"I choose, for moderate comfort, a thin tree
whose tallest branch has yet one leaf
hunched brown. A flag? Defiance? Obstinance?
A declaration I suppose.
I make it mine."
Thirty spokes converge on a hub
but it’s the emptiness
that makes a wheel work
pots are fashioned from clay
but it’s the hollow
that makes a pot work
windows and doors are carved for a house
but it’s the spaces
that make a house work
existence makes a thing useful
but nonexistence makes it work.
— Lao-tzu from ‘Taoteching: With Selected Commentaries from the Past 2,000 Years’, tr. from Chinese by Red Pine
"Next morning I'll confess I overmarmaladed
the toast on purpose, trying to make up
for the chromatic deficiency, for orangelessness,
though the sky begins to show at times
we can observe, now, look -"
We write poetry constantly, unknowingly,
in our endless gush of posts.
I say this ferociously, unjokingly.
We write poetry constantly, unknowingly,
whether heroically or stoically,
humbly mumbled or in boasts.
We write poetry constantly, unknowingly,
in our endless gush of posts.
"when i am alone, i hear the thrum of blood pumping against my shirt. i feel my mother and grandmother wrap their arms around me until we are all chest to chest, the mirrors of our hearts beating in sync, as unending as the ocean lapping the shore"
"I filled my backpack with rocks
& loveletters to the deep & swung
it into the lake. I grew up with hardened
shoreline instead of sand between my toes."
So stoked to share that I’ve accepted a freelance blogging gig at Read Poetry, an online community that celebrates poetry as a form of expression, activism, & self-care.
My first article shares 4 poetry prompts to support self-care and mental wellbeing. Check it out on readpoetry.com, and be sure to subscribe to their blog to get future articles from myself and the rest of the Read Poetry blogging team!
I hear you call, pine tree, I hear you upon the hill, by
the silent pond
where the lotus flowers bloom, I hear you call, pine tree.
What is it you call, pine tree, when the rain falls,
when the winds
blow, and when the stars appear, what is it you call, pine
tree?
I hear you call, pine tree, but I am blind, and do not
know how to
reach you, pine tree. Who will take me to you, pine tree?
-- 'I Hear You Call, Pine Tree' by Yone Noguchi
"As every new day waking finds its pitch
Selecting a fresh angle, so the sun
Hangs down its veils, so the old verbs
Change their invocation and their mood."