In our short time together here, I’ve shared poems that dip into a pretty wide ocean of topics, themes, and feelings. The poems that have felt the hardest to share are the ones that dive into the darker corners of my own experience. I find my people-pleasing self not wanting to be a “downer.” Given the choice, I’d rather lift people up than throw a wet blanket over a day that might have already felt soggy. But I also want everyone sharing here to feel free to share
I love this so much, Keith! The rhythm felt like a beating drum, knocking all the things I'm holding out of my head and arms and heart so that I was an open space for the gorgeous landing of "the wholly holy mess of it all."
So interesting -- the first thing I did when sitting with this prompt was to list all the variations of "hold ___" I could think of. They are surprisingly numerous -- and you thought of a bunch that I didn't. I really like how you transition from a clutching sort of hold to something more spacious & freeing.
This is excellent Keith. I like how you use holding in various forms and you end so wonderfully creative: "And, at last, I hold still, and for a moment, I hold no hopes, I hold no grudges. I hold steady and fast. I hold space for the wholly holy mess of it all. Present. Future. Past. No holds barred." What a marevlous ending and so artfully connects beginning, middle and end. So well done!
Thanks so much, Larry. So glad to know you found it cohesive and coherent! I enjoyed playing with the way we use "hold" and "holding" in combination with so many prepositions.
A very long day for me at work, an even longer day for those in Kansas City, in Parkland, on our southern border in Gaza, in Rafah, in Ukraine. It is a a day that starts this Christian season of Lent, often referred to as Ash Wednesday. This poem came from those ashes.
Ashes
Setting up for evening service this Ash Wednesday,
this Valentines day where Love should be the center,
Donna came in,
tears in her eyes.
“There’s been another shooting,” she said.
As my mind went distant,
my own eyes again filling
with the floodwaters of tears,
rushing down the mountains of pain and anger,
hatred and violence,
flowing
straight into my broken heart.
Another crack in the wall,
a fracture in the joy that lived there,
moments before.
I wondered how many feckless leaders will offer
“thoughts and prayers” this evening.
49 shootings in 45 days, the cycle of violence
amplified by drooling demagogues,
and invertebrate minions
sharing hate and branding it love.
How many “thoughts and prayers” will it take
for the senseless violence to cease,
for the madness to recede,
for the losses we incur to be worth more,
than the dollars that flow
through the economics of
fear, rage, cynicism and profits of pain.
Looking down at the dark streaks
from the ashes we use as symbols,
I ponder how many have died today,
in Gaza, in Rafah, in Ukraine,
in Kansas City…
I wonder of the ashes we create
from our wars, our killings, our addiction to guns;
Larry, this is so moving. I was particularly struck by the point about building weapons being quick and growing food taking time. Destruction is quick work. Healing requires patience. Also these lines
“for the losses we incur to be worth more
than the dollars that flow
through the economics of
fear, rage, cynicism and profits of pain.”
Wow. Thank you for your big heart and honest words.
Thank you Lisa. You creating this space is so wonderful, and every one of your prompts and poems, and the insightful questions you pose always take me to places I had not thought of going. Thank you!
I love how ashes flowed through this poem. From the "ashes we create" to "out of these ashes may we rise." My prayer is that these ashes somehow become the compost for a new awareness to be born. And that "the losses we incur to be worth more, than the dollars that flow through the economics of fear, rage, cynicism and profits of pain." Here Here!
Oh wow, Larry, I feel like you nailed the whole mess of it -- and still managed to land in love and resistance and hope. "Praying we find home by another way" is achingly beautiful.
Thanks for this heartfelt (and poetic) diatribe of love. "Floodwaters of tears" flowing down "mountains of fear and anger, hatred and violence" beautifully expresses the magnitude of the heartbreak, so powerfully juxtaposed with it being the day we celebrate love. Also poignant that it marks the beginning of the season of fasting and praying before Easter. May we have a resurrection and new life around all these things.
