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Foundation for Second Chances

Story by Portia Choi

Photographs by Martin Chang and Portia Choi

A new charter school in Bakersfield, Foundation For Second Chances, had poetry as part of their developing leadership component.  The school focuses on at-risk young adults to obtain a high school diploma and to learn a skill in construction.

The Office Manager of the school, Alison Williams, wanted a poetry workshop.  “We want our students to see what is out there; help the students to expand and learn how to express themselves,” said Williams.

The poetry workshops were on June 2 and June 9.

On the first day, Don Thompson, the poet laureate of Kern County, recited from his poems.   Thompson encouraged the students to keep trying.  A line from one of his poems was “Now anything is possible.” (From “Sightings” in the book, Turning Sixty.)

The workshops were facilitated by Portia Choi, of Kern Poetry, who focused on experiencing various senses to enhance creativity.  Choi had mint and gardenias to enhance sense of touch and smell.  She struck a gong to help students focus on hearing.  She provided blueberries and granola bars for tasting.

One of the students, Aaron Cardenas, used seeing, feeling and smelling gardenias to write the following poem:

Gardenias

by Aaron Cardenas

The gardenias are soft, gentle and light, as if they were made of silk.

The smooth and soothing smell.  Plays a relaxing, relieving sound in my head.

Gentle and soft, as my grandma as she is sitting in the church, showing me a good,

spiritual example.

 

Another student was Bayley Brooks who has been writing since 13.  He said, “When I was younger, I was angry.  I wrote rhyming poetry and short stories.  I got feedback, thought I had talent.  I like putting smile on their faces.  It keeps me happy, inspired.  They tell me their story.”  Brooks is involved with poetry.  He has a social media site, riddlemepoetry.tumblr.com.  

After Brooks scratched and smelled a lemon, at the workshop, he wrote:

If life gives you lemon,

Squeeze it back into the eyes of life.

 

At the ribbon cutting for the Foundation For Second Chances school, Karen Goh, the mayor of Bakersfield met the students and attendees.

At the event, Bayley Brooks read an essay he wrote for the English class.

Brooks wrote “It’s crazy how I almost quit the Program, when I came back it was like a slam to the face.  Now things are easier that I’m keeping my own pace.  I’m doing this for me, nobody else and thank you Foundation for Second Chances for all your help. . . I had a lot of things on my mind.  It’s hard to live when you’re in a bind trying to find yourself and find a purpose and share my love ad knowledge, yeah, in surplus.”  

Cindy Rivas was a student who liked roses.  She said, “I like roses because of their fruity scent, looks beautiful, nice.”  She remembered, “When grandma passed away, I picked a rose, made a stick figure and prayed.  Soft, nice texture, when touched it gives it a smell.”

The students wrote a poem together, “Exquisite Corpse,” by taking turns writing a line seeing only the immediately preceding line.  The students who wrote were Bayley Brooks, Cindy Rivas, Chris Gredler and Jazell Vela.  The poem is:

 

Exquisite Corpse  

by Foundation For Second Chances students

The bloody person jumped fast

I’m a wonderful mom

Who lives happily in a tree

My self playground dog

Yay Life is,

Terrible

The most wonderful thing

I think about it as I sing

I’m High off Life!

 

Kelsy Watson, a case manager with the school, wrote a poem at the workshop as she was looking at marigolds.  Watson started writing poetry when 10.  Writing poems came naturally to her.  “Poetry comes from the soul, it’s soul deep,” she said.

Watson wrote:

Marigold

by Kelsy Watson

Early summer afternoon, 1992:  my sister, brother and myself all gather in the front yard in a circle, holding hands, spinning around (giggling amongsts) singing, “Ring around the rosies, pockets full of posies.  ashes, Ashes. . . . . .”

Daddy came outside with a subtle tone “Okay kids come on in a’ wash y’all hands and get ready for dinner.”

Our faces lit up with glee.  Oh, how we loved daddy.

The smell of daddy’s Love.  His gentle touch (so caring, so protective.)

I place these flowers on your grave site.  They have blossomed.  Just like you Always told me and sissy we would bloom into women.  (Queens.)  The stems are strong (holding up the flowers) just the way you always taught brother to be a strong man and to Always look out for his sisters.  

Oh how I love my daddy. . .

Open Mic June 2, 2017

 

Story by Portia Choi

Photos by Martin Chang

At the June 2 open mic, Norma Camorlinga performed her poems before moving to the East Coast.

She has been performing regularly at the First Friday poetry event since October 3, 2014.  She first attended open mic to be supportive of another poet, Mateo Lara.  Later, she started to recite her own poems.

Norma had her beginnings in performance in the theater.  For her, performing poetry was different from the theater.  “At open mic, it was different because in theater you perform someone else’s work.  In poetry, you perform your own,” said Norma, “it is more intimidating.  But it felt good, to get out and there is energy to share.”

Norma especially felt good to write a poem, “Altars,” about her Dad with allusion to “Day of the Dead.”  The poem starts with:

Like time

I think distance is relative.

The three dance a number

Take turns twirling in and out of fragile realities.

 

The entire poem, “Altars” and the poem that Norma read on June 2, “Chaotic Particles,” is provided at the end of this story.

Of her beginnings in writing poetry, “I started writing in the 7th grade; my teacher had me enter a contest,” said Norma.  “It was a poem about my family, how everyone felt about my grandmother.  She was the root of the family.”

Another poet who performed at the open mic was Matthew Mendoza.  He memorized his poems in the spoken word style.  An excerpt from the poem that he recited at the open mic is:

“. . .with the borrowed voices of the leaves/ your laughter fills my chest.”

A poet who recited at the open mic, wanted to share this poem anonymously: “I’m a person.  I am a human being.  I am disabled.  I will be a success story.”

Another poet, Walter Stormont, performed with a red cap to enhance his recitation of his poem “On, What is Love?”

 

 Oh, What is Love?

(A Redneck Rime)

By Walter Stormont   © 2017 Walter Stormont

 

Oh, what is love?  Oh, what is life?

An empty ice box full of strife.

A flying fist you have to duck,

A rusty, worn out pickup truck.

 

The distant dreams and bouncing checks,

The prices at the multiplex.

 

A barking dog, an aching back,

Another pert-near heart attack.

 

A leaky roof, a storm above,

Oh, what is next?  Oh, what is love?

 

A long-time friend, a caring spouse,

A kid who draws me Mickey Mouse.

