I could feel myself at your party, dancing to the lavender flames! I love the capitalization of Special and love the image of the still hungry fire sucking the texture off the snow. This is great - even if you did forget to toast me!
Thank you so much! I am thrilled that you’re here, and what a treat to read to your poem. I know that feeling of pushing through with artificial energy all to well well. I love the way you ended that stanza - “I am faking it to make . . . what?” What a powerful question.
This is so resonant for me, particularly "I refuse to burn myself out trying to ignore the dark any longer." Yes - how much of my own light have I squandered trying to resist the moments of dark that are meant to be.
Rebekah, this is a brilliant and beautiful poem. What an amazing weaving of a campfire with gathered community and the transitgion of one year to the next. I like the geographic toasting from east to west, and the wonderful way you welcome us in to the scene and the journey. Thank you!
Rebekah, your parentheticals make me feel like I'm getting the real inside story, like a confidante you're pulling aside (so fun). And "its heart glowed lavender" is making my queer heart sing in return. <3
We celebrated our fortieth wedding anniversary on New Year's Day (yes, that seemed ,like a good ide forty years ago) and this poem, in some form, has been traveling with me recently. It has been a long distance through hike, destination still to be determined.
Two Elder birds gaze at 40
Forty years ago we made it official,
breathing into the circle the love growing in us.
We walked down the aisle as the music played,
the last straight line we traveled.
Across this vast landscaped of love
There have been long narrow roads,
steep, scorching trails that only knew up,
winding rivers where sound was our guide,
broad open waters with swells rising like homemade bread.
This journey through valleys and meadows,
taking us from ocean to mountain to sea,
Precious sparks of life that deepened our love,
expanding our hearts to include little hands and goes
Happy belated anniversary, Larry! What a beautiful poem. The phrase "the last straight line we traveled" grabbed me by the heart and took me into your journey.
This is beautiful, Larry! I felt myself on the journey through this poem -- could picture all the wild landscapes that you invoked to tell the story. And oh yum, I like the sound of swells rising like homemade bread (more for the bread than the swells, I am a terrestrial creature). What a gift this poem must be for your spouse. Happy Anniversary!
Congratulations on the beautiful, multi-faceted journey of commitment you and your spouse continue on together (may you have many more adventures to come!) and on having written such a moving poetic tribute to it. I love the elemental imagery you have peppered throughout. You've artfully illustrated that the "weather" of a long-term relationship is every bit as mutable as it is in the natural world, with all its dramatic contrasts. Well done!
Thank you Keith! Your brillant insights and perceptive comments are more striking than my poem, always a work in progress. Thank you for helping me to see the poem I wrote even more deeply. Happy New Year!
Thank you so much for your beautiful poem, which reads like a self-reclamation manifesto in watercolor. Here is a rhymey poem I started last night after a twilight walk, then finished today:
This is so beautiful, Keith! And thank you for being the first brave soul to share here. There are so many phrases that captured me - “gone quietly to husk,” “rustling on the breeze of a coming year,” and “we’ll drink a cup of kindness yet.” Your poem feels like the first delicious sip!
Keith, this is a wonderful poem. I love the flow and cadence and your terrfic ability to rhyme, something I struggle with. Your poem is full of wonderful imagery and invites me into the journey. Thank you for sharing.
Lisa, thank you for organizing and leading us on this journey. Your poem is remarkable. It is so moving, and I can see the places you describe and the girl struggling with identity and place in the world. Your final lines are extraordinary:
"You’re already beautiful.
You’re already good.
You are brushstrokes on canvas.
You are lilies on a pond.
Come out of that corner, and
enjoy your own becoming. "
What beautiful words, and I want to share therm with every child and teenager that I know. Thank you for sharing your marvelous heart and spirit!
Thank you so much, Larry! I owe so much to you and A. Wilder Westgate because the supportive and loving interactions in the comments thread on Kaitllin's Substack are really what inspired this space and this shared adventure.
I could feel myself at your party, dancing to the lavender flames! I love the capitalization of Special and love the image of the still hungry fire sucking the texture off the snow. This is great - even if you did forget to toast me!
Your poem is gorgeous, Lisa! I'm so excited for this community. I'm a bit late today so I'm sharing one I wrote in December.
Ignore the dark;
push her away with
artificial light and
push through with
artificial energy
I have little left of
already.
I am faking it,
to make...
what?
I am not some
factory-produced
artificial lightbulb
and I refuse to
burn myself out
trying to ignore
the dark any longer.
Instead, I think
I'll curl up with her;
settle in with
something warm
until the light
returns all
on its own.
Thank you so much! I am thrilled that you’re here, and what a treat to read to your poem. I know that feeling of pushing through with artificial energy all to well well. I love the way you ended that stanza - “I am faking it to make . . . what?” What a powerful question.
This is so resonant for me, particularly "I refuse to burn myself out trying to ignore the dark any longer." Yes - how much of my own light have I squandered trying to resist the moments of dark that are meant to be.
A., this is a wonderful poem. I love every line, and the ending is captivating:
"Instead, I think
I'll curl up with her;
settle in with
something warm
until the light
returns all
on its own."
Curling up with darkness is wondefully evocative. I truly love this poem.
Thank you Larry!
Here's mine! I'm calling it "Last and First Campfire of the Year."
So sensible at the start:
Kiln-dried alder scraps
a few chunks of cordwood
many-fingered willow limbs
cut to fit
it pulsed and we fed it
cottonwood, fir
braced its flanks with
dimensional lumber ends
and it was still hungry
it sucked the texture
off the surrounding snow
and slicked up our dance floor
had us twisting to
You Never Can Tell
like Vincent and Mia
and kept getting hotter
its heart glowed lavender
a fact confirmed by those
not on mushrooms
“Does every fire look like this
and I’ve never noticed?”