The images are so vivid here, Chuck! I am literally picturing you hammering at keys with an octopus attached to your face. If a future poem ever comes out as a completely incoherent stream of letters and symbols, we will understand why, hold space, and pray for the octopus to tire!
I am exhausted this evening both physically and mentally so I am going to share a short poem I wrote this morning. I am in the process of closing down the law office where I work. My boss and friend who was the only attorney died a few weeks ago and we are packing up years of his professional life.
Oh, Karri - this is so much to hold and so much to try to let go of! I am so sorry for your loss, which sounds not just like a single loss but like a layered one - friend, boss, job, which together add up to a big chunk of your life. I'm sending love your way and hoping for healing and a few lucky breaks, since it seems you've had more than your fair share of hard knocks lately.
Karri so sorry for your loss. Wow, and this seeps into your career/work too. Feels like a huge transition you are moving through. And your poem is to the point, gets right to the matter of things. Death is like that. Thank you.
I remember you writing about your work and how uncertain things were. I'm so sorry to hear about the loss of your friend and what that means for the work you loved. I hope that this transition leads to something that feels fulfilling for you.
I am sorry for the loss of your friend and colleague, and send you blessings in this transition that has come in your life and the work you will be doing to close down a law practice. Thinking of you and grateful for you and your sharing of this poem.
Thank you Larry. It is far more work than I ever imagined! And quite honestly it isn't going to be none nearly as well or neatly as my perfectionist self wants. At this point we are settling for good enough.
Karri, what a tough transition -- loss of friend and job all at once, and having to pick up the pieces as you grieve. Thank you for taking the time to process it with us. Sending hugs!
Karri, condolences on the loss of your friend, your boss, and your workplace. It's a solemn and sobering truth you describe here so eloquently. I've similar experiences of seeing the contents of a life boxed and junked and donated. I know deep down that we are so much more than our "stuff," and that we all leave imprints far greater than the sum of that stuff, but it has still felt like a kick in the gut to see it. Wishing you ease and spaciousness of heart and soul.
I started writing two poems today, both about personal things I'm holding. The first was about my cat, who is elderly and whose health has been deteriorating to the point where she will likely not be with us for very much longer, but I didn't feel like it was quite ready. I'm sharing the second, which is about the abrupt and unexpected (for me, at least) end of a friendship that I'm struggling to process.
A, I felt this one so much! I’ve had two friendships that ended or abruptly changed in ways that felt deeply confusing and painful to me. Your poem captures that experience so well. I’m wishing you clarity and healing.
A., thank you for sharing this splendid poem. The loss of friendship is a real grief, and these losses can come unexpectedly and suddenly, perhaps mirroring the fragilty of this world. I hold the loss you write of in my heart, and healing grace and energy to you both. Though it has been all virtual, I want to thank you for your friendship since May, and all the ways you have brought light into my life.
I felt this, too...the pain of being misunderstood is a very particular kind of injustice and exquisitely painful as it sets in. I'm sorry for your loss, A...and grateful for your vulnerability in turning it into art that you've shared here.
Thank you, Keith. I struggle a lot with being misunderstood, and this wasn't the first time, but it did feel so much more abrupt, so it's hard to process.
Powerful poem A. I can feel the confusion of how did this all unfold and the heartache of "I would have surrendered if I had known." So sorry this ended so suddenly, Truly a "suckerpunch." Sending blessings your way...
Thank you, Karri. We're trying pain meds and steroids this week and it does seem like she's responding to them, so I'm hoping that if there's nothing else going on, we may be able to keep her with us a bit longer. ❤️ I'm sorry to hear about your own friendship struggles. I can imagine that even when repair is possible, it would certainly never be the same.
We lost my daughters cat Jack last year - he was around 15 and diabetic. She had him since she was 7 took the best care of him. Such a hard time when you know your time is growing short.
