Just Float, Darling

New Year Poetry Challenge, Prompt #10*

"Write a poem about COMFORT ZONES -- your particular comfort zone, jumping out of a comfort zone, a literal comfort zone, our metaphorical comfort zones, a specific event, or the general essence of comfort zones."

Just Float, Darling

I know a girl with the most remarkable skill.
Her radar eyes spot any imperfection,
see wrinkle before smile.
She can remember every wrong answer, move, mistake
without fail.
She's stands inside a swirling vortex
of depression yet 
she is a pillar of positivity.
She feels too much, I think.
Can't help but soak in the beauty around her
keeping in mind its impermanence.
"Why can't you just enjoy it, love?"
Every day she feels the rope burn, hears the steady hum,
tries to live and make decisions while this drastic polarity inside of her body
swarms.
She has a knack for assuming the worst,
has a talent for trying to destroy every thing that's ever been
any good for her.
She's always felt undeserving of anything beautiful, like love,
so the awkward proclamations of self-love she samples on her tongue
seem contrived some days.
No matter how far she comes, something inexplicable seems to
swallow her up.
There are times she doesn't feel strong enough to stomp out the lies
she tells herself.
"You're crumbling, sweetheart."
It's as if she's programmed to fail before she even tries,
why she stays in her comfort zones, no matter how uncomfortable
they become.
She feels neglected easily, like when the sun goes down.
"It has to go down sometimes, darling."
Like the moon ain't supposed to have its season too.
She must be the greenest grass
in the meanest winter.
Skilled, I tell you, to aim for impossible perfections.

She's so busy living ahead, planning for disaster,

that she can watch herself fall under the surface from a distance.
"Don't just stand there staring. You're flailing, dear.

You'll only drown, which is silly.
Who cares if you can't swim?
You sure enough know how to float."
She seems a glutton, at times, for her own
suffering.

12.22.14 es

IG: @daydreamifications

*Prompt courtesy of MoSt Poetry (Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center).

Blurred Lines

New Year Poetry Challenge, Prompt #8*
"Consider a box of crayons: the colors, the smell, the weight of it in your hands, that little sharpener in the back on the 64 crayon box, the excitement or intimidation of a new box, the way you miss the retired colors, the way the newer colors never seem quite right (wait...that might just be me). Write a poem inspired by a box of crayons."


Blurred Lines

Artists are blurry.
   They kick up dirt in dance
   and paint gritty portraits
   where the dust settles.
Their songs are often poems
that married melody
sometimes by love, sometimes by force.
   They are foggy harbors
   and sun-kissed waves
   all in one moment of longing.
Lines cross religiously
on every blank page
of possibility.
   They are an unopened box of crayons,
   a fresh scent of youth,
   yet still the wisdom of a discarded wrapper.
An artist is an untouched Burnt Sienna
highlighting the edges of an oak tree doodle
and a broken, flattened Cerulean
filling space with the illusion of sky.
   Artists are blurry.

12.17.14 es

IG: @daydreamifications

*Prompt courtesy of MoSt Poetry (Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center).

Accessus

New Year Poetry Challenge, Prompt #6*
"Write a poem about ACCESSORIES. Kitchen accessories? Truck accessories? Bed and Bath accessories? Jewelry? Fishing? Holiday? Camping?

Accessories? Accessorizing? Accessorization? Accessorial? Access?"

Accessus

My arrival
   to complete understanding
   and acceptance
frightens me.
If this does arrive--
   this knowledge,
this truth,
what else will there be to
   search for?

We live our lives in want
   of excess and
access to an ultimate...
great.
That we will arrive at something
   so great that it will make
   every little thing that ever
stung
or roared
or throbbed
   worth something.
What is all of this if it isn't
   worth something?

Problem is we live our lives
   in excess, wanting to be worth
   the wrong kind of something.
What do you accessorize your life with
   to become accessible for?
Is tomorrow another step
   closer
   or further away?

This is my arrival
   taking
      another
         step.

12.14.14 es

IG: @daydreamifications

*Prompt courtesy of MoSt Poetry (Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center).

