"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
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.
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!
Write, delete, write, delete, write, delete...
That's how my morning is going.
It's how my life is going.
Write, delete, write, delete...
At the end, I'll be
a still cursor,
flashing, on
a blank
page.
that liminal moment where i had to rearrange all my unconsciously reconstructed memories to match where it actually came from again was certainly A Moment