Thank you for sharing! Mine is named Charlie. She's 14 and has hyperthyroidism and arthritis, and the vet is worried about a possible kidney issue. She's been with me since I was in high school, almost half my life so far. I had a couple smaller pets before her as a kid, and family pets, which I've loved and missed, but she's really my first baby. ❤️
This is so beautiful, A. I’m struck by your use of “suckerpunch” — seems like that word could sum up the whole experience — and the love and pain laid bare in the “I would have / surrendered / if I had known.” I’ve had a couple of abrupt & confusing ends to friendships and this gets at the feeling of that so well.
I love this poem, and I also love your honest and brave introduction to the poem. Thank you for setting such a good example for me. I, too, have been grieving for Gaza and feeling increasingly dismayed by our country's (my!) underwriting of the genocide. Nevertheless, I took a short road trip to visit a friend and celebrate with her at her small town's big Mardi Gras bash. It was surreal given where my head has been at, but somehow felt okay.
How to hold what is happening now a days can feel too much! We need that time to connect, feel life, hold each other through the music of rising together and emotional release. This is beautiful Rebekah.
You inspired me to listen to Aretha singing this in 1972. I loved "improbable carnival in Eastern Oregon" and the music pouring over you "like an offering strung, brassed, keyed and belted to within an inch of its life, everybody giving everything." A portrait of blissful catharsis in community. People rising up and fixing the world with the power of song and release. I love this.
Thank you, Keith! I’m newly obsessed with this song and plan to check out all the versions I can find. To be honest I don’t even think I’ve heard Aretha’s version, so that will be my first stop.
What a gem this is Rebekah! I live the way you are able to bring a reader right in with you, riding in the car or dancing right by the stage with you. The whole poem is splendid, and these lines are superb:
“like an offering strung,
brassed, keyed, and belted
within an inch of its life,
everybody giving
everything.
Oh, this is so good! You are an amazing integrative thinker! 🙏🏻
Lisa your poem is extremely poignant, heart wrenching and heartfelt. I can feel, "his father wails like a siren." And "I can hear his sobs from six thousand miles away. How long does it take for air to travel the globe?" It is hard to make any sense of it all, but then your poem continues, offering a means to hold it gently. Beautiful. Here is my poem. Adding some ingredients to the soup we are making here....
.
How does one feel safe in a world that is continually at war with “others”?
Armed aggressive conflicts between nations, religions, and cultures.
People targeted and slaughtered for a belief, a color, a place.
How come we point fingers, making individuals and groups into “others”?
One an undisputably correct side, the “other” immoral, corrupt and a sham.
Polarized battles where winning has become a long-gone possibility.
Why these tug-of-wars that focus on pulling the “other” through slimy muck?
Muddy vitriols of insults slung onto unknown blank faces.
Creating barren landscapes of desolate structures and vacant souls.
When did “other” come to mean being repulsive, offensive, and invalid?
.
Even within me an inner battle is happening, for I am “othering” myself.
Pulling my being apart into bits and pieces, shame as the inner bully of neglect.
Fashioning the bits into worthiness, throwing the pieces into the corner of disrepair.
How can I open my heart when it’s breaking, becoming undone?
How do I pick up what cannot be put back together again?
Then… maybe… an open heart is about loving all the fragments into cohesion.
Seeing my own biases and blind spots, noticing the “other” in myself.
Finding my humanity as my grief, amid all that has become fractured.
We are either going to “other” ourselves into oblivion…
or we will wake up and weave our "othering" into a collective interdependence.
Julie, this is so beautiful, and I can definitely relate to this inner othering and battlefield. I keep reminding myself that loving the world means loving all the parts of myself, too, and doing that will help me to show up more lovingly for everyone and everything else. Your line about "loving all the fragments into cohesion" is so beautiful. I think about how completely I'm able to love my kids, even in my moments when their difficult/inconvenient parts are showing up in big ways. That's how I want to love myself, too, and how I want to love the world.
Yes, this isn't easy, compassion and kindness are forged through challenging times like these. My true longing is to be what I want to see in the world.
I appreciate the questioning of self and other. I can relate to this...and it has reminded me of the call to "be the change you wish to see in the world." If only as much energy were put into self-inquiry as was put into "othering."
