“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” –Rumi

Poetry Writing Workshops
for Ross

You hold me

We circle freely.
The moon rises
in our heart of laughter.

I hold you.
Together we light a path
through the darkness.

Sometimes all we can do is play
helplessly endlessly
No one else gets the joke.

Years pass
And we glide through them
like silk
like water
like candle flame

by Nell Newton

Had breakfast
with the God of Hellfire.
Made him laugh so hard
he held his ribs.
Left him standing in a thrift store parking lot
with his suitcase
and pillow.
Such a friend!

Billiards Haiku
–written by my good friend Ed Cameron on the Oregon Coast

To a cue ball, the universe
is two dimensions
until it falls into
a black hole

birth in the air over the living room rug, 1997
by poet extraordinaire Fred Tarr

there goes what I thought
was one balled and crumpled paper
from a typewriter

flying the living room expanse,–
(my folks gone to Arizona)
my calico the color of Chinese rice
waits desperately to attack it.

and lo, the piece became two
and she went “waaaaa”,

her expression like an appearing
Inca priestess, her pink tongue
slips out over her jaw,

I’m thinking of sending out invitations
for this high times -a -comin’,
this coronation of most high
Goddess of Leaping Water.

invitations for fifty
and a select accommodation
with five golden pieces
of crumpled paper lying

moon-shaped on a silver tray,
a bottle of Beaujolais
garelle, Jaboulet-Vercherre
1975; want to join us?

We Write

We write like fire dancing.

Muscling massive torch thoughts.
Flinging spark messages,
brief tattoos on the darkness.

We write like toddlers slurping popsicles.
Dripping. Sticky.
No napkins. No manners.
No choice!

Sometimes we write struggling
like the salmon forcing her way home against
the relentless current.

We must lay our word eggs or die.

Late at night
we write like silk pillows.
coaxing mind down,
drowsy and drugged…
whispering to memory and madness,
“Wake up!”

We write the edge between
endlessly murmuring tidal sentences,
crashing wave phrases!

We pull a rabbit out of our hat.

The magical bunny advisor tells us,
“Leap to conclusions,
big-eared illusions.”

Under our pens the desert blooms.

Fireworks give birth.
Still rivers change course.

We write as an offering
to the sacred vessel,

floating across the waters of destiny.