Forgiveness

New Year Poetry Challenge, Prompt #1*
"Think of an object you were fascinated by as a child, or perhaps one you are fascinated by right now. Write a seven-line poem about it. No line can be more than seven words and so your poem should not be longer than 49 words."

Forgiveness

She handed me a crystal
knowing it was home with me.
Smoothing each side with my fingertips,
I was at peace with my grief.
Don't know if it was vulnerability
or consequence,
but with each stroke I forgave God.

12.9.14 es

IG: @daydreamifications

*Prompt courtesy of MoSt Poetry (Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center).

Hands

Working on a puzzle with Ana today.

Lying on my belly beside her,

I watch her nine-year-old fingers manipulate the pieces.

They are growing, her hands.

I can still see the three-year-old twirl in them,

the alphabet refrigerator magnets and bouncy curls,

but they are almost young woman hands now.

I want to remember them just as they are,

so I stare at the curves of her fingernails and the texture of her skin.

I admire her round cheeks, her bright eyes, her little chin.

I can still hold that chin between my thumb and pointer finger

like I used to.

She is growing

sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow.

But as I lie here closely watching her

hands

there is no such thing as time.

IG: @daydreamifications

Broken

The poet said, “No one deserves to love something broken.”

Are we born fragment? solid beam of perfection?

or do we come splinter, splintered

searching for scraps to make us whole?

If so, catch me missing in distant places,

a part of a larger puzzle found.

Column coming together, re-bar making home,

drywall relationships, soft as bricks.

We make love instinctively 
to put the pieces back together.

We feel whole when we are so much 
more than just ourselves.

Connected is all we were ever meant to be.

Before our first breath birthed us ego, flooded us wants,

all we ever needed

was connection.

A dancer’s fingertip reaches out to an unknown something,

the second it coils back, snaps back to the middle—

we are that space in between.

We are the dancer’s reach to the heavens

and bent knee for mercy,

unable to do either without hip and spine and…

balance.

Place hands on womb, feel centered.

How nature intended—a delicately intricate web.

So effective, so beautiful in the sunlight, 
so resilient in the dark.

Meant to be as dirty as connections almost always are.

Never perfect, might bend with emotion or blur into the distance,

but will still always be…

here.

We so often measure pros and cons

tipping either side of the scale forgetting

we are the pillar holding the scales in place.

We are never truly barren until we give up on our connections

to others and to ourselves.
And if love were connection,

no shatter, no quake could break us no way.

I used to believe there was emptiness in being still,

but it has only been in stillness that have I learned to encompass

all things,

and there’s nothing empty about that.

The poet said, “No one deserves to love something broken.”

She led me to discover that when we feel
b - r - o - k - e - n
it is because we are loved to pieces.

We are loved.

IG: @daydreamifications

Life Is for the Living

Life is for the living.

Inside creaky shouts

I cannot claim to know

a despair so great

that my heart should remain

quiet enough to hear

death’s leathery whisper.

Haunts some,

coaxes others.

For others still, relief.

Thought I once felt

an inexplicable grief

to be alive; it is a mystery.

Could’ve fallen beneath the surface,

stayed afloat and drowned

instead the rumor

death once told me.

Life is for the living.

IG: @daydreamifications

Unsolicited Advice for Novice Poets

1. No one wants to hear another breakup poem. Tear stains on your pillow, you have been left shattered, and something about dandelions and ribcages—we get it. Please write them; they’re beneficial to your healing process, but unless you have a new, interesting twist on heartbreak, leave those bad boys at home. (Example of an interesting twist on heartbreak.)

2. Do not judge a person who is reading a breakup poem. (Unless you’re a judge at a slam.) Speaking words in front of strangers can be simultaneously terrifying and therapeutic. Do not be an asshole.

3. Truly listen to the other poets, and be respectful. Even a bad poem can carry a great line. And even if you don’t find inspiration in others, you can at least leave knowing that you’re a nice, thoughtful person, you motherfucker.

4. If you only came to listen to yourself speak, go home. Just keep in mind that mirrors might listen well but they can’t help you grow.

5. If the intro to the poem is longer than the actual poem, it’s probably not a very good poem. Unless you’re the feature, no one cares about the layup, just dunk the damn thing.