That same phrase was ringing in my ears yesterday as I was thinking both about how I want to show up in the world and how I want to show up within myself.
Julie that is powerful....loving all the fragments into cohesion. And "noticing the other in myself" I am all too guilty of feeling like I am on the side of right and stubbornly holding on.
On this day, I also wanted to offer to each of you who hold and form this special space and virtual place, my heartfelt gratitude for the love, compassion, affirmation, care, kindness and graciousness you extend to each and every one who enters. You each are, visitors and frequent flyers alike, beacons of hope. Thank you!
Lisa, thank you for letting us into this dark corner of your experience, which really felt to me like a light you shine on what is unspeakable and only screamable, weep-and-wail-worthy. I so appreciate you shining your light in this way. I feel both the comfort and the pain of it.
Oh Lisa, what a heartfelt, beautiful and astounding poem. I am sitting wtih it, as I am sitting with the terrible pain and sadness I feel in the ever worsening carnage occuring in Gaza and beyond. Your prompts are heart rendering, incisive and worth the diving into into that they require. It is not lost on me that in our Christian tradition and the part of me that holds a Christian spiritual identity, it is Ash Wednesday, typically a day of somber reflection and the beginning of an inward journey. It is also Vaslentine's Day, a call for me to know that Love will prevail through the arc of the ages, and that Love will stand grounded in its firm reality against all the powers that work daily to convince us otherwise.
I am so grateful for you, your guiding and your presence and witness in the world. I am so grateful for this remarkable community of poets, readers, sharers and thinkers. And I am grateful for the love that rises so clearly from the words shared here. Thank you all.
Lisa, this poem is stunning. I'm having trouble finding words to describe how impactful it is. I am holding a lot of personal things as well as this global grief, and I cried all the way through it. I want to point out what stuck out to me and why, but it's everything.
An ode to holding? Not sure what this was that came out...
I hold
in.
I hold
out.
I hold up,
down,
back,
forth,
against,
on.
I hold my breath.
And, at last,
I hold still, and for a moment,
I hold no hopes,
I hold no grudges.
I I hold steady and fast.
I hold space for
the wholly holy mess of it all.
Present.
Future.
Past.
No holds barred.
I love this so much, Keith! The rhythm felt like a beating drum, knocking all the things I'm holding out of my head and arms and heart so that I was an open space for the gorgeous landing of "the wholly holy mess of it all."
A sacred drum beat opens a sacred space. Love this. <3
"I hold space for the wholly holy mess of it all." YES YES YES! I relate to this deeply. It's a calling... "No holds barred."
So interesting -- the first thing I did when sitting with this prompt was to list all the variations of "hold ___" I could think of. They are surprisingly numerous -- and you thought of a bunch that I didn't. I really like how you transition from a clutching sort of hold to something more spacious & freeing.
Haha! Great minds think alike (and yet not exactly). Yes, exactly. I felt it as a tight, tense clutching then an easing of the grip as I wrote it.
I love the idea of holding space for the holy mess of it all!
This is excellent Keith. I like how you use holding in various forms and you end so wonderfully creative: "And, at last, I hold still, and for a moment, I hold no hopes, I hold no grudges. I hold steady and fast. I hold space for the wholly holy mess of it all. Present. Future. Past. No holds barred." What a marevlous ending and so artfully connects beginning, middle and end. So well done!
Thanks so much, Larry. So glad to know you found it cohesive and coherent! I enjoyed playing with the way we use "hold" and "holding" in combination with so many prepositions.
A very long day for me at work, an even longer day for those in Kansas City, in Parkland, on our southern border in Gaza, in Rafah, in Ukraine. It is a a day that starts this Christian season of Lent, often referred to as Ash Wednesday. This poem came from those ashes.
Ashes
Setting up for evening service this Ash Wednesday,
this Valentines day where Love should be the center,
Donna came in,
tears in her eyes.
“There’s been another shooting,” she said.
