Yoga Nidra, 'Blossom Bodies' Poetry

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New Poems, fresh from 2018!

Apparently this first poem was published back in May 2018 (I don’t think they shared it on social media, though, I checked…!) regardless, here it is:

Blossom Bodies

white tree blossoms on the hot tub, night

covered lenses: covered lenses catching

balance blossoms, falling through

cracks so beautiful it

it breaks my—inside my

bones are—inside

breaking, I call the dog two

more times, beside the fence

pressing my chapped lip and

ripped inseam, pants gone

loose and ashes nesting in the urn, loose

ashes in the next room’s window

white mourning doves carried in a side

pocket purse, breaking inside torn

inseams, bodies burned

Listen to me read it out loud by visiting Meow Meow Pow Pow (MMPP) here.

 
 

This next poem came out more recently, mid-December 2018, and was included in a collection of dreamwork writing called deLuge Journal. There are many gorgeous pieces included in the whole collection, so if dream, shadow, meditative writing really gets your goat, I invite you to read the entire issue by clicking here.

My poem, which is a a finessed piece of River Writing from one of Nan Seymour’s drop-in “One Night Stand” workshops here in SLC, starts p.19! Also pasted below.

A Deer, a Hawk, a Snake in Nidra

A self in the garden, pressed by heat. All I can think is how

full my bladder is. Keep walking. Stay in the sun. Move to the

shade. Roll over. Pull over. Stop here. I wish it would quit. In

the desert is a garden. In the garden is a wake. Then a birth.

Think of the bees, nestled amongst the blooms of flowers. I

see you there. Find me there. Strawberries, toads, a river runs

wild. Sunflowers and cotton stuck in my hair. I am free and

full of love. It is hot but the sun is the birth of the life of force

of starting what’s good and bright and new. My yellow sun,

scorched up dad, solar flares distorting space and flipping

magnets. Make way for aliens. I welcome you. I find you

here. My heart is full of love, drink this water, it’s cold, crisp,

clear. We are in the gold room, in the garden, where everyone gets

what they want. The truth is we can’t find ourselves long

enough to recognize the pull of a want, desire’s tiny tug on

the hem of our worn blouse. The itch on my skin reminds

me I’m alive, the discomfort of this earth-body sack of skin.

I pale myself and hurt myself and think of times and things

I’ve used to harm my body, the weight of my back, of past

experiences, my belly, the veil over my eyes, the wet wool

scratches my skin and mildews through any present good

health. I cleanse myself in salt and maté, the rich green tea

of earth swallows me. If I could bleed out memories that

still linger, I would. Don’t lose self in the valley of shadows,

tribute to times lost with the boy with black eyes, his next

great American novel, fighting the battle between pain and

nihilism and wanting to hear. Nihilism and pain won. How

much we miss when we move on. We lost Pluto, but gained

missions to Mars and close-up shots of Jupiter from Juno.

Are there messengers to come to light? I think of all who’ve

passed, my family and grandparents and mother. Who helps

and who hurts. A forced family to heal from and contend

with. Let me let go, let me move on. I am loved, I am love. I am

holy, I am whole.

"We are in the gold room, where everyone gets what they want" (in italics in my poem) is from Richard Siken's 'Snow and Dirty Rain,' one of my favorite poems, if you haven't read it before.

Click ‘post comment’ below to let me know what you think. Have you ever done meditative writing before?


Lastly, I’m wrapping up my 2018 year-in-review blog post. Stay-tuned to find how much I accomplished, failed and experimented this year.

Hint: it was a lot!