 

A blooming, fruitful family tree.

A universe of unity.

 

I best slow down, like pop the clutch.

I never thought I’d think so much.

 

 

 

The two poems by Norma Camorlinga mentioned in the story are:

 

Altars

By Norma Camorlinga

 

Like time

I think distance is relative.

The three dance a number

Take turns twirling in and out of fragile realities.

The hours here nor there are real,

All a figment of the imagination.

You may think I am mad for stating such a ludicrous idea,

But when I sit next to you

Your heart is no longer where mine lives.

The fire that tethered it here has extinguished,

The dreams we pieced together have shattered,

And this happiness is long gone.

Time has swept away such precious moments,

They no longer have meaning to you.

I sit on your bed,

Bring you flowers

Patiently wait for you to speak,

Move,

Return to me,

Yet you remain still… Breathless,

Always six feet under.

I want this circle to break

For you to tear at the earth,

At the prison that surrounds you.

I want to erupt from this mundane pattern of birthing, losing, mourning, and complacency,

This colonized notion that it could be worse.

Even if I have to offer myself up to higher beings to have you back

I’d do it time and time again.

But… this is reality.

You left your mark on me,

On this world and

Now all we have to remember you is a monument that arrived too late.

Your is face slowly fading from my mind

Echoes of your voice faintly sing a tune

Your smile is slowly decaying

Your bones rattling a steady beat

Regenerating heat into this cold world.

You aren’t a zombie coming back to life,

So I sit by the altar Latinos leave for their dead

Placing silly ideas into boxes and rearranging them in my mind.

Sitting breathless,

Hopeful,

With a marigold flower in one hand

And my heart in the other to greet you when you return

 

“Chaotic Particles”

By Norma Camorlinga

They say that matter isn’t created nor destroyed

That the molecules we see today are remnants of a burning universe
Reorganized matter fused together, torn apart with time
Chaotic and unpredictable 

Serendipitous and timely.
Perhaps, this is why your eyes burn a familiar fire,

A familiar fire, within my chest

Parts of an ancient past, a self once, once floating beside those dark brown pools on your face, 

Like a pair of stars burning their way into my soul
And now, like those cosmos, you lay naked before me on sheets as white as cosmic ivory,

This dust is dreams,
So, You sleep
Filled with desire.
I connect the spots on your back
Constellations of black and blue fading red into soft skin

My mouth: their creator
Their celestial architect
Building an empire, stardust,
Let these cold hearts melt with lust.

Let the particles around our bodies become one
If only for a night or two,
Let us carve out unity,

Just this moment, be a lingering flame,
For Tomorrow we’ll rearrange this greatness,

We may become static,
But who is to say that the effects will not impact what we have created.
Like the Big Bang,
Catapult me into unforeseen futures,

Unforeseen sorrows

Inspire and caress my mind,

Be blind, but burst
Brighten my memories with clouds of stardust resting in your eyes
Idly waiting to fuse once again,
From the particles they once belonged.

We cannot create nor destroy,

but I’m suffering in this formation,

My eye sight begins to deteriorate with all the sadness in this world

Withering away into nothing

So let me build in the darkness of our space,

Where light cannot invade fast enough,

Let me cover your body in fading stars like braille

Small yet profound stars showing me the way

I’ll memorize them like some holy scripture

And learn to walk through the darkness

We can swallow these particles, though we won’t call it love,

We’ll only agree like the planets aligning with gravity,

To settle in this chaos.

 

Brendan Constantine Teaches Everyday Poetry

By Martin Chang and Portia Choi

Photos by Portia Choi and Martin Chang

When Brendan Constantine shopped at big box stores, he saw the same word over and over.  “I was shopping at a place like Smart and Final and they would have industrial versions of different products, and they were all about how to get the most out of them,” he said.

This inspired Constantine to think about teaching poetry differently.  “If I address poetry in that way, as a thing that is practical, something that is not just a hobby, or because something that you do because it’s pretty, but a day to day means to clarity. That could be the way to teach poetry.”

This is how Constantine came up with the workshop titled Industrial Poetry. He taught the workshop at on June 1, 2017 at Walter W. Stiern Library of California State University, Bakersfield (CSUB.)  The workshop was so popular that it had to be moved to a larger room in the library.

Constantine performed for the students at the 5-hour workshop like a comedian giving high energy examples of techniques and methods of inspiration.  These methods include writing exercises and prompts with titles like A Change of Season, Poverty, Divorce, I was so Drunk, and After the Wedding.  Or to write about “We were never to talk about . . .” and “What are the stars waiting for?”

He spoke of the “openness of possibilities.”  That there are two directions of most poetry.  One is the lyrical that moves by association and the other being the narrative that moves with time.

From vocabulary to job hunting, Constantine believes that the teaching of poetry can help people communicate. He believes that this communication can bring people together. “It’s not enough to tell you I’m sad. I haven’t told you very much. If I can get you to feel it with me, maybe I get you closer to what I am talking about. People with skills with things like simile and metaphor and image will just write a better letter, even a letter for a job,” he said.

This can extend to the current climate of division. “People are being separated by beliefs.  These divisions are becoming greater through semantics, people not being to articulate how they feel.  I feel that right now, with a country that everybody is saying is divided, that anything that we can do to stimulate communication is great.”

On a deeper level, teaching poetic expression can help people become more complete.  This is what Constantine believes he can give to students. “When it comes to poetry, metaphor is a gateway to compassion.  If I can fill a room full of people, who on a daily basis, is tasked to empathize with everything from nature to a chair, that is someone is also concerned with how others feel, that to me is a healthier world.”

Runda Osman took the workshop with her daughter Rawiah Mohamed Osman.   Runda enjoyed experiencing the workshop with her daughter. She said, “In my culture, we do not communicate by talking but by spending time doing something together. So taking this workshop was doing something with my daughter.  I am Middle Eastern, Sudanese.  It is the first time for me to be in a writing workshop.” Rawiah wrote when she was younger and is planning on writing poetry again.

Jorge Lopez took the workshop to “improve writing poetry. I write short stories and plays at CSUB.”  Lopez said, “The workshop was fun, liked it a lot.  Creative way to write poetry.”

Priti Devaprakash of East Indian heritage, also took the workshop. She found Constantine “animated, enthusiastic and creative.” She enjoyed one writing activity called Why and Because. In this activity, one side of the class wrote five sentences starting with “Why.”  The other side wrote five sentences of “Because.”  In random order, a participant said a “why” and then a person on the other side responded with one of their “because.”