As my mind went distant,
my own eyes again filling
with the floodwaters of tears,
rushing down the mountains of pain and anger,
hatred and violence,
flowing
straight into my broken heart.
Another crack in the wall,
a fracture in the joy that lived there,
moments before.
I wondered how many feckless leaders will offer
“thoughts and prayers” this evening.
49 shootings in 45 days, the cycle of violence
amplified by drooling demagogues,
and invertebrate minions
sharing hate and branding it love.
How many “thoughts and prayers” will it take
for the senseless violence to cease,
for the madness to recede,
for the losses we incur to be worth more,
than the dollars that flow
through the economics of
fear, rage, cynicism and profits of pain.
Looking down at the dark streaks
from the ashes we use as symbols,
I ponder how many have died today,
in Gaza, in Rafah, in Ukraine,
in Kansas City…
I wonder of the ashes we create
from our wars, our killings, our addiction to guns;
The weapons we manufacture more quickly
than the food we could be cultivating to
feed a starving world.
Or the love we should be nurturing
for this this deadly broken world
yearning to be healed.
Out of these ashes may we rise,
shine out into the shadows
of these thoughts and prayers
and cry out, “no more.”
No more…No. More.
Wiping these tears from my eyes,
one more time,
I head out into a frigid winter evening,
praying we find home by another way.
Larry, this is so moving. I was particularly struck by the point about building weapons being quick and growing food taking time. Destruction is quick work. Healing requires patience. Also these lines
“for the losses we incur to be worth more
than the dollars that flow
through the economics of
fear, rage, cynicism and profits of pain.”
Wow. Thank you for your big heart and honest words.
Thank you Lisa. You creating this space is so wonderful, and every one of your prompts and poems, and the insightful questions you pose always take me to places I had not thought of going. Thank you!
I love how ashes flowed through this poem. From the "ashes we create" to "out of these ashes may we rise." My prayer is that these ashes somehow become the compost for a new awareness to be born. And that "the losses we incur to be worth more, than the dollars that flow through the economics of fear, rage, cynicism and profits of pain." Here Here!
Thank you Julie! I join you in that prayer!
It's deeply frustrating and heartbreaking that we spend so much energy on destruction rather than creation. No more.
I agree!
Larry this was amazing. God help us with all these ashes we have created. Keep fighting the good fight.
Thank you Karri. You too.
"feckless"
lots of words can fill this blank.. This is a good one.
Thank you Chuck!
Oh wow, Larry, I feel like you nailed the whole mess of it -- and still managed to land in love and resistance and hope. "Praying we find home by another way" is achingly beautiful.
Thanks for this heartfelt (and poetic) diatribe of love. "Floodwaters of tears" flowing down "mountains of fear and anger, hatred and violence" beautifully expresses the magnitude of the heartbreak, so powerfully juxtaposed with it being the day we celebrate love. Also poignant that it marks the beginning of the season of fasting and praying before Easter. May we have a resurrection and new life around all these things.
Thank you Keith. So beautifully said!
When rage makes an appearance
it attaches like an octopus
on my face.
scream in a pillow.
hammer something loud.
pummel the keyboard. (*)
Whatever it takes.
I know that i am useless until it lets go.
(*) supercedes previous pummel
The images are so vivid here, Chuck! I am literally picturing you hammering at keys with an octopus attached to your face. If a future poem ever comes out as a completely incoherent stream of letters and symbols, we will understand why, hold space, and pray for the octopus to tire!
No apologies needed. Yep, "Replace weapons with fists. The kill count goes way down."
Rage attaching like an octopus on one's face. Yes. I know this kind of suctioning rage(!!)
I am exhausted this evening both physically and mentally so I am going to share a short poem I wrote this morning. I am in the process of closing down the law office where I work. My boss and friend who was the only attorney died a few weeks ago and we are packing up years of his professional life.
That Which Remains
From dust you came,
And to dust you shall return.
A solemn simple concept.
But what of all that’s left behind?
