair peeps over the horizon, you pose the solution right there. Not as an idea, but as a felt and lived experience.
Thank you so much! That means a lot to me. As I was writing these poems (and a few others that arose from inventorying my attention), I kept thinking about how what I really wish for is to just bring a reader into the experience . . . let them hear the rain, not just my words about it. So if in the end it felt like I was offering a lived experience (rather than a mere idea) as a solution, I'm so glad!
Success!
You know how deeply this resonates…
🤍🤍🤍
I love how the first poem opened the door to the second.
Thank you for walking through and taking the time to read and comment!