Devaprakash enjoyed the freedom of the activity. She said, “In school classes there are rules on what you can’t do.  The workshop showed how randomness goes into creativity.”

During the workshop, Constantine did not read any of his poems even though he has several published books of poetry. His first collection, Letters to Guns, was released in February 2009.   The book is used extensively in schools.  His website is Brendanconstatine.com.

Here are poems from two of the participants of the workshop.

 

Jorge Lopez wrote the following poem during the workshop, in the activity he was asked to write a his choice.

My dream will be found

by someone who talks to loud.

They will lose their voice

and utter no sound.

Being forced to listen

to the noise of the crowd.

They have talked over so much.

 

 

Rawiah Mohamed Osman provided the following poem that she had written previously for the Kern Poetry website.

American Superheroes

by Rawiah Mohamed Osman in 2015

There are heroes who are fighting for our freedom and voice

They are courageous, brave, mentally and physically tough

Will always be waiting for the day they return so we can rejoice

God, please bring them home safely and keep them strong which is enough

 

While we worry about what we will wear today, they worry if they will see their families once again

Those are our troops who without we wouldn’t be who we are today

Unlike the immortal heroes we grew up with like Superman and Wonder Women, they are real women and men

They are mortal, they fight and die, while others get captured and never able to get away.

 

Even though you might not know them and they don’t know you

They are the reason you are here to stay and will protect you

While you’re complaining your life is hell, they are going through it for you

But they won’t quit or accept defeat because they always push through center of gravity

 

Because what’s starts with an S and protects as all

 

Soldiers, thank you to all the women and men who serve

Surprise Guest Poet at Open Mic May 2017

Story by Portia Choi

Photographs by Ezekiel Espanola

The councilman, Andrae Gonzalez, came to the open mic on May 5, 2017.  He represents the Bakersfield downtown area that includes Dagny’s Coffee where the open mics are held.  Gonzalez recited his poem, “Echo,” about his father.

At the open mic, the featured performers were Katie Collins and Frances Eghre-Bello, the top contestants in the Poetry Out Loud contest in Bakersfield.  Their English teacher, Andrew Chilton, at Stockdale High School made the contest possible.  It was the first time that the contest was held in Bakersfield.

The contest is a national contest.  “Poetry Out Loud encourages students to learn about great poetry through memorization and recitation,” states the Poetry Out Loud website.

Collins said she memorized poems through “Repetition and reading out loud to her friend, pronunciation of some of the words.”  Eghre-Bello said she memorized by “reading the poem a lot; and writing it out.”

For the students, the experience at the open mic to a live audience was different than at a contest.  Eghre-Bello said, “it was a lot of fun.  I was more relaxed.  I liked the environment here, people passionate about poetry.”  Collins said, “it was the most comfortable performance, not being judged.  I enjoyed it.”

One of the poets at the open mic was Christopher Robert Craddock. He has been writing poetry since he was four.  His first poem was:

“The tree looked at me

Up jumped the tree

Up jumped me!”

He read “Yertle the Turtle” by Dr. Seuss as a child.  Craddock said, “I searched for inspiration.  I was inspired by W.B. Yeats, Shakespeare, T.S. Eliot, Delmore Schwartz, Gerard Manley Hopkins and, of course, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.”

At the open mic, Craddock recited a poem, “Hummingbird.”  He said, “My sister has a garden with aloe vera,” where he saw the hummingbirds.  In the poem he contrasts the hummingbird and the poet in the last stanza of the poem

“. . .Hummingbirds

Never know the words

Because they’re in too big a hurry

To ever learn the lyrics–

Discuss philosophy with clerics

In the middle of a circus.

No, they’ll leave that to the poets.

Words are all they have to work with.”

 

The complete poem by Craddock is presented.

 

Hummingbirds Never Know the Words

By Christopher Robert Craddock

Hummingbirds

Never know the words

Because they’re in too big a hurry

To ever stop and worry.

They move on to the next flower and

If the nectar isn’t sour

Then they will take a sip . . . .

 

“Hmmmmmmm,” hummed the hummingbird. “Tra la la,

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?

 

One flower down, only nine-hundred and ninety-nine to go–

Not that I’m counting, but scientists, ornithologists,

I am told–with their slide-rules and microscopes,

And their probes, have clocked us at a rate of a

Thousand flowers per diem, which is the fancy-pants

Scientists’ way of saying per day. In Latin, no less,

Only used now in surgical, or situations liturgical,

Or when naming the flora and fauna, by genus and species,

Like calling me Calliphlox Amethystina ‘stead of plain old

Amethyst Woodstar, or Metallura Phoebe for Black Metaltail.

Heliothryx Aurita for Black-eared Fairy;

Lesbia Victoriae for Black-tailed Trainbearer;

Trochilus Scitulus for Black-billed Streamertail!

 

One thousand per day! ‘Hmmmmm,’ the scientists say.

‘That’s a lot of nectar.’

 

A heck of a lot of nectar. Hmmmmmmmmmmm, and tra la la la.

But it takes a heck of a lot of nectar to fuel this plane.

I never stop to count the flowers. Hmmmmmm?

I guess you could say, ‘I wing it.’

 

While wending my way through the warp and woof of time,

Weaving my way through the warp and the weft,

Why worry about words and whether they rhyme?

Why wonder what word best describes my emotion?

When what really matters is: my wings are in motion.

 

The tortoise, porcupine, or possibly opossum,

Move at a pace where such notions may blossom.

Maybe a mirror in a palace of perfection

Could afford the luxury to support such idle reflection?

 

I have not the time, as I hover in space.

Look how fast I have to flap my wings

To remain in the air,

Suspended in one place?”

 

Hummingbirds

Never know the words

Because they’re in too big a hurry

To ever learn the lyrics–

Discuss philosophy with clerics

In the middle of a circus.

No, they’ll leave that to the poets.

Words are all they have to work with.

 

© Christopher Robert Craddock 2017

Visions of Words: Art and Poetry

Licet Romero stands behind her painting she created for the Visions of Words poetry event.

Licet Romero stands behind her painting she created for the Visions of Words poetry event.

Story by Portia Choi

Photographs by Ezekiel Espanola

It was a celebration of the arts in the sculpture garden of The Arts Council of Kern on April 21, 2017.  There was art inspired by poems, and a poem inspired by art.  There were two poets who displayed their art work.