Items boxed, burned, and buried.
Until all that is left of a life
Are memories.
Oh, Karri - this is so much to hold and so much to try to let go of! I am so sorry for your loss, which sounds not just like a single loss but like a layered one - friend, boss, job, which together add up to a big chunk of your life. I'm sending love your way and hoping for healing and a few lucky breaks, since it seems you've had more than your fair share of hard knocks lately.
Karri so sorry for your loss. Wow, and this seeps into your career/work too. Feels like a huge transition you are moving through. And your poem is to the point, gets right to the matter of things. Death is like that. Thank you.
Yes it is a giant transition and things on the homefront are complex too (not bad, just complicated!)
I remember you writing about your work and how uncertain things were. I'm so sorry to hear about the loss of your friend and what that means for the work you loved. I hope that this transition leads to something that feels fulfilling for you.
Thank you A! I am so entrenched in doing all of this that I have no idea what comes next!
I am sorry for the loss of your friend and colleague, and send you blessings in this transition that has come in your life and the work you will be doing to close down a law practice. Thinking of you and grateful for you and your sharing of this poem.
Thank you Larry. It is far more work than I ever imagined! And quite honestly it isn't going to be none nearly as well or neatly as my perfectionist self wants. At this point we are settling for good enough.
That is wisdom, Karri!
Karri, what a tough transition -- loss of friend and job all at once, and having to pick up the pieces as you grieve. Thank you for taking the time to process it with us. Sending hugs!
Karri, condolences on the loss of your friend, your boss, and your workplace. It's a solemn and sobering truth you describe here so eloquently. I've similar experiences of seeing the contents of a life boxed and junked and donated. I know deep down that we are so much more than our "stuff," and that we all leave imprints far greater than the sum of that stuff, but it has still felt like a kick in the gut to see it. Wishing you ease and spaciousness of heart and soul.
I started writing two poems today, both about personal things I'm holding. The first was about my cat, who is elderly and whose health has been deteriorating to the point where she will likely not be with us for very much longer, but I didn't feel like it was quite ready. I'm sharing the second, which is about the abrupt and unexpected (for me, at least) end of a friendship that I'm struggling to process.
Wringing my hands in defeat,
I try to come to grips
with the fact that I have lost
a friendship before
I even realized I was
in a fight, over
a misunderstanding
for which I harbour
no hard feelings
but about which
the feelings are
hard to hold
nonetheless.
I was never
your opponent,
and being seen as
one is the biggest
suckerpunch
of them all.
I would have
surrendered
if I had known.
A, I felt this one so much! I’ve had two friendships that ended or abruptly changed in ways that felt deeply confusing and painful to me. Your poem captures that experience so well. I’m wishing you clarity and healing.
Thank you, Lisa. I'm so sorry you've had similar experiences as well.
A., thank you for sharing this splendid poem. The loss of friendship is a real grief, and these losses can come unexpectedly and suddenly, perhaps mirroring the fragilty of this world. I hold the loss you write of in my heart, and healing grace and energy to you both. Though it has been all virtual, I want to thank you for your friendship since May, and all the ways you have brought light into my life.
You have done the same for me, Larry, thank you.
I felt this, too...the pain of being misunderstood is a very particular kind of injustice and exquisitely painful as it sets in. I'm sorry for your loss, A...and grateful for your vulnerability in turning it into art that you've shared here.
Thank you, Keith. I struggle a lot with being misunderstood, and this wasn't the first time, but it did feel so much more abrupt, so it's hard to process.
That makes so much sense, A. The shock of an abrupt rupture is an added layer to metabolize. Wishing you lots of spaciousness.
Thank you, friend!
Powerful poem A. I can feel the confusion of how did this all unfold and the heartache of "I would have surrendered if I had known." So sorry this ended so suddenly, Truly a "suckerpunch." Sending blessings your way...
Thank you, Julie.