I asked, and for the record
I wasn’t
and another who wasn’t
and always pays attention
said no
so that settled it: it was
Special
and we treated it as such
made offerings of
cutting board
(recently replaced)
bathtub candle holder
(scarcely used)
cupboard door
(I missed its origin story
but it did seem oddly small
and lonely)
not to mention
round after
round of
actual wood, and
it blazed us past
East Coast New Year
(barely registered, sorry)
then Central
(I toasted Arkansas)
then Mountain
(Utah, Montana)
we cooled our throats
with bubbly and watched
our Christmas trees
eat the last air
of 2023
and when the earth
came around for us
we group-hugged
and got serious for a moment
and the first flames
pumped our wishes
skyward
on jetpacks of ember
Rebekah, this is a brilliant and beautiful poem. What an amazing weaving of a campfire with gathered community and the transitgion of one year to the next. I like the geographic toasting from east to west, and the wonderful way you welcome us in to the scene and the journey. Thank you!
Rebekah, your parentheticals make me feel like I'm getting the real inside story, like a confidante you're pulling aside (so fun). And "its heart glowed lavender" is making my queer heart sing in return. <3
I love how you've captured this memory!
We celebrated our fortieth wedding anniversary on New Year's Day (yes, that seemed ,like a good ide forty years ago) and this poem, in some form, has been traveling with me recently. It has been a long distance through hike, destination still to be determined.
Two Elder birds gaze at 40
Forty years ago we made it official,
breathing into the circle the love growing in us.
We walked down the aisle as the music played,
the last straight line we traveled.
Across this vast landscaped of love
There have been long narrow roads,
steep, scorching trails that only knew up,
winding rivers where sound was our guide,
broad open waters with swells rising like homemade bread.
This journey through valleys and meadows,
taking us from ocean to mountain to sea,
Precious sparks of life that deepened our love,
expanding our hearts to include little hands and goes
as we became a family.
There have been shadows, too,
and times one or other have gotten lost.
Our solo paddles and treks painting
around the edges of our heart.
The losses came, and we understood,
there would always be more to come.
Tears flowed like monsoons in high desert;
Until the droughts came,
and it felt like there was no living water
to soothe our souls.
In each narrow passage, each desert path
glowed glimpses of hope and embers of love
crackling quiet in the ashes.
Through it all we remembered the promise
of that first kiss; that first winter night;
commitments made on mountaintops far away,
songs created that only we can hear,
a story with pages still to be written.
Two precious tender hearts,
gazing into the twilight together.
Happy belated anniversary, Larry! What a beautiful poem. The phrase "the last straight line we traveled" grabbed me by the heart and took me into your journey.
Thank you Lisa! Happy New Year to you and your beloveds!
This is beautiful, Larry! I felt myself on the journey through this poem -- could picture all the wild landscapes that you invoked to tell the story. And oh yum, I like the sound of swells rising like homemade bread (more for the bread than the swells, I am a terrestrial creature). What a gift this poem must be for your spouse. Happy Anniversary!
Thank you Rebekah! Happy New Year to you! !
Happy belated anniversary! I love how you shared some of your journey with us here!
Thank you A. Happy New Year!!!!
Congratulations on the beautiful, multi-faceted journey of commitment you and your spouse continue on together (may you have many more adventures to come!) and on having written such a moving poetic tribute to it. I love the elemental imagery you have peppered throughout. You've artfully illustrated that the "weather" of a long-term relationship is every bit as mutable as it is in the natural world, with all its dramatic contrasts. Well done!
Thank you Keith! Your brillant insights and perceptive comments are more striking than my poem, always a work in progress. Thank you for helping me to see the poem I wrote even more deeply. Happy New Year!
Thank you so much for your beautiful poem, which reads like a self-reclamation manifesto in watercolor. Here is a rhymey poem I started last night after a twilight walk, then finished today:
Leaves once verdant,
gone quietly to husk
whisper soft comfort
into December dusk.
Clinging fast and fierce
to frozen oak and birch,
long past splendor of spring and
flourish of fall’s perch,
they blend quietly with monotonous sky
eluding the eye
that scans wearily for life amidst drear.
At the same time, heart and ear
easily, clearly sense and hear
their sweet, simple refrain
rustling on the breeze of a coming year.
For auld lang syne,
we’ll drink a cup of kindness yet.
For auld lang syne, my dear.
This is so beautiful, Keith! And thank you for being the first brave soul to share here. There are so many phrases that captured me - “gone quietly to husk,” “rustling on the breeze of a coming year,” and “we’ll drink a cup of kindness yet.” Your poem feels like the first delicious sip!
Keith, this is a wonderful poem. I love the flow and cadence and your terrfic ability to rhyme, something I struggle with. Your poem is full of wonderful imagery and invites me into the journey. Thank you for sharing.
This is so lovely. I've always been enamoured by rustling leaves.
Lisa, thank you for organizing and leading us on this journey. Your poem is remarkable. It is so moving, and I can see the places you describe and the girl struggling with identity and place in the world. Your final lines are extraordinary:
"You’re already beautiful.
You’re already good.
You are brushstrokes on canvas.
You are lilies on a pond.
Come out of that corner, and
enjoy your own becoming. "
What beautiful words, and I want to share therm with every child and teenager that I know. Thank you for sharing your marvelous heart and spirit!
Thank you so much, Larry! I owe so much to you and A. Wilder Westgate because the supportive and loving interactions in the comments thread on Kaitllin's Substack are really what inspired this space and this shared adventure.
You are welcome, Lisa. Your gift of welcoming and warmth are inspirational! Blessings to you!