Danny Martinez wrote a poem about feeling deserted.  The artist Licet Romero said she was inspired by the words to paint a large fetus.  Towards the end of the poem, Martinez writes of wars and how we are connected at the human level.

The lines from the poem reads,

“Same heart,

Same blood,

And all from an egg.”

 

Untitled

By Danny Martinez

Welcome to this special presentation,
Locked within a cell without prison inhalation,
Deception facing black curtain drop mind erasing,
To the zombie apocalypse of which mankind is pleased to choose,
Phones, IPads and TVs to form our views,
Thoughts outside the box are shot down and resisted,
Every soul in four corners are expert politicians and gifted,
Only shown what they want,
Not from the puppet we see,
The man behind the curtain let loose and deceive,
Never stand down!
Load up the REVOLUTION!!
To see the real clear depth of the sky,
And wipe out the pollution,
Institutionalized without bars in our face,
Back and forth on wars on depictions of race,
Same heart,
Same blood,
And all from an egg,
United as one is correct spawn as a pledge,
Our thoughts must be found and not pulled from the clown,
Resuscitate the brain and don’t let it be drowned,
Brenda’s baby is where we can never be found…
DESERTED!

 

Shanna O’Brien, who has entertained internationally, performed her songs at the event.  She is also an artist.  She is pictured standing between two of her paintings.  One of the songs she sang was “We are One.”

Musician and poet Shanna O’Brien stands between two of her pieces at the Vision of Words poetry event.

We Are One

Lyrics by Shanna O’Brien ©2015

We are one light, one heart, one love.

We are one.

Everybody’s different

Everyone’s unique

Some considered normal

Some considered freak

One thing we have in common

I think you will agree

We’re each a drop of water in a never-ending sea

We are one light, one heart, one love.

We are one.

Even though we’re different

The truth is we’re the same

Cause deep inside each beating heart burns a little flame

A flame that’s been ignited by a spark from something higher

We’re all just little flames in this great ball of fire

We are one light, one heart, one love.

We are one.

Every day’s a journey to the limitless unknown

We’re on this road together, no one is alone

Some of us are running some are walking slow

But in the end we all get there and then we know

We are one light, one heart one love

We Are One.

 

 Greg Stanley is a poet and an artist.  He said, “I began writing poetry, limericks, in high school.”  He began painting after receiving a paint set from his mother who also painted.   Here are two examples of his poems and art.  More of his poems can be found on PoetrySoup.com.

 Green Eyes and Pigments

Greg Stanley created a poem and painting inspired by the green color of his cat's eyes. He read the poem and showed the painting at the Visions of Words event.

Greg Stanley created a poem and painting inspired by the green color of his cat’s eyes. He read the poem and showed the painting at the Visions of Words event.

By Greg Stanley

Look in my green eyes, what do you see?

Is it something before or after me?

If only you could understand what I have to say.

All of you are the same… acting in the same play.

Not so different from one another.

But simply blends of the same color.

You are sienna, whether from Africa

China, Russia, North and South America.

Borders are division created through arrogance,

Thus, so many not given the chance.

All have the same goals… the same dreams,

But using the same damn machines.

How I know this, you ponder why?

Does it really matter, must I clarify?

Evolution has built you over millions of years,

Over that time, independent thought disappears.

No one is better… no one is worse

Every one of you is on the same course.

So please understand to make it safely to the end

A mix of Love and Kindness is the perfect blend.

 

Greg Stanley performs at the Visions of Words event.

Mother Earth (Re-Birth)

By Greg Stanley

While standing in a field gazing the sky above

I pondered all the things we are made of.

Then a bright light flashed through the sky

How did we begin, what is the reason why?

Four and a half billion years objects fall to earth

Some believe seeded life or created its birth.

By placing amino acids in the primordial ooze

The building blocks of life… but who’s?

We find these black stones… hold in our hands

Put on our shelves and display on our stands,

Mother Earth (Rebirth) by Greg Stanley

Mother Earth (Re-birth) by Greg Stanley

Each has an attraction one cannot explain

To desire and study the minerals they contain.

Do you ever wonder if we’re here for a purpose?

Or is someone watching us performing in a circus?

And did they shower us with all this matter?

Letting it dissipate in such random scatter.

Perhaps it was planned or just an… “oops”

As he never meant to send in the troops.

If that is so perhaps more will fall

Beginning a re-birth and destroying us all

I see another flash and many more still

Then a blinding glow just behind the hill

I remember nothing, nothing at all after that

As I lay in the grass still on my back

Then a bright light flashed through the sky

How did we begin, what is the reason why?

 

 

Mateo Lara performs.

Mateo Lara performs at the Visions of Words event.

Mateo Lara’s poem “Neon Candles” inspired Jesse Lemus’ to paint “A Whispered Summoning.”  Lara is author of two books of poetry, Keta-Miha and La Futura Tuga.  Lara said, “Tuga is sadness in Croatian.”

Neon Candle

By Mateo Lara
you’re staining the room with your electric blue sadness,
and last night around 4 in the morning,
You rustled around with maroon stained hands,
and told me to turn on the lights,
so I could see the silver tips you wore.
you kissed the angel of bitterness,
and I sat in the darkness for weeks.
I guess this was the last of it,
these candles, these bleeding memories,
on my shoulders and the burning of this bed,
the one where you laid out all your secrets,
on the white sheets that glistened in violet lust filled ink stains,
of the past, of yesteryear, you tell me not to come here or else there will be agony,
you took me in with your golden fingertips,
and told me to pretend the universe was way bigger than any of this,
so don’t dwell,
but I do dwell,
and we’re just as big as the splitting of the stars,
and the death and crash and burn of something,
being sucked into the black hole.
I am oblivion from every piece of me you stole and were unaware of,
I am chaos on your fury tongue, every dripping name,
has stretched before me like a carpet of rage,
and I stain you with tundra blue and midnight red,
I see the orange nova of the end and the pink sweet gin,
I am in place for you, when you leave,
You show me all the blazing glory of the neon soul,
before you go and I am without you now.
I lit the match of aftermath and shed my skin to sleep,
I whispered your name once or twice for a summoning,
and lit candles as the yellow embers led you out of my dying light.
When you blew me up into crackling purple smoke.

 

Diana Ramirez performs at the Visions of Words event.

