Hello Justice Poetic friends and family!
This week I am on a search for peace, comfort, and stability. My work flows from me differently given the circumstances of the life I am living. That is the joy of poetry. One cannot really fake poetry. Or set it up to meet the demands of a search engine.
See my poem on this, “Tips for Writing Poetry Online,” for my take on hearing people talk about writing for SEO optimization, and how poetry does not play that game:
This week I have gone through a bit of hell. A bit of hell that I thought was mostly over. A bit of hell involving an actual wolf at the door, or rather, a narcissistic person that I have to legally share my daughter with. We had a year of peace after a three year long custody battle.
Events of the weekend involved terror, PTSD, annoyance, disappointment, and an overall sense of mourning the loss of the potential of peace. Anyone who has to share custody with a high conflict, abusive, narcissistic person knows my struggle. If you are someone who is blessed enough to not have to endure this, I hope my poems can speak to you just the same.
I did not mean to take my poetry to this place of non-peace, of anger, of yes, rage and hurt and pain. But writing these poems, this series, did help a bit. Now to find that money and that lawyer, yes (thank you Sam Kimberle for the poem sharing shout out this week in your Thankful Thursday)? I want to thank Christina Ward 🌼, Heidi Franklin, Abdullah I. Shawaf, Ryan Fan, Ansel Allen, Ashwini Dodani, Tapan Avasthi, Manas Kala, and B. Michael Logan for checking in on me, listening to me, and being family to me, for real.
Now that we are out of the woods, briefly, look up. Take a breath. I wrote happy poems. I wrote love poems. I wrote tribute poems. And I wrote, of course, poems about poetry and poets. If we do not sing about us, who will?
I wrote this one for Ansel Allen but, since I wrote one for him last week I did not want him to think I was stalking him. However, now that cat is out of the bag. Not that I condone putting cats into bags, wow. But you know what I mean. He knows, I am sure. He is a delight, a gift, an inspiration and I will probably always write poems for him, so be prepared.
This poem about poetry is also a poem about being a poet parent. Nice, right?
And this poem about being a poet is about my mind, my mind, my non-stop talking chattering poet mind. And how I love her, really. I am grateful for her, really.
And in all of this, I still did it. I managed to write a love poem. I love PS I Love You Poetry Sunday. It has become tradition, both to write for it and to wait for it, like Christmas. And then, on Poetry Sunday morning, I read each poem, down the line, and feel the great and unique and powerful feelings that only poetry can bring. So enjoy this love poem that my love loved, and that many members of our Medium family loved as well, and I am grateful for that.
This week I have had ideas, grand ideas, small ideas about making poetry possible in new and on the ground ways. About making poetry something valued in ways that will provide value for poets in terms of making a living that sustains our ability to poet.
I made business cards that declare that I am a poet. I might create chapbooks, I might create a website, I might, I might, I might. But in all of that, I know I will do something. Poetry is my passion, my fuel and fire, my comfort and healer, my art and my craft. I want to care for it and develop it in ways that also care for and develop me, as all artists seek and wish to do.
I let it take me where it takes me now. No resistance, no second-guessing, no what will people think or say, what will I think or say — I think, I read, I write, I share, and I do it over and over again. What an amazing life, right friends? What a gift and a joy to be, as I say in “Mirror” “poeting in public places” with you all and for you all.
Also before I go this week I want to thank someone. Someone too sweet for words. On the day before the really bad court order violation day, well, one of my friends, one of my family, one of my poets, sent me a care package. Sent me love in the form of chocolates and sweets. This is rare kindness folks. This is Medium poet family level kindness. So I do not know if she wants this but I need to do this, as I was going to write a poem for her anyway, — here it is, devoted to the one, the only, the talented and cool, Heidi Franklin.
There’s nothing else like
a mystery care package
from a caring friend