I feel this fully with a relationship that has been patched up but still has left a scar. And I’m so sorry about your beloved cat. ❤️
Thank you, Karri. We're trying pain meds and steroids this week and it does seem like she's responding to them, so I'm hoping that if there's nothing else going on, we may be able to keep her with us a bit longer. ❤️ I'm sorry to hear about your own friendship struggles. I can imagine that even when repair is possible, it would certainly never be the same.
We lost my daughters cat Jack last year - he was around 15 and diabetic. She had him since she was 7 took the best care of him. Such a hard time when you know your time is growing short.
Thank you for sharing! Mine is named Charlie. She's 14 and has hyperthyroidism and arthritis, and the vet is worried about a possible kidney issue. She's been with me since I was in high school, almost half my life so far. I had a couple smaller pets before her as a kid, and family pets, which I've loved and missed, but she's really my first baby. ❤️
This is so beautiful, A. I’m struck by your use of “suckerpunch” — seems like that word could sum up the whole experience — and the love and pain laid bare in the “I would have / surrendered / if I had known.” I’ve had a couple of abrupt & confusing ends to friendships and this gets at the feeling of that so well.
Thank you, Rebekah! I'm sorry that you can relate.
I love this poem, and I also love your honest and brave introduction to the poem. Thank you for setting such a good example for me. I, too, have been grieving for Gaza and feeling increasingly dismayed by our country's (my!) underwriting of the genocide. Nevertheless, I took a short road trip to visit a friend and celebrate with her at her small town's big Mardi Gras bash. It was surreal given where my head has been at, but somehow felt okay.
.
Mary Don’t you Weep
.
To get there from here
you just tuck in
left of verge, and push.
Six hours at 60 will do it,
and you’ll have nudged the lights
onto a few new faces, amped
a new lead alto over the
jostling ensemble
everybody knows.
.
To get here from there
I binged the one
podcast I can stomach
these days, needing to
stay awake and
irate, needing to open
every east-facing door.
.
It was Fat Tuesday
and my destination was an
improbable carnival
in eastern Oregon.
I didn’t know if I could,
but I joined them, wore
sequins and a boa even,
boogied just below the stage
as the music poured over me
like an offering strung,
brassed, keyed, and belted
within an inch of its life,
everybody giving
everything.
.
In the song, midnight
is when the people rise up
and fix the world. The chorus
comes relentlessly, and each time,
the army drowns.
.
To hold the last note,
Holly had to remove
her heart-shaped glasses
and scrunch her jeweled
cheeks. To hold
four months of
Ash Wednesdays,
I had to tuck into that
place between the floods,
that one room
past fire capacity
where we are all
blood.
.
Oh Mary don’t you weep.
How to hold what is happening now a days can feel too much! We need that time to connect, feel life, hold each other through the music of rising together and emotional release. This is beautiful Rebekah.
You inspired me to listen to Aretha singing this in 1972. I loved "improbable carnival in Eastern Oregon" and the music pouring over you "like an offering strung, brassed, keyed and belted to within an inch of its life, everybody giving everything." A portrait of blissful catharsis in community. People rising up and fixing the world with the power of song and release. I love this.
Thank you, Keith! I’m newly obsessed with this song and plan to check out all the versions I can find. To be honest I don’t even think I’ve heard Aretha’s version, so that will be my first stop.
It's a true power ballad, IMO. I hope you liked Aretha's renditioning!
What a gem this is Rebekah! I live the way you are able to bring a reader right in with you, riding in the car or dancing right by the stage with you. The whole poem is splendid, and these lines are superb:
“like an offering strung,
brassed, keyed, and belted
within an inch of its life,
everybody giving
everything.
Oh, this is so good! You are an amazing integrative thinker! 🙏🏻
Lisa your poem is extremely poignant, heart wrenching and heartfelt. I can feel, "his father wails like a siren." And "I can hear his sobs from six thousand miles away. How long does it take for air to travel the globe?" It is hard to make any sense of it all, but then your poem continues, offering a means to hold it gently. Beautiful. Here is my poem. Adding some ingredients to the soup we are making here....
.