Diana Ramirez is the co-planner for the “Visions of Words” event.  She also imagined then produced “Words Come to Life,” an event where art inspired by poetry was displayed at The Metro Galleries in Bakersfield.  Poets recited their work at the event.  Ramirez’s poem, “I Am Frowned Upon,” inspired Cuca Montoya to create a photographic collage.

I Am Frowned Upon

By Diana Ramirez

(an excerpt from poem)

I am frowned upon,
My choices are frowned upon,
My actions are frowned upon,
All because I have a vagina,
A birth canal to which life is born,
And a moist admission to which you moan,
Entrance accessed,
Perhaps entranced
by my rapture,
Yet I am the one captured
By the whispers,
By the faces that stare with disdain,

. . .

Frown upon me you might,
But I have been created to create,
And you were born to see the light,
In me,
In her,
Strong,
Stronger,
Strongest,
And our story
Is the longest
Ever told,
And I refuse to be a mold,
Molded in the image that man has sold.

 

Thomas Lucero painted this painting of Budda for the Visions of Words event.

Thomas Lucero painted this painting of Budda.

A painting by Thomas Lucero was displayed at the event.  Portia Choi, one of the planners of the event, was inspired to write a poem.  Choi had asked Lucero if he had a painting of the Buddha.  This inspired Lucero to do the painting.   An earlier version of the following poem was recited at the event.

Siddhartha Transformed

            By Portia Choi

Siddhartha in lotus repose,

palms touching in mind and heart,

soles raised in gratitude.

He was grooving with his brother, the Bodhi tree.

 

The past was a mist-the castle, wife, feasts.

He lived the rock years of self-denial and hunger.

 

Now sitting and breathing,

no thinking, no eating.

 

An orange cloth loosely covering a being of light.

The energy oozing from all pores.

Effulgence flowing, the cosmic Om.

 

Buddha sat in silence, in nonattachment,

of oneness to serve all beings.

 

 

Writing Poems of Awe and Wonder

The taste of a grape and the fragrance of a crushed mint leaf, help writers to compose poems.

On April 10, Portia Choi facilitated a workshop on “Writing Poems of Awe and Wonder” at the Art and Spirituality Center of Dignity Health, 2215 Truxtun Avenue.

Choi had the participants connect with their creativity through touch, taste, smell, sight and sound.

Choi started the workshop having the writers breathe slowly, feeling the air entering the nose, then gently exiting through the lips.

Then she recited poems by Don Thompson and Helen Shanley.

Then, Choi asked the participants to taste a grape or a chocolate candy bar.  She had the writers roll the grape in the mouth, then bite on the fruit to release its juice.

Another exercise was to crush a mint leaf and inhale its fragrance.

The writers were also asked to look at one spot in the room.  It could be part of a painting or the stained glass, or any other object in the room.

The participants commented on the workshop.

Annis Cassells said that it “was very worthwhile.  It stimulated creativity by use of the senses.  It reminded me to take time.  I was able to write . . . reconnecting with sensory images by slowing down.”

Another participant, Diane Lobre said the workshop “encouraged creativity. . . with ways to challenge the senses into poems.”

Ron McGowan thought the workshop was informative.  It “got my creative juices flowing,” said McGowan.

Barbara Burress said the workshop was “enlightening, fun and challenging.”  Burress said that she “found out that she can still write poetry, and will continue to do so outside of the workshop.”

One of the participants, Stephanie Gibson completed two poems during the workshop.  Gibson said, “It was special to voluntarily come together to write.  Usually writing poetry is a solitary endeavor.  It was refreshing and enjoyable being able to be in a place for writing in a group.”

The two poems that Gibson wrote at the workshop are “Fragility of a Poet” and “Primal Greetings.”

 

 

The Fragility of the Poet

By Stephanie Gibson

 

Cracker.  Chipped.  Dented & Scraped is Poet

Nursing old wounds

Caring for them daily, gently is Poet

Poet sees what others do not

Eye sight is really heart sight

There is silent weeping

The paper absorbs what pen pours out

Sensitive is Poet

Fragile is Poet

Ever transforming pain into meaning,

Mundane into significant,

Beauty into wonder

Already cracked, Chipped.  Dented & Scraped is Poet

So new injury is substance

To be consumed, digested, and re-crrated

As an offering of grace

Ever listening

Ever sensing

Fragile is Poet

Delicate and beautiful is she

Cracked.  Chipped.  Dented & Scraped.

 

Primal Greetings

By Stephanie Gibson

 

Dogs approach each other and sniff

They’re checking each others’ scent

Trying to know who they’re dealing with

 

What gift to humanity is your scent?

What’s your vibe?

Your attitude?

Your spirit?

Your bent?

Just give us a hint.

 

Is your energy that you exude

Love, acceptance, and a good mood?

When others are in your presence and they’re trying to get a whiff

Of who they’re dealing with

Is Kindness your special scent?

Is your attitude heaven-scent?

Is it communicating what you really meant?

 

 

“Snow on Elk Hills” by Don Thompson and “Lilacs” by Helen Shanley were featured at the workshop because they elicit awe and wonder.  

 

SNOW ON ELK HILLS

By Don Thompson

 

Once in a decade maybe, the snow

falls here too, even here

on scrub ugly slopes where oil birds feed.

 

Not much.  Just a dusting,

but sufficient to cool slightly

the overheated mind

 

of anyone who stops to look

long enough to see

that everything barren will be blessed.

 

From Everything Barren Will Be Blessed by Don Thompson.  Pinyon Publishing

 

 

LILACS

By Helen Shanley

 

I remember that lilacs enfolded the night

in a soft, June kiss,

a never-never land

of love in a candy store.

They floated like clouds of stingless bees

in mesmeric rivers of honey

around your tender face.

There was a sound like water falling

or clusters of little bells

or birds about to sing.

 

Sometimes I touch that lilac night

when your grave opens,

when dreams take us deep, deep

to love without time, without loss.

 

 

 

 

Open Mic- Shanna O’Brien Featured

Shanna O’Brien was the featured performer at the Open Mic on March 3.  The Open Mic is held at Dagny Coffee, downtown Bakersfield, every First Friday at 6:00 pm.

O’Brien has performed since 1980.  A few of the places were the Mandarin Hotel in Singapore and MGM Grand in Reno.