6. Let your poems speak for themselves.

7. Poet-voice is okay when it is genuine. People can tell the difference between a persona and heart-speak. Always choose the latter.

8. Refrain from stating the obvious. We already know you’re nervous, and we don’t care that it’s been forever since you’ve read or that you’ve been writing since you were eleven. (Unless it's your first time EVER. Let us know so you can get extra love for being so brave.)

9. If you get nervous, don’t imagine the audience in their underwear, imagine them taking a shit. Remember that we’re all just human beings, and even the person you admire most has to take shits.

10. A journal entry is not necessarily a poem.

11. A journal entry is not necessarily a poem.

12. There’s a sweet spot between not giving a fuck about what other people think and giving a fuck about other people. When you find it, you’ve won at life. Find it and you’ll peek into your core self. You’ll become true to your art and will give the best of who you are.

Irreplaceable

Plastic people will

try to find a substitute

for disposable.

Out of fear they build

to last that which is meant to

be temporary.

The true splendor of

all natural life is in

its impermanence.

What lasts forever

cannot be replaced. We are

irreplaceable.

IG: @daydreamifications

Reminders

The poem came on the blue heron's breast,
through the breeze in the blackberry bushes
and gushed her stanzas along the creek.

We embraced warmly and it felt good

to look into her eyes again,

but I couldn’t hear a word she said.

I wanted to listen, but

with my fidgety hands behind my back,

I walked through the park like a charlatan monk.

Said hello to a spider and ripple after ripple.

A woman said a yellow-jacket had put on a show. (The cute little guy.)
She said, with a smile that all creation could love,

that she wasn't compassionate enough towards herself.

I wanted to hug her.

Laid in the grass in thought as I watched

dozens of tiny birds in the branches above me. I’m like them

living a countdown life; busy flitting from here to there.

On cue, a baby acorn landed on the middle of my forehead.

A peculiarly precise place to fall as if to respond, “Pay attention.

Inside each tick and tock is the pause of now.”

I pressed pause.

When was the last time I shut up for long enough

to watch the clouds roll by?

To remember I am more than just a body?

I used to labor poems to existence, carried the weight of them

until they collapsed onto the page, but on this day

she tapped me on the shoulder

and reminded me who I was.

IG: @daydreamifications

Health Care That Actually Cares?

We need to revolutionize the way we look at health care.

What I’m proposing isn’t drastic in nature, but is very different from what I’ve personally experienced in my lifetime.

The last time I went to see my (now former) Primary Care Physician (PCP), she barreled into the room with a man I didn’t know, briefly asked me how I was doing and barraged me with a series of questions. There was no denying that we were all on the clock and she needed to get out of there as fast as possible. “So you’re short of breath? Pain in chest? Coughing? Sneezing? Fever?” The man, who was obviously being trained, stationed himself in front of the computer without so much as a nod in my direction. 

As I shot back answers as quickly as possible, she gave commands to the man in between them, making me feel like she was only half-listening to my responses. "Put code such-and-such for cough. Uh-huh. Okay. So no fever?" Out of all the questions she could've had, the one she didn't think to ask was if it was alright to share what is supposed to be a private space with another person. 

Once she had heard enough of what I had to say, she immediately suggested what she could prescribe. “Your pharmacy is Walgreens, right?” Not once did she ask me how I was eating, how often I was exercising (if at all), or if I was experiencing any abnormal stress. I had to be the one to ask, "Shouldn't we check this? Shouldn't we rule out that?"

Mask the symptoms and perpetuate the root cause; this is the current state of our health care, because it is what’s profitable.

Let me begin by acknowledging that modern medicine is a great thing. Without it we wouldn’t be able to treat chronic illnesses like Type 1 Diabetes or perform intricate surgeries. But what modern medicine doesn’t do is look at individuals in a whole sense. When we treat symptoms, we are only looking at a small part of a person.

