A place to gather words before they get lost.
“not a place, but a state of being, a song ...” – from South Side (V) by Taylor Byas https://poets.org/poem/south-side-v
Advent Of Love Dec 9
In the key of B-ing; seeing in song a memory of home, scribbled lines and flags and bodies and flow until the ending note's paused, slow
A mad-feathered moon and no sound at all
Blink / Gaze / Attend
The dancing in the theater of our mind's eye
The sky clears and all the stars circle
Purpose, seeds possibility
A Found Poem within Five Easy Pieces (prompt via Terry's daughter) https://impedagogy.com/wp/blog/2023/12/06/five-easy-pieces-2/
“Because you ... write notes in the margins about all the people you’re mad at ....”
from “Mountain Dew Commercial Disguised as a Love Poem” by Matthew Olzmann
https://onbeing.org/programs/matthew-olzmann-mountain-dew-commercial-disguised-as-a-love-poem/
Advent Of Love Dec 8
and i will look sometimes to see if my name, too, is in there with the others at the edge of the page, where you scribble in tense manic lines with a mechanical pencil that you so love to click, and i breathe a sigh of relief, but still wonder what you're thinking when the pencil goes off
“Together we eat this earth.” — from “All Bread” by Margaret Atwood https://onbeing.org/programs/margaret-atwood-all-bread/
Advent of Love Dec 7
Some seeds, you say, gather the bugs, broken twigs, brittle leaves, the dirt and dust, for if we must devour this land, if we make it hot as an oven on mother's morning, you say, why not enjoy the meal with a little grit in our teeth?
find a lamp and empty your paradise onto a desk — from “A Portable Paradise” by Roger Robinson https://onbeing.org/poetry/a-portable-paradise/
Advent of Love Dec 6
The wick's tip becomes light sparked inside a glass container
I'm writing in the shadows of the distant past, thoughts flickering;
Then, I fold my words into paper, place the paper in the pocket nearest to my heart
I wonder if this will be another year of wind .. — from Skins And Bones by Erin Elizabeth Smith https://poets.org/poem/skins-and-bones
Advent of Love Dec 5
Messages arrive by all sorts of wings, like wind and bottle and brush
I am attuned to the changes
But still, I often miss the signs, as always, as always I am waylaid by wonder
I am a painter without canvas
Sometimes we stand in a field of flowers, not knowing we are nearly done
The wind sings a forgotten song
I wore that rusted metal rim like a ring, and slipped my bones through the net ...
— from “Lady Jordan” by Denice Frohman https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/15/arts/denice-frohman-poem.html
Advent Of Love Dec 4
Dark, that's the hour, when someone from inside the house shouts my name, though I ignore them, the swish the only dish I need for dinner tonight, 'cause I'm counting hoops, a rhythm machine - breathe in / breathe out - and the pasta plate can wait; I'm in the zone and need to be left alone
Mid-day; composing a poem back, though skies here look like Autumn morning
for Algot
I always like summer best ... from 'Knoxville, Tennessee' by Nikki Grimes https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/160376/knoxville-tennessee
Advent Poem Of Love Dec 3
I'm prone to Autumn, I guess, the way change corners cold nights, changing hues and roots and limbs, wooden skeletons dancing in motion against the wind, and childhood, too, the way we'd wander through woods, lighting bonfires at the bog, sometimes in near silence, listening to the Fall, until the whistle and shouts beckoned us back home
No one believes in you like I do ...
— from 'In Praise Of Okra' by January Gill O'Neill https://poets.org/poem/praise-okra
Advent Of Love Poem Dec 1
but I nibble only at myself these days, the fruit of my labor just words in verse, written rough even as the sunshine of daylight through the window touches skin, reminding me to pause in the moment, to savor the de-composition
you who scatter the world’s map ...
— from 'Ode To My Homegirls' by Safia Elhillo https://onbeing.org/poetry/ode-to-my-homegirls/
Advent Of Love Poem Dec 2
Fingers find the lines on my face, you, old friends, like cartographers, unfolding me along the creases of my past, then you spin the compass to keep me sailing, the horizon still yet beckons
(Special Thanks to Deanna M. for curating another Advent Poem Collection https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1nDm4_p_ZeOuVFY9rTXfXgBh1vKDvckjllJ2fqT3NSI4/present#slide=id.g2628afe0dc3_0_148)