One of the song O’Brien sang, “Secret Tears” was about her mother. “She was a gifted singer and sang around the house and in church and I felt she longed for the same thing I did.  Watching my Mother cry from time to time gave me courage to forge ahead on my own, develop my talents and helped me make up my mind that I wouldn’t leave my dreams behind,” said O”Brien.

Another song that was performed was, “Thank Goodness You’re Here.”  It was about one of her many jobs.  “I was working for a great company in Beverly Hills in a small office of three, the boss, the bookkeeper and me.  One day the bookkeeper, who dressed like Mae West and was mean and abusive to me when the boss wasn’t around, got in a fight with the boss, quit and stormed out.  I was given the job of interviewing candidates to fill her position.  One day a really sweet, funny, intelligent young woman came for the interview and we immediately clicked.  We became great friends and she inspired this song,” said O’Brien.

Both O’Brien’s songs are provided at the end of the story.    

O’Brien has produced CD.  Two of the recent CD are “Timeless” and “Focus on the Light.”  She spoke about the process of making a CD.  “All CD is a challenge.  They take years.  Lot of preparation, writing and editing.  Creating a CD is a lot of work,” said O’Brien.       

After O’Brien, there were musicians and poets who performed.

This evening’s Open Mic differed from previous ones.  Usually there are no musicians performing; sometimes one or two.  This night there were four musicians.  Three of the musicians sang and played the guitar:  Christina Ramirez, Angel Monreal and Jose Lopez.  The fourth musician, Sequoia June, sang and played on a smaller string instrument.

One of the musicians, Jose Miguel Lopez, wrote a song to be performed at the Open Mic.  At the event,  “I walked through the fear of performing the songs I wrote, a part of me,” said Lopez.  After performing, he “felt so good, I pushed through and grew as a person.”

Lopez first started playing the guitar then later wrote songs.  When he wrote poetry, “it was fun, expressing myself.  If I can connect to another person in poetry, that feels good to me,” said Lopez.  He mentioned many factors that contributed to his being a performer.  He had sung in the choir and took theater.

Lopez is currently working on an album.  A test song for it is “Go and rejoice, you’ve got a choice.  Go and use the voice you’ve been given.”

There were several poets who had performed on multiple occasions at the Open Mics.  They were Chris Craddock, Mateo Lara and Diana Ramirez.

One of the poets, Diana Ramirez, had created and organized an event, “Words Come to Life.”  She sent poems to artists, who then painted inspired by the words.  At the event, the artworks were displayed at a gallery.  The poets recited their work.

Ramirez first started writing poetry in high school.   She stopped after graduating, then restarted writing in Bakersfield College.  For a class she took photographs during the summertime.  She said that there were opposites during the season, those of aliveness and dying.  “It was a refreshing and also a sad feeling.  I love the opposites,” said Ramirez.

Ramirez has performed regularly at the Open Mic.  “Every Open Mic is different.  I like the variety of writing.  Everyone writes differently and recites differently.  Its inspiring.  It sometimes triggers something in me to write,” said Ramirez.

The other poets who performed their poems were: Chess Trustworthy, Francis B. (could not read his last name) and Edward Waters.

There was a poem that was written by an anonymous poet.  It was not performed but written on a card.  The host of the Open Mic had requested poems to be submitted for posting on the Kern Poetry website.

(poem was untitled)

Thoth ibis–headed god of

Writing, alchemy Magic.

Messenger between dreaming and earth.

Between the land of living & dead. . .

 

 

 

These are two of the songs that O’Brien performed, “Secret Tears” and “Thank Goodness You’re Here”

 

 

SECRET TEARS

©2007 Shanna O’Brien

 

Watched you staring out the kitchen window when you were feeling blue

Longed for you to notice me and help me make my dreams come true

But you were a southern girl raised with small town fears                          

You said, “We’re born to bake red velvet cake and cry secret tears.”

 

My brothers and sisters ran ‘round the house we took up all your time

Made me wonder if the tears you cried were for the dreams you left behind

I knew you loved me through all those years

But I didn’t want to bake red velvet cake and cry secret tears

 

So I took my little dreams into the corner of my room

Where I listened to my radio and sang every single tune      

As the music moved me I began to realize        

Your secret tears taught me not to cry

                             

Secret tears will never fall from my eyes                            

Secret tears taught my dreams how to fly                           

 ‘Cause I didn’t want to cry

 

You left to sing with your angels when life was too much to bare                  

No tears in heaven now ‘cause I can feel you smiling there

As you watch the wings of my dreams in the sky

You know you secret tears taught my dreams to fly

 

Secret tears will never fall from my eyes                           

Secret tears taught my dreams how to fly                           

 ‘Cause I didn’t want to cry

Secret tears

 

 

 

Thank Goodness You’re Here            

© 2007 Shanna O’Brien

                

Like a summer breeze she blew into this cold corporate world                                                                                                                                 

To replace the mean ole’ battle-axe who had stormed out in a whirl

I reached out to shake her friendly hand and her pearly whites appeared                                                                                                                                         

I smiled back and thought to myself, “Thank goodness you’re here!

 

At first the boss was mesmerized; his new girl was a blond

But I knew she’d soon see the light and our friendship would bond

Sure enough when he cracked that whip that brought her to tears

With her eyes wide open she said to me, “Thank goodness you’re here!”

 

Girlfriends in the office make this job OK

Girlfriends in the office gettin’ through another day

Just workin’ in the office doin’ what we do

Girlfriends in the office stick together like glue

 

Years have gone and we’re still here workin’ for the man

Doin’ the letters, doin’ the ledgers and doin’ the best we can

Through it all our friendship has become mighty dear

High fivin’ in the hallways, “Thank goodness you’re here”

 

Now we twirl the boss around our fingers like a baton

Watch the clock and count the minutes until he is gone

Then we flop on the couch talk on the phone

Surf the net or write a song, read a book or do yoga on the floor

Watch TV with an eye on the door while the coast is clear

And laugh about how lucky we are, “Thank goodness you’re here!

 

(Oh shit – here he comes!)

 

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February Open Mic Features Tony O’Brien

Tony O’Brien was the featured poet at First Friday Open Mic on February 3, 2017.  O’Brien is also a photographer and a jazz musician.  He melded his talents of being a poet and a photographer for his performance.  At the open mic, he had participants hold up posters of his photographs with his poems imprinted on them.

