If the world truly ends here, Joy, at the edge of this kitchen table, then let it be laughter that fed us while our dreams drank coffee; love that nourished us at this put-together table pirouetting on broken legs; songs that connected us beneath twirling umbrellas; and words, and words, and more words beyond that, words that burrowed us deep into poems worth sharing
for #nwp, in response to a shared Joy Harjo poem https://poets.org/poem/perhaps-world-ends-here
We always imagined just one more jump, just one more leap, from this bog to that: trusting the solidity of experience
but not always finding our footing, this forgotten swamp seemingly forever ready to find us – grab us – pull us in
for ancient places still hold; deepened roots with murky remembrances; as we jump one more jump so we leap one more leap
for #nwp https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1Ga1CCCIbttDnq3kh0PjQ-0uKkSMMANQ5oNgFWGpa1mA/edit#slide=id.gad813c751f_0_5
Shadow Forms
You, with skinned chalked fingers, colored hues, scratching outlines upon an uncomfortable blacktop canvas
Me, in shadow form, standing just still enough to become outline for a vision of ephemeral art
Us, waiting days for the rains, to wash away these impressions, the sky's a critic, nothing else remains
for #nwp
Penumbra
Some pieces of all of us hide among the shadow spaces of the day
We are unintentionally obscured, filtered by inadequate words
awaiting the moment when light-time filters through and we see each other for the very first time
for #nwp
Gift
Here, take this note, this melody, this harmony this symphony, this sonata, these interlocking lines tangled in signatures of time, this musical string of something where once nothing was, a listening to your heart from mine
for #nwp
Writing Our Way Out of Here
Breadcrumbs become such fragile things, more hope than help when confusion reigns
If this trail has been pecked clean by birds, twittering on the vine, all the time, with incessant noise
take the hand that holds you: each step is the way forward
for #nwp
A Writer in the Storm of Night
Awoken by words, the swirling possibilities of poems;
There's wonder in all that never gets scribbled as ideas rage
only catching the wind of night's slumbered musings:
this storm of stories; this lightning, to thunder
for #nwp https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1nugvl2LYdTikZjHdD82t9MRDyEy6XPEKNKvTYOm0MV0/edit#slide=id.g53e69d01db_0_5
Look To The Stars
I want the ink that never fades;
to paint the lines, connecting days;
connecting nights, to where we are;
our shared stories:
painted, spoken, sung, wondered, remembered, written
somewhere in the stars
for #nwp writing marathon
Undertow
The most powerful currents often flow unseen, unknown, uncharted; its energy fueled by touch and memory, by vulnerability, the moment of our release buoyed only by a means of escape
for #nwp
Consider the Hinge
We're swinging like rust on the hinge of the door, singing ancient whispers into these ears of the floor
The breaking point of time and motion, and movement, sets us on a fragile course, but here we remain, stalwart, with time running short
From Morehouse Writing Project Marathon #nwp
https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1nugvl2LYdTikZjHdD82t9MRDyEy6XPEKNKvTYOm0MV0/edit#slide=id.p