This passion surfaces, rushes, boils inside me,
raging against the rocks of my conventionality,
demanding release, commanding my pen –
its voice a roar obstructing constraint –
insatiable creativity.
I should be back soon.
(Today’s prompt is to write a poetic prose in the form of a postcard.)
A dear friend of mine passed away recently. She was a potter, and the gifts of her creations fill my home. This poem by Jazz J is as exquisitely crafted as Nadine’s works. I share it with you today to honour both women.
March 16, 2018. This poem emerged while studying Zen poets – mostly male, but one female poet made the syllabus.  Otagaki Rengetsu (1791–1875) became a Japanese Buddhist nun and one of the country’s most respected female artists – combining her poetry, calligraphy, and pottery.  She learned from Kyoto potters and decorated her rough and rugged bowls, cups, and other vessels with her poetry, either painted on or scored into the clay in flowing calligraphy. Orders from tea masters and others kept her very busy. This collage of found images shows both her pottery and calligraphy styles.
What corridor is this?
What beckoning –
wordless
sublime…
is this awakening
or does death
posture
in shadows…
my heart yearns
mourns …
to be absolved
of this strife
Let me surrender
let Grace guide
uncertain limbs
carry me…
I am ready…
Introducing
colour to water
offering it up
to blank pages
learning less is better
and gentle strokes
elicit blossoming results
Introducing
colour to water
breathing life into
blank spaces
offering gentleness
to blossoming creativity
reveling in the delight.
(This poem was penned for the Story Circle’s Network
e-poetry group in response to February’s prompt – treasured
moments.”
Set me on the open road,
encourage me to cross borders;
I am hungry for knowledge,
to hear a higher calling.
Cannot tolerate chained-to-
chairs education, imposed
immobility, socratic hierarchy
demanding conformity
spoon-fed compliance –
am too much my father’s
daughter, born rebellious
unable to mold myself
to prescribed slots
would rather initiate
discussion, engage, listen –
let shoes emote, tell their
story, develop compassion
never felt more than a visitor
in institutions, marks adequate
but brain absent, spirit numbed –
more punishment for delinquency
than awakening.
How can we convey the future,
instill optimism in prospects,
when the language of education
is secondary to how students
communicate in real-time?
Minds are energetic, curiosity
a given, youth crave elevation,
opportunity, measure themselves
against a system defined by rows.
How can I cross this barrier
of disability, open the dialogue
to ignite passions, propel learning
to open road scenarios, encourage
minds to cross borders?
(Reposted from December, 2106 in response to The Daily Post prompt: calling. Teaching, I’ve always believed to be my calling – loved it passionately, until I had to give it up in 2014 due to ME/CFS)
At what point does insecurity subside,
shift into confidence, or are we destined
to infinite life lessons, half-hearted attempts
at moving on, convinced that the past holds
the answers, not willing to admit there is no
going back, and what does that even mean?
We elevate the educated to positions of power,
never questioning the depth of their experience,
nor whether wisdom gained is part of the equation;
what qualifications should someone have to critique
our capabilities, and why let the expectation of other
carve our performances, dictate circumstances that
may or may not couple with our aspirations?
We are creators in our own right: our ideas,
our dreams, all valid testament to our right to be;
we need to speak up when conditions don’t meet
our needs, when obligations exploit or humiliate,
take ourselves seriously, overlook insecurity and
step into the righteousness of our personal path.
(Image: tinybuddha.com)
I have dallied with success
mingled with the scent of
expensive coiffures, swooned
to the physicality of well-fitted
suits, oozing polished confidence
eyes that penetrate the core
of my desire, arouse a feral
vitality, make me squirm like
a school girl dreaming of her
first crush’s kiss, too old now
for such foolishness, besides
I am married to impotence
have long ago committed to
the fruitlessness of outcomes
suppressed futile yearnings
Oh, but I am not immune
to flights of fancy – virility
freezes over but does not
die out – imagination stirs
flesh warming to power’s
promising caress, how I
would unleash this secret
explode with potential, if
I still bore the vivacity of
youth, could do it all over.
(Image: Pinterest)
They set up classrooms in malls,
call them “alternative”, cater to
those who have fallen through
proverbial cracks, teens unfit
for institutional learning…
I was wayward once, could not
value education while teenage
angst pushed me overboard –
home life too quixotic for
reasonable expectations of
comportment …
My heart reaches out
to those displaced, for whom
common curriculum does not gel –
I long to meet with them on concrete
benches, over cups of Tim Horton’s
lending a sympathetic ear…
School is not the defining moment
the last stop before our final destination;
it is a stepping stone, one of many paths
that lead to discovery, to definition,
troubled souls crave soothing…
maybe, if I could light a torch
for just one child, build a bridge
of hope, the girl in me would be
quieted, reassured, healed –
validation ensuring a future for all.
(Image: classroom.synonym.com)
Change
is happening,
feel the stirring
root deep,
hunger churning
excitement builds
heart expanding
breathe the thrill
open to possibility
spirit revealing
receive the blessing
clarity of vision
will engaged
trust the process
believe in self
creativity soaring
grounded in reality
change
is happening
(Image: idolza.com)
Why do I try to please
those whose motivation
is only self-serving, material
gain more important than
intrinsic rewards?
How is that I’ve tied
myself to the downtrodden,
dependent upon the nay-sayers –
those lacking imagination
incapable of celebration
settling for the mundane,
as if choices are limited?
I want to embrace each day,
dignify each moment,
regale the glory
life is miracles
and mystery, passages
and opportunity; and I yearn
to break through the walls
of limitation and rejoice
yet I am subjected
to the whims of others,
passion overridden by
disappointment, convinced
I am never enough.
(Image from pinterest)
One Woman's Quest 