When A Poet Lives
We are everything.
For days now everywhere I look in the online internet space, tribute after tribute has poured in for
. The impact of one life when lived out loud the way they did - is immeasurable.I keep imagining them dancing in the ether, spinning poetry in the wind, hanging out with all of the people we miss who have also become stars.
We’re in this bittersweet place where we are also dancing together and spinning poetry in the wind for one another. I never knew so many of you are fellow poets! (But of course you are!)
I’ve caught myself wondering what the world would be like if we all could see through our poet heart eyes every day. If we were all able to shift and make magic out of our messes.
What kind of world would we, could we be?
When grief hits me, the poetry comes. When love wrecks me, the poetry comes. And so it is and does for so many of us. How beautiful to not be alone. How beautiful it is to keep creating through all of this heartache, not just for Andrea, but for everything happening in the world and especially here at home. (Fuck these cowards in this administration who want to destroy us. Keep creating - they cannot silence us all.)
I hope we all continue to take our broken hearts and turn it all into art. (Nod to Carrie Fisher for that.)
And now I leave you with two poems. May we all keep our hearts and minds open. And remember…
Let your words fall out. And remember to live.
I wrote this poem a few days ago - “when a poet dies”.. and then..
I looked around my life yesterday And realized What does it matter If my hips are outsized If my smile is lopsided If my heart is shattered What does it matter If the world is On fire When a poet dies What are we left with Everything I wanted to tell everyone I saw These petty grievances Don’t matter Unless you turn them Into art When a poet dies What does it do to our hearts Blown wide open waiting for Everything What does it matter If my hands are gnarled Roots If my ears only hear constant Ocean waves What does it matter When the world is On fire When a poet dies What we are left with What they have taught us How to see What matters most of all Not the body Just the heart Even if its shattered and shuttering What does it matter When the world is on fire What are we left with When a poet dies The infinite enlarges And wraps them up To remind us We are Everything Still Even when A poet has died.
a dear friend reminded me that a poet also lives.
I looked around my life yesterday In awe What does it matter If my hips are outsized If my smile is lopsided If my heart is shattered What does it matter If the world is On fire When a poet lives What are we left with Everything I wanted to tell everyone I saw These petty grievances Don’t matter Unless you use them Turn them Into art When a poet lives What does it do to our hearts Blown wide open waiting for Everything What does it matter If my hands are gnarled Roots If my ears only hear constant Ocean waves What does it matter When the world is On fire When a poet lives What can we become As they are teaching us How to see What matters most of all Not the body Just the heart Even if its shattered and shuttering What does it matter When the world is on fire What are we left with What can we become When a poet LIVES The infinite watches And waits to wrap them up To remind us We are Everything Still When A poet lives.
Thanks for being here friends! I would love to read your poetry. Please please please share here!! 🩵🩵🩵
Big love to all of you.
Xoxo - Me.
When I left myself
To find a way
Death came so quickly
I didn’t really notice.
I brought others with me
A journey into the unknown
Dropped down into a place that
Had felt so strange
Yet…
Life was the light that shown
So brightly there.
Salty air & sound
That licked the deep wounds.
Of a thousand lifetimes
That lived inside this body.
Mine.
Resurrected.
Nurtured back into Breath.
A quickening
Of body, of mind, of sprit.
I was aware.
Light oozed from every corner
And shadow I avoided
Became a blanket.
I learned the Way.
Love embraced my every step
Into my new
Birth.
Human to the core
Free to laugh & love.
Joy is our birthright.
Death is only a way-station.
To seeing with our poet heart eyes as often as we possibly can 💕💕🪽