I believe that we should have a health care team which would include much more than just your family doctor. We should all have coverage for a nutritionist that not only provides an education on food, but also helps grocery shop and teaches how to actually prepare healthy meals. A life coach/therapist that helps manage time so we can cook said healthy meals and who helps manage stress. Stress is behind a vast myriad of disease, so it is absolutely ridiculous that it is not the FIRST thing a health care provider tries to assess and treat. Finally, we should have coverage for a personal trainer who helps determine which kinds of exercise routines work best for each individual’s needs.

Lower-income communities should have many of these benefits provided to them for free, as well as other services that should be provided to all such as guided meditations, yoga and/or tai chi classes, massage therapy and family counseling. And free services shouldn’t mean lesser quality. We already have services like these provided through our cities and churches, but they’re often operated by well-meaning yet untrained volunteers. I’m talking about staffing professionals and having local—even federal—government subsidize the cost.

How can we afford it? Stop subsidizing corn and soy, for starters.

We should also provide urban communities with education on how to grow their own food. It’s not as simple as putting a seed in the ground and watering it. You need to know what grows well together, how much sunlight it needs, when to plant it, etc. Local farmers could be appointed by the community to be their city’s official “Community Farmers” who oversee several organic community gardens throughout strategic areas of the city and help people learn how to be self-sufficient. Self-sufficiency is key in this world I’m envisioning. As the saying goes, “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” You feed his future generations, too.

This is our problem as a society; we have a wealth of knowledge at our fingertips, but we lack practical education on the “simple” things.

If we approached health care in a comprehensive way, we could slowly find ourselves in a country of happier, healthier people. 
And when people are happier and healthier, they think clearer.

And if we find ourselves in a country of thinkers who are no longer clouded by the abundance of stress that has been accepted as “normal,” we progress as a society in positive ways.

How we eat and move plays a major role in how we think and act. If we could balance our lives in a way that fits our unique personalities, we may collectively be better able to tackle other problems in our country. And in the same way that other countries model our behavior, we could positively impact the world.

In this "radical" world there will still be McDonald’s, just maybe not on every other block. Certain types of companies could flop, jobs may be lost. But it doesn't have to seem so scary. This just means new companies will grow to replace these jobs, companies that produce products that actually benefit people. Trading assembly lines for crop lines shouldn’t seem extreme. Health-conscious fast food shouldn’t be such a crazy concept. Doctors that actually give a shit about you shouldn’t be a rarity.

We deserve a health care system that actually promotes health.  

Change is never easy and implementing a model like this is sure to bring its fair share of obstacles, but I ask you—how well is what we have in place now working for you?

Saturday Night Sermons

I remember being too young

laying down on the benches after dad’s gigs--

especially the Portuguese hall on Ocean View.

Waited for him to finish packing up instruments,

and listened to the chatter of all the different people,

all of their conversations.

Sometimes I would pick up a random sentence,

a boisterous laugh

or a whistle.

But mainly it all just sounded like church.

There could be half a dozen or two hundred, wouldn’t matter.

It would all still sound like mass, like Hail Mary on repeat.

The pulsating buzz of shrill and baritone would lull me to sleep,

and the cool, hard bench became so comfortable.

My weighing eyelids were glad to be

way up past their bedtime.

Felt like home.

He’d have to stir me from that good sleep and I’d

pretend to be cranky.

Rode in between a speaker and the PA, wouldn’t be long before I was

crawling into a crisp bed.

Nothing like the relief

of giving in to exhaustion. The welcoming of ice-cold sheets

and a blanket up to my ear.

Somehow I’ve always strangely loved

feeling like a part of everything and nothing.

I was too young to understand the answered prayers on those Saturday nights.

I was too young to realize

God was talking.

Circa 1988

6/16/14

The "Real" Me

I consider myself to be a positive person. When I open my eyes in the morning, the first thing I do is give thanks. I believe that gratitude is key in maintaining a glass-half-full mentality.

On social media I tend to project the best things about life because that is the type of culture I prefer to cultivate, but people need to know it’s okay to have bad days. I say that because too often I impose unrealistic expectations on myself—like always being patient during stressful situations—and it got me thinking on how I might come across to those who don’t know me outside of these interwebs.

