Displaying items by tag: renku

Siblings in All Things
A collective poem written by Moudi, Scott, Amy, Nan, and Becky on 3/23/17,
loosely informed by the Japanese form Renku.

Attentiveness
opens us to the world
like a prairie unfolding
like earth responding to rain
drinking in life and growing.
I plan to go drinking. I can taste
writing and whiskey.

Bumping into drunken hours
of dinner parties
I tell people my name.
the one I chose for myself,
not the one given to me.
Once something is given to you,
it is yours. What you do with it
depends. Intentions can be deceptive.
Be honest, entirely honest!

I love sleeping on the ground,
something shifts before I sleep.
I feel my feet.
Feet have intelligence
I ask them for help
when I’ve lost something
they walk me there!
Walking is dreaming
dreaming is half of life.
We dream together
this shared life.

A notebook with a purple cover,
the choice was mine, a reflection of me.
I recognize my reflection.
Mirrors sometimes show
siblings and friends.

I find the ground again
and give her my weight.
The ground supports me,
connects me to all beings.
We are community,
the very essence of we.
We are siblings in all things
but most of all in dreams.

Five Poems from Rough Shared Pages
by Thursday night River Writers

Bumping into people with their own needs.
I’m just not sure what needs I can get met tonight,
but something needs to shift before I sleep.
Before I sleep, I’ll find the ground again
and give her all of my weight,
the ground who supports me
and connects me to all beings.
We, above all, are a community of support,
the very essence of what makes community
about we.

Our attentiveness together
seems to open us up to the world.
We open like a prairie unfolding
like the earth responding to rain.
Responding with thirst,
drinking in life and growing from experience.
What I plan to do after class
is go drinking. I can taste it
that smooth strong brown whiskey.
We feel that the cure for what ails us
is writing and whiskey.

In the final drunken hours of intimate outdoor dinner parties
I would tell people my name.
My name, the one I chose for myself,
not the one given to me.
I feel that once something is given to you,
it is yours. What you do with it
depends on your intention and strength.
I feel that intentions can be deceptive
when you are not being honest with yourself.
We can be entirely honest!

I love sleeping on the ground.
I feel the ground pressing up on my feet.
My feet have an intelligence
that I love to honor by asking them for help
when I’ve lost something
They walk me there!
Walking is a form of dreaming
and dreaming is more than half of life.
We dream together of this shared life.

I chose a notebook with a bright purple cover,
the choice was mine, it was a reflection of me.
I remember the moment I didn’t recognize my reflection.
My reflection in mirrors sometimes
shows my siblings and friends
more than me.
We are siblings in all things
but most of all in dreams.

This is the collective work of eleven participants from our Walk In Beauty retreat held in Sante Fe, New Mexico during September of 2016. The original text appears beneath this refined version. All eleven voices are present in the shorter poem. The method of revision was inspired by the Japaneese form of Renku. 

I’m ready
to be an inspiration
like salt—
life-sustaining,
pleasure giving
space.

In a white adobe room
I feel pain
pleasant hunger
beauty in us
curious about the pattern
the absence of instruction

why so short?

Walking
a gift by itself—
to share this walk,
life changing.

Feet and legs are free.

I see the salt shaker
remember my faith
sit next to my life
with a sense of wisdom
the air is cool and moving outside
though a Pueblo in here
my palms are sweaty
the bardo
is inevitable.

I feel good.
James Brown in my head
happily lost
lost and finding
my slower, deliberate pace
carefully guarded.

Help me
please bring me back
to clouds, flowers, people
bring us back to this place
sounds I long to visit
silence
wants to be heard.

Anxious about packing
you love your luggage
you are going
we’ll pack lighter
return lighter
what feeling!
A curvy wood-beamed space
a blue kleenex box
in the center
many people
tears, laughter, energy
the Buddha’s small smile

Under stucco and beam ceiling
about to sneeze
it won’t last
isn’t that always true?

Tears soothe and cleanse
I have missed so much!

A tree wrapped in lights
peeling bark clings to the arms
through a pane glass window
through green and yellow leaves
golden smooth candles.

