while I sit here
I chew on what you said
that last time we spoke
in words
concurrently
I masticate a delicious salad
made of only things good for me

now that I’ve chewed it completely
I’d say that conversation was
made of only things good for me
I will absorb the nutrients
of what you said
and it will allow me growth

I’ve been feeling a little off lately and think it’s because I’m having some trouble with my wrists which is making me both nervous about working as well as less inclined to get exercise. I decided to go to yogatothepeople today for a yoga class (gotta run – it’s in 30 min) and on their website, came across this poem that spoke to me and only me (it felt).

from “Letters to a Young Poet”
by Rainer Maria Rilke

I want to beg of you much as I can to be patient
toward all that’s unsolved in your heart,
and learn to love the questions themselves,
like locked rooms, or like books that are
written in a very foreign tongue.

Do not seek the answers, which cannot be given you,
because you would not be able to live them,
and the point is to live everything.

Live the question now,
perhaps you will then, gradually, without noticing it,
live along some distant day into the answer.

if i paint my nails the way you would
and wear my clothes as if they are yours

if i dream of you when out of body
and spend waking hours longing for those dreams

if i share your soul
with the rest of the family
but not so much this body

will i still be part of us
will we still take journeys together
make plans and strategies
etherically working the physical
enjoying existence
not looking at a goal
but simply be-ing because
it’s
what
we
do

|||||||

have i forgotten a plan
that was laid
aeons before

am i stuck
longing
for something we planned
i would simply appreciate
when i could

i don’t remember home
as much as i’d like
but i know i want to go there
to re-read the plans
to re-feel the task
to be re-minded that this is a joyful existence

but i do go there
without my body
regularly

sometimes you are there with me
re-minding me of the sweetness

the body waking is then oh so bitter

|||||||

what if insanity really does run in the family
and these are just the rantings of
a mad mind
that simply cannot capture
the ease of this place, this body, this task, this connection

i’m sure i’ve got plenty of time
to work it all out

isn’t that the plan?

I wrote these poems when I was in college and recorded myself reading them a couple of months ago.
Obvious always seems to be writing poems and he recorded his readings around the time I did, just so Joel could add music and put it up on his now-retired radio show on KRUU FM out of Fairfield, Iowa.
One never knows what Joel will be doing with his website and its content, so listen soon and then hit him up on his guest book so he can feel the love.

while you were away
by Richard Newman

I thought about sex. I turned 40, drank beer
on the back porch by myself. Called an ex.
Last night, the woman across the alley, the one
with that green porch light, suddenly appeared
in a white and black Dalmation-spotted bathrobe,
bare legs, and slippers and shuffled down wet bricks.
She may have seen me, but she also saw
our other neighbor’s Datsun gone, that guy
she dated once or twice, out all night,
and so she quickly shuffled right back home.
From the front side of the house, across the street,
a guy kept yelling, “April! April! April!”
He pounded on the door, “C’mon, April!”
I am also sick of the month of March.
The season sucks us out of our houses, pulls
us onto porches and down damp alleys. We keep
testing our breaths against the cool night air.

This afternoon I made corn chowder, baked bread,
roasted asparagus for the Bollingers,
the mother deep in chemotherapy
for the second time. Their ten-year-old daughter
plays sweeper on the fifth-grade soccer team.
I wonder if the couple still has sex,
and if they do each time feels like the last.

Tonight the neighborhood is quiet.
No dogs bark. Everyone must have been
sucked back inside, maybe licking their wounds.
Our neighbor’s light still burns a fungus green.
The roots begin to stir in the cold March rain.
I feel like I’ve been 40 all my life.
My daughter is at her mother’s, and tonight,
you are so much farther away than sleep.
I finish another High Life, go upstairs
and crawl beneath the covers, shiver, naked.
The dog’s been on the bed, smelly but warm -
the only warmth tonight, so I’ll take it.

a simple appreciation for life
just the way it is

*

losing friends
making new ones
simultaneously opposing feelings
tho one hurts more than one feels good

essentially, the game is to simply let the felt experience happen

*

entering a new sphere of influence
shedding that which is no longer needed
discovering new realms within which
to coexist
and function

*

jasmine and rose
remember my heart for me

blister on my toe
remind me to heel

tension in my shoulders
your job here is done

bliss in my heart
have a cup of flowers and stay a while

i’ve been told that i’m no good at killing the minotaur
(or the medusa
or however the myth goes)

but I’m still in the middle of the battle
and the battle is evermore.
or, at least, until I get over the drama of the body…

[insert angels laughing riotously
knowingly
lovingly
dripping their effervescent tears onto my head
to remind me of home
and why I'm here]

[meanwhile, back on the battlefield:]
the mirror is being aimed
the light is reflecting and finding it’s target
the medusa is shattering
the minotaur has a broken leg
at least
maybe even lost an eye
his tail is definitely shorter than it was

i feel overwhelmed by being in a body
overwhelmed by having a heart
overwhelmed by calls to integrity and goodness

they make sure that
every step is weighed
every thought analyzed
every interaction graded
processing is constant
learning is ever-present

silence does not exist here anymore
__________
i’m so tired

“i jus wan take nap rih her”

(quoting my youth
when
lighting a cigarette off of the one i wasn’t even finished smoking
was what i did when drunk at a party)
_________________________________
am i drunk on the heaviness of existence?
am i regretting taking the drink of incarnation?
am i losing my ground-ded-ness?
________________________________________________
“life’s ups and downs are easy when you have a fast car”
is written on a card
magnetized to the fridge
at my borrowed sanctuary
where I go to feel loved and open
and give thanks for the opportunity
to throw my arms wide and let go

yeah, let’s go
let’s use that fast car and go for a drive
blast the tunes
throw open the sunroof
drink wine
hit the beach
relax
RELAX
breathe clean air
run
play
laugh
LAUGH
giggle
play
laugh
run
drive
weee!

{this has been an active process by adrienecrimson – we hope you enjoyed the ride – to some art is about process rather than outcome, hence the first draft quality of this collection of words}

legend states that every so often, a strong fire builds inside that hollow and clears out all of the blues that get too heavy and sticky.
the fire leaves it looking like some of those redwood trees up there in northern california.
still growing but the center of the bottom is hollow and charred.
the tops are green and red, just as they should be.
and their root system is so wide that they don’t even need the center to have any mass for them to remain standing.

that is just like this heart folks.

it is currently in burn mode.
you can see the smoke exit thru the aorta.
it’s wings are gone and the blood has retreated until the burn subsides some.

there is always some fear that the charred tissue will become all that there is of this little heart so until that time, step right up and watch it burn.
perhaps the blood will flow again and sprout new wings.
perhaps not.