How does one feel safe in a world that is continually at war with “others”?
Armed aggressive conflicts between nations, religions, and cultures.
People targeted and slaughtered for a belief, a color, a place.
How come we point fingers, making individuals and groups into “others”?
One an undisputably correct side, the “other” immoral, corrupt and a sham.
Polarized battles where winning has become a long-gone possibility.
Why these tug-of-wars that focus on pulling the “other” through slimy muck?
Muddy vitriols of insults slung onto unknown blank faces.
Creating barren landscapes of desolate structures and vacant souls.
When did “other” come to mean being repulsive, offensive, and invalid?
.
Even within me an inner battle is happening, for I am “othering” myself.
Pulling my being apart into bits and pieces, shame as the inner bully of neglect.
Fashioning the bits into worthiness, throwing the pieces into the corner of disrepair.
How can I open my heart when it’s breaking, becoming undone?
How do I pick up what cannot be put back together again?
Then… maybe… an open heart is about loving all the fragments into cohesion.
Seeing my own biases and blind spots, noticing the “other” in myself.
Finding my humanity as my grief, amid all that has become fractured.
We are either going to “other” ourselves into oblivion…
or we will wake up and weave our "othering" into a collective interdependence.
Julie, this is so beautiful, and I can definitely relate to this inner othering and battlefield. I keep reminding myself that loving the world means loving all the parts of myself, too, and doing that will help me to show up more lovingly for everyone and everything else. Your line about "loving all the fragments into cohesion" is so beautiful. I think about how completely I'm able to love my kids, even in my moments when their difficult/inconvenient parts are showing up in big ways. That's how I want to love myself, too, and how I want to love the world.
Yes, this isn't easy, compassion and kindness are forged through challenging times like these. My true longing is to be what I want to see in the world.
I appreciate the questioning of self and other. I can relate to this...and it has reminded me of the call to "be the change you wish to see in the world." If only as much energy were put into self-inquiry as was put into "othering."
That same phrase was ringing in my ears yesterday as I was thinking both about how I want to show up in the world and how I want to show up within myself.
Yes that is sooo true. I feel this is the greatest activism.
Julie that is powerful....loving all the fragments into cohesion. And "noticing the other in myself" I am all too guilty of feeling like I am on the side of right and stubbornly holding on.
On this day, I also wanted to offer to each of you who hold and form this special space and virtual place, my heartfelt gratitude for the love, compassion, affirmation, care, kindness and graciousness you extend to each and every one who enters. You each are, visitors and frequent flyers alike, beacons of hope. Thank you!
Lisa, thank you for letting us into this dark corner of your experience, which really felt to me like a light you shine on what is unspeakable and only screamable, weep-and-wail-worthy. I so appreciate you shining your light in this way. I feel both the comfort and the pain of it.
Thank you so much, Keith! I guess we have to feel our pain to feel true comfort, don't we?
Beautiful. Sorrowful. Hopeful. Thank you Lisa.
Oh Lisa, what a heartfelt, beautiful and astounding poem. I am sitting wtih it, as I am sitting with the terrible pain and sadness I feel in the ever worsening carnage occuring in Gaza and beyond. Your prompts are heart rendering, incisive and worth the diving into into that they require. It is not lost on me that in our Christian tradition and the part of me that holds a Christian spiritual identity, it is Ash Wednesday, typically a day of somber reflection and the beginning of an inward journey. It is also Vaslentine's Day, a call for me to know that Love will prevail through the arc of the ages, and that Love will stand grounded in its firm reality against all the powers that work daily to convince us otherwise.
I am so grateful for you, your guiding and your presence and witness in the world. I am so grateful for this remarkable community of poets, readers, sharers and thinkers. And I am grateful for the love that rises so clearly from the words shared here. Thank you all.
Lisa, this poem is stunning. I'm having trouble finding words to describe how impactful it is. I am holding a lot of personal things as well as this global grief, and I cried all the way through it. I want to point out what stuck out to me and why, but it's everything.