Mindful Poetry Gathering- April 19, 2023

Our third gathering for National Poetry Month 2023 was so grounding this week. We listened and contemplated the poem "Possible" by Carlina Duan. Stacy Sims opened with a grounding meditation and Poem Facilitator Samyak Shertok gifted us with the prompt: 

What makes you possible?
Create a list poem with as many small things as you can think of about what makes you posssible.

WATCH a video of the gathering and live reading of the poems created by our gatherers. 

READ poems created by the group below and in our annual publication (coming August 2023).

JOIN us at our last gathering this month on April 26, 4-5 PM EST with facilitators Haleh Liza Gafori and Sheila McMullin. We'll be celebrating the poem "Remember" by Joy Harjo.

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Untitled
by Sarah Catton

It seems, lately
I'm made possible
By objecting to
Paths others have preached
Crammed
Ignoring me
It works best when faced
With the exact opposite
Even if it takes years
"Study for money. For survival."
So many years of grief, denial
To follow these rules
Finally now
I begin to explore
Connecting with me like never before
But I'm still sorry, elders

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Stream of Possibility
by Sarah Pinho

Today, I thank the sunshine and the impossible blue after weeks of deluge that brought forth those tiny salmon-pink buds, whom I also thank, at that nature center to which I can still cycle, despite that tremendous hill, because, thankfully, my newer bicycle is lighter than that dear old Schwinn that I was able to buy for only $200 in Chicago and bring with me here to Los Angeles.

Today, I thank my impossibly beautiful brother and his kiss on my cheek and the consistently grumpy expression on the barista's face. I thank the flexible weave on this chair embracing my pompas and the haphazard scattering of the books across bookshelves in this coffee shop. I thank the black bean patty and thank my freshly clean poof of hair. I thank earrings tapping gently against my earbuds, tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. I thank heart reactions on shining faces on squares on my screen.

I thank goosebumps that run down the dry skin of my right arm when Samyak says "possible”. I thank carpal tunnel hardening my forearm, reminding me of life and death and life and death. I thank the voice of LeVar Burton reading speculative fiction and the sensation of lukewarm oat milk-splashed americano on my tongue.

I thank the way this moment, these people, these words transform into a vision of a yellow dress and legs skipping, skipping over a curb and down a sidewalk and around a corner, all somehow right with this great blue world.

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Yesterday's Air
by Holly Brians Ragusa

Today I thank the breeze that carries me through this day- the closest chink I have in the chain to freedom, knowing a dead calm traps my soul. The soft-haired brush of black catness grazes my ankle, her light caress, a reminder of love and dependency. My dog’s forceful field, as steady as the moon, hovers at my knee, is no less loving. A hum cools my laptop as I type. I am its daemon or it is mine. I know no other co-dependancy.

Fatigue sinks my mother into her bed downstairs today though her tired smile still fills a room with kindness. She has plans for her eight decades tomorrow and just needs to put her feet up. My stomach gurgles, that keen reminder of my priviledge as options await me while other bellies go unfilled. An over-easy egg will fry for supper in Mom’s honor and crown an avocado toast with sauteed onion and peppers that I can already smell. Until then I’ll ignore my rumblings and keep working in the shade here listening to poets and chirps of neighboring children and birdsong against the city’s humming below. The luxury of time and typing sits well with me.

The blue of this sky though pummels me with pain, forecasting the months until jackets and scarfs will again cradle me. Last week I found myself happily chilled beneath another sky stretched wide enough to share with mountains and clouds. That sun spilled magically onto sparkling black sand of grains so fine as to hold the secrets of life. They pulled gently from my palm magnetically back to their beach. You and I walked across that volcanic magic trick while diamonds of broken icebergs lay smaller than gemstones and larger than coffee tables glistening around us. Our laughter surfed and lounged on their surfaces, as we ran from icy foam and sneaky waves.

I was becoming used to Icelandic rainbows and waterfalls. Becoming a fixture in a hot spring. Becoming one with Wilco’s You And I. Becoming used to smoked fish and lashing winds. Becoming. Stacking my days upon yesterdays and today’s sun is warming into this afternoon spring and still the cool evening air that deepended my sleep last night will find me tonight as I dream of my love returning the following evening, he too, floating in, flying a tin can on a breeze into the window of my home, only full with him here.

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Kristy Rainwater

Possible

Today I thank
Chocolate.
The breath in my lungs,
moving smoothly in and out.
The sound of the fly buzzing
on the other side of the window screen.
The way our eyes meet
and we laugh already knowing
the thought we each just had.
The way your love makes me dauntless.
The way Taylor Swift songs make me dance
my way through the grocery store.
The way peacock feathers glisten
and give me courage and hope.
How forgiving myself let’s me see
the North Star.

Shine Like Stars In The Universe

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Patricia Franz

I am possible

today I thank
the oak that gave its life for our fire
its sweet smoke taking refuge in a memory
rising and reaching for foiled stars
in a painted diorama
you and your JOMO
leave me behind
a single blade of clenched green
between teeth
our daisy chain tiaras
a breezy day that smells pink
the cool snap of clean sheets
and a prayer
tucked into hospital corners
permission from me to lay
on a summer bed
time to puzzle time
like The Lake House
and imagine its me reading your letter
from the future
the poem in my pocket
the same pocket that holds a stray, tattered ribbon
you could not leave orphaned
on our path
your gift to me
that gold-blooming day

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Read more of our poems here