It’s not that I portray a false persona, I just opt to announce my triumphs as opposed to my frustrations. BUT IT IS IMPORTANT TO FEEL, to be authentic to your emotions at any given time.  It’s not healthy to force happiness, because that’s not real. So when I get all zen on your asses, know that that is most definitely real, but I DO curse, I get road rage, I lose my temper, I get discouraged. Not sharing more of that has less to do with shame or censorship and more to do with not wanting to air dirty laundry.

Something should also be said about creating your own environment. If you constantly talk about negative shit, you will attract a negative perspective. It’s not some new-age theory, it’s common sense. I strive to be a better woman every day and actively choose a mindset that encourages positive growth.  

The point is, when we deviate off the path, it’s important take in the view on our way back. Just make sure you DO head back, no matter long it takes.

IG: @daydreamifications

5/8/14

Worker Bee

If I were a bloodhound

I could keep my nose to the ground

I could wag my tail for kitchen scraps

content with oblivion

And if I were a garden snail

I could pull my eyes within, choose ignorance

I could keep my mouth shut

because lies prefer silence anyway

And if I were a moth

I could be lulled by the shiny things

I could obediently step into the fire,

pretend there’s value in my sacrifice

And if I were an ant

I could lift everyone up around me but myself

I could work my entire life nameless

satisfied with servitude

IG: @daydreamifications

5/1/14

This Man (Good Lord)

This man

has me floatin through Monday like Friday

ain’t even matter

Has me

sinful and sinless all in the same syllable

with every

nerve ending on my body suspended

begging for a mercy that just keeps

coming

Sweet deliverance

This man

is the ascension of poetry

Has me—Good Lord,

didn’t know the body could do such things

and we’re only gettin started

Has me

who cares if the whole damn world know

I’ve written

armfuls of love sonnets

   talkin bout caresses

   talkin bout kisses

   talkin bout forever by the minute

But this ain’t the one

This is the back-breaker

   the headboard shaker

   the we gon have to wash these sheets

Hot damn—

that’s that thing I like right there

Just

like . . .

This man

has me time travelin

experiencing alternate dimensions

in every exhale

He is answered prayer

   is baptism

   is nourishment

   is relief

He is Christmas morning

wrapped up in my—Yes Lord

Pressed around his love

like I can’t know heaven if I let go

Has me

Sweat and sauna with slight whisper

Has me

Backstroking upstream up streams

where Hell Yes feels like flying

I could drown here but please don’t save me

This man

has me feelin like plenty is a damn lie

There couldn’t be enough lifetimes

of his grasp

   his pull

   his lift

   his lean

the nape of my neck

against his breath

   his rhythm

   his rock

   my roll

   his warmth

   my pleas

This man

has me 

4/28/14

One Step at a Time

She paced the entire coast,

counted each step from either side

until she found the center

“Nothing can go wrong from here.”

She waited for the surf to tickle her toes,

gauged where she could safely stand

next, fought the urge to run

“One step at a time.”

How can you complain when you

know what you’re walking into?

There is a sweet spot

just above the knees

well below the waist

“Not much can go wrong from here.”

One misstep, one overwhelming wave

of emotion—she catches

gulp after gulp. Panics

“I’ve gone too far.”

She steps back, looks around,

waits for the sea to calm

No matter how far she goes

or comes,  it takes more than longing

to keep the scales from tipping

“Whether things go wrong or right . . .”

She doesn’t bother to wipe the wet sand

away, she has found acceptance

in discomfort

“. . . I can only take one step at a time.”

IG: @daydreamifications

4/28/14

Love Thyself

I claim, "I love me."

But I am only learning.

Someday I’ll mean it.

IG: @daydreamifications

4/21/14

Fit In

They say to get in

where you fit in, but where do

you go when you feel

like your spirit can belong

anywhere and everywhere?

Where is my place here?

All my life I’ve been floating

fluttering from each

social circle to the next

never finding rest, a home

Home is where God is

Will I spend my forever

searching for my heart?

If love goes on beyond me

why do I fear loneliness?

We all long for God

even in non-existence

Words can be brave and

convincing, but the truth is

no one wants to be alone

IG: @daydreamifications

4/21/14