When O’Brien was asked when he started writing poetry. He said that in 1980 he was “messing around at work, placing some thoughts on paper . . about my kids.”   He was writing about life in general and about his two boys.  He became more serious in 1992 and he really started in 2006 when he developed his style, “word poetry.”  He explained that “word poetry” was “rooted in Hebrew poetry.  (It is a) biblical way of writing, based on parallelism, step and climactic. . .and end up on paper visually.”  His poems were published in the book, “Inspirational Poetry by Design.”  The book is available at the Beale Library.

O’Brien said he went on to brand his style of poetry, “Work Poetry,” by registering the name with U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.    One of the poems that O’Brien performed was “Before I Die” which is an example of a climactic poem.

Before I Die

Within the sixty-six books

That were inspired by your spirit

And written for the sons of mankind.

I have but one question that I must ask from my heart

That has caused my soul to be in fear. . .

I am like a ship without a rudder.

I beg that you guide my heart

So that my soul will not be in fear, and that you

Anchor my heart upon your word

So that I can find my rest.

And as I like in my resting place,

I beg that you cause my soul to stand

Because my greatest fear is that I give you a reason to

Refuse me before I die.

Following the performance by Tony O’Brien was open mic portion of the evening.  Here are poems from poets who performed during the open mic.  These poets provided their words to be shared on this website.  The poems are placed according to the order of performance by the poets.

 

Honey, Scruff, Whiskey Moan by Mateo Lara

“It’s always ever a disaster,

paying attention to details,

I’d run the moon out of the

sky, waiting for everything to

fit together.”

 

 

“I was high” Yaritza Castro

(an excerpt)

“I love you,” he said.

Three words planted like seeds

in my mouth.

Seeds I would cultivate

into beautiful flowers, only to

hide them from anyone who wouldn’t

replant my garden after I tor

those flowers from their roots.”

 

Poems by Clark Long

“Some day the Sun will blow

and toss the planets into deep space

and all the sunscreen will freeeze!”

“My name was X,

now Pluto

soon to orbit NOTHING!”

 

A poem by Diana Ramirez

“. . .Frown upon me you might,

But i have been created to create,

and you were born to see the light,

In me,

In her,

Strong,

Stronger,

And our story

is the longest

ever told and I refuse to be a mold,

molded in the image that man has sold.”

 

Altars by Normal G. Camorlinga

So I sit by the altar Latinos leave

for their dead

Placing silly ideas into boxes

& rearranging them in my mind

Sitting breathless

Hopeful

With a Marigold flower in one hand

And my heart in the other to

greet you when

you return

 

 

 

 

 

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Poetry Out Loud 2017

Story by Portia Choi with Contributions by Martin Chang

There was a first time event in poetry for Kern County on January 18, 2017.  It was the Poetry Out Loud competition in which high school students recited famous poems by memory.  The event took place at the Access Center that houses the Arts Council of Kern.  It was the Arts Council that announced the first Poet Laureate for Kern County in March 2016.  The Poet Laureate is Don Thompson, who was at the current event as one of the judges.

Poetry Out Loud (POL) is a national contest, “a pyramid structure that starts at the classroom level. Winners advance to a school-wide competition, then to a regional and/or state competition, and ultimately to the National Finals” according to the POL website www.poetryoutloud.org.  In the contest, high school students memorize and recite great poems that are provided on the POL website.   Poetry Out Loud competition has taken place since 2005.  It has “grown to reach more than 3 million students and 50,000 teachers from 10,000 school in every state, Washington, DC, the US Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico.”   The two partners of  POL are the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) and the Poetry Foundation.   The Poetry Foundation publishes the Poetry magazine and is “an independent literary organization committed to a vigorous presence for poetry in our culture.”

This first time event was made possible, in Bakersfield, due to the effort of Andrew Chilton, an English teacher at Stockdale High School of Kern High School District.  Chilton found out from the State’s POL, that the contest had to be sponsored and sanctioned by the arts council.  In Kern County, the Arts Council of Kern was already involved in the literary arts and became an enthusiastic partner for the POL effort.   Even further, Chilton worked with the students to prepare for the competition.

Chilton’s enthusiasm for the event was evident as he expressed that he enjoyed seeing “classic, good poems read and studied” by the students.   He also shared that by memorizing and reciting the poems, the students “internalize the poems.”  He further stated that for the parents, the event is a “special moment, special time.”  In a follow-up e-mail with Chilton, he responded that he “was interested in getting Poetry Out Loud for Bakersfield because I had seen first-hand what it could do for students in North Carolina (where he had previously taught). I saw students who had no interest in poetry finally understand its power and impact on their lives when reading and reciting on their own. Students gain confidence, study skills, public speaking skills, and exposure to great works of literature that otherwise they might miss out on. I’m also simply a fan of reciting and memorizing poetry in my own life. I am often memorizing poetry on a weekly basis for my own enjoyment and intellectual stimulation, so I wanted students to see what it could do in their own lives.”

When Chilton was asked about how he became interested in poetry.  He shared that it was “during college when I first read Billy Collins for the first time. His poetry spoke to me on an immensely personal level and I understood that poetry was not simply to be read in a textbook in school but it offered a different way of looking at the world.”

At the competition, the high school students came up and recited their memorized poems in front of parents, guests and judges.  There were nine students who competed by reciting two poems.  There were two rounds of competition, the students reciting one poem during each round.  The students had selected the poems from hundreds of poems from the POL website.  Chilton had a copy of the poems selected, and he followed along during the recitation for the accuracy of the memorization.  There were three judges that scored electronically according to a grid.  The results of the scores were available immediately.

The next step after the local competition, will be for the winner to compete in Sacramento.

The winner of the contest was Katie Collins.  When asked about how it felt to be the winner, Collins said that she was surprised since any of the students could have been the winner. “I wasn’t really expecting it since everyone was so amazing. I was just shocked.  They were all fantastic and everyone gave it their best,” she said.

Collins’ choice to perform “Beautiful Wreckage” was because of a personal connection to the poem. “It was dramatic to me. It was easier to connect with because I know Vietnamese people. So I know the history of it,” she said. Collins picked “April Love” as her second poem because she wanted a “light” and “airy” poem to balance the seriousness of “Beautiful Wreckage.”

April Love

By Ernest Dowson

(Excerpt)

We have walked in Love’s land a little way,
We have learnt his lesson a little while,
And shall we not part at the end of day,
With a sigh, a smile?

So shall we not part at the end of day,
Who have loved and lingered a little while,
Join lips for the last time, go our way,
With a sigh, a smile?
 

Beautiful Wreckage

By W.D. Ehrhart

What if I didn’t shoot the old lady
running away from our patrol,
or the old man in the back of the head,
or the boy in the marketplace?

Or what if the boy—but he didn’t
have a grenade, and the woman in Hue
didn’t lie in the rain in a mortar pit
with seven Marines just for food,

Gaffney didn’t get hit in the knee,
Ames didn’t die in the river, Ski
didn’t die in a medevac chopper
between Con Thien and Da Nang.

In Vietnamese, Con Thien means
place of angels. What if it really was
instead of the place of rotting sandbags,
incoming heavy artillery, rats and mud.

What if the angels were Ames and Ski,
or the lady, the man, and the boy,
and they lifted Gaffney out of the mud
and healed his shattered knee?

What if none of it happened the way I said?
Would it all be a lie?
Would the wreckage be suddenly beautiful?
Would the dead rise up and walk?

The runner-up of the contest was Frances Eghre-Bello.  She used her experience in acting to help prepare for the performance. “I’m in theater,” she said. “I’ve taken classes on memorization. I used the same process, just going over it in my room and asking others for feedback,” she said.   The two poems that Eghre-Bello recited at the contest were “America” by Claude McKay and “Caged Bird” by Maya Angelou.  When deciding on what poems to perform, Eghre-Bello wanted to perform a poem by Angelou. “I read her book (in) freshman year and fell in love with her poetry. I felt it was very easy to understand. The first time I read through it I just got the metaphors. I felt I could do a good job reciting it.”

Caged Bird

By Maya Angelou

(Excerpt)

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky. . .

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

America

By Claude McKay

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate,
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.

Day of Poetry

by Portia Choi

The day was dawning when I arrived at Dagny’s Coffee at 6:55 am.  The front door was locked, and there were workers inside with dim lights.  When the main lights went on and the door was unlocked, several cars parked and several men got into Dagny’s.  They seemed to be regular customers of the place; they found a table all to themselves near the window.  I went to the smaller room of the coffee house to set up for the Day of Poetry.  One of the workers unlocked the door to the smaller room and brought in several copies of the newspaper.  When I went to order my caffeine-free hot tea, the customers were already reading the newspaper and sipping their latte or expresso.

I set up the room for the Day.  There was the easel-sized post-it for our communal poem to be written one line at a time by all the poets and participants throughout the day.  There was paper of various colors, crayons and markers for persons of all ages to doodle and relax.  Today was to be spontaneous, to allow for flexibility and fun.  It was the first time to have a whole day of poetry—better be flexible (I wasn’t sure what would happen or who would show-up).  It was a nice thought to start the beginning of the year with lots of poetry.

To make the event seem friendly, there was a fruit bowl and water set out for any participants.  I was thinking about what to write for the first line of the communal poem.  The theme was to be on “NURTURE.”  As I was thinking, it would be interesting to have the first poet help write that first line.  As it happened, the first persons to come into the room was a father with a baby snuggled on his chest and also his daughter.  I knew the father and daughter.  I had not seen the baby before; I was told he was four months old.  And his daughter had grown; she was now nine years old.  The father was starting to feed the baby from a bottle.  (How appropriate, I thought, to have a father nurturing his child as we were getting ready to write a poem about nurture.)  I wanted the daughter to be relaxed, so she started to draw on a paper.  Well, I thought, why not have his daughter help with the first line.  She wrote: “Feeds, changes, love me.”  Then I wrote the second line:  “Listening, smiling, laughing.”  So the communal poem about “NURTURE” started, and the poem would be written throughout the day with persons adding one line at a time, only seeing the previously written line.  (The completed poem was read at the end of the day, and the poem is at the end of this story.)

 

Around 10:00 am, there were poets and friends who came to read their own poetry as well from their favorite poets.

Then there was a break for lunch.  (Throughout the day there was food:  fruit bowl all day, lunch boxes, and cookies in the afternoon)

At 1:00 pm, there was a guest poet LisaAnn LoBasso who happened to be at Dagny’s  speak about poetry.  Then the group helped with an “Exquisite Corpse.”  This is a poetry game in which a person writes one word on a card which is a noun, adjective or a verb.  The cards were collected and mixed up and a poem is written from the jumbled up cards with an adjective, noun, verb, adjective and noun.  What was unique about the Day’s Exquisite Corpse was that the words of the poem were being drawn as the words were being spoken.  This was possible since there was a poet, Thomas Lucero, who is also an artist at the event.  When a word was read, he drew images on the easel.  After the Exquisite Corpse was completed, there was a writing workshop.  Each of the persons  was asked to select a paper with different color.  The instructions were to write down the first word that came to their mind inspired by the color.  Then they were to write about the color:  the feeling, smell, sound, sight and taste.

At the end of Day, there were two poems that were written together by the community of poets and friends:

 

Nurture

(Each person wrote one line only seeing the previous one line written by another person.)

 

Feeds, changes, loves me

Listening, smiling, laughing

High love, we love, love

Patiently and tenderly

A lesson of nurture will last forever

I want to nurture to others that need help

Be who you are, shine from your heart then give it away, doing your part

Every act of love makes a difference

The time we take to weave our love into their hair

Trust in yourself.  Love, one human being to another

It’s OK to make mistakes

Cut us down will grow again

When you fear rejection and you assume the worst, give someone a chance to prove you wrong

Forgiveness is more for your peace of mind than for the transgressor, give it freely.

I built a snowman yesterday, it was made of SNOW. . .

The radiance of the Sun made it melt and glow

Bear tracks glittered in the lightness

As we come face to face with the lion within

Simply ordinary.  Chicken noodle soup.  Down comforter.  Flannel pajamas.

Make a suit.  Made of pure clouds

. . .But when I came out yesterday to play, there MANY in a row. . .

All lined up, ready to love and be loved.

I wished to wrap you up in peace, to make you feel at home, to give you all my love

To love.  To Encourage.  To give unconditionally.  To watch HER GROW & SET HER FREE.

O see love stand the test of time, to have her . . let me see me grow

 

Exquisite Corpse

(Each person wrote one word on a card, then the cards were mixed up and read out consecutively)

throwing solemn face

crazy flower, beautiful notebook help!

shiny bird,

frenetic monolith holding radiant waterfall

complicated bees singing cowardly moss tower

luminate lusterous art