I’m hungry
and have peed
and am glad
I am taking good care of myself now
I feel my sit bones
My heart growing for these people
this gloriousness!

Rich
vibrant
love

raised
up.

Original Text

1.

I am writing to you from inside my head.
I feel ready to be an inspiration.

I like the salt shaker on the fireplace altar.
I wonder who placed it there and who they were thinking of.

NACL:life-sustaining. pleasure giving.

Salt flats create space for brine shrimp to mate
Smells that push us away.

2.
I’m sitting in a circle of a dozen beautiful humans
in a white adobe room in the land of enchantment.
I feel a pain of pleasant hunger as I skipped lunch
so I could wander Guadalupe Street.

Connected in this place.Beauty in us, among us, around us.
I hight recommend green chili stew wherever you can find it.

Curious about the pattern of grey & red carpet’s memory
I feel the absence of instruction.

Why was this retreat so short? Why are these sweet people going away?

3.
I’m sitting feet on the ground
I see the sanctuary salt shaker- warmly remembering my faith.

Sitting next to the love of my life with a sense of his wisdom
Remembering our walk at lunch through the Canyon Road Gallery

The air is cool and moving outside, though like a Pueblo in here.
My palms are sweaty.

We are in the bardo.
It is inevitable.

4.
I’m writing to you from Sante Fe.
I feel good.

Now James Brown is in my head
I am happily lost.

Lost, and found. Lost in time and space.
While finding my pace. A much slower, deliberate pace.

Carefully guarded personal space.
Thanks for helping me pop my bubble.

5.

Please bring me back to this place in New Mexico-
the clouds, the flowers, the people.

I will bring us back to this place of beauty

Beauty in faces, places.
Sounds near and far.

Places I’ve longed to visit.
Sounds silenced that want to be heard.

6.

I’m sitting on a yoga bolster
I’m noticing how anxious I am about packing.

As much as you love your luggage
it doesn’t always mean you are going and not returning

We will pack lighter when we return

I am lighter inside.
What an open spacious feeling.

7.

I’m writing to you from a curvy wood-beamed sacred space
a blue kleenex box sits in the center

There are many people in this space
with a lot of laughter, smiles, and tears.

Tears wipe away
laughter, energy and a smile you will never forget

The Buddha’s small smile
tears drift away int he wind and laughter builds quickly.

8.

I’m in a dark cabin of a room with a horrible burgundy floor,
I’m hungry and have peed and am glad.

I am taking good care of myself now
I can feel my sits bones.

My heart is growing for these people
I’m wondering where everyone is going to dinner

Eat, drink, and remember this gloriousness!

9.

I’m writing to you from a hard metal chair under a stucco and beam ceiling
I feel like I’m about to sneeze

I can’t believe these beautiful people in a ring
It’s sad it won’t last, but isn’t that always true?

Ivy heart is open
Tears come to soothe and cleanse.

Celeste just kills me!
I have missed her so much!

10.

I’m writing to you from the Ristra Room at the Inn on then Alameda
I see a tree wrapped in lights with a peeling bark
that clings to the arms of the tree

I’m looking through a pane glass window
sun shining through the green and yellow leaves

I’m thinking of the golden smooth candles stamped “made in Mexico”
I’m imagining writing postcards for real

New Spain - Mexico. Rich vibrant love. Spirit raised up.

11.

I’m writing to you from a forum of 11 other souls
sharing a walking retreat in Sante Fe

I feel gifted to be here

Walking is a gift all by itself
but to share this walk, this journey,
adds depth and warmth to my experience.

Can’t focus on one thing in my thoughts
this experience is life changing.

I like the photo by the door the women
carrying water pots on their heads
I love untucking the tight white sheets so that my feet and legs are free

This poem was written collectively by 16 participants of the Embodied Writing class held at Art Access Gallery on April 4th, 2016. We loosely employed a method inspired by the Japaneese form of Renku.

There is room for you
where I once grew honeysuckle
and sipped from the stems

the air is still.

I will miss the unborn
apricots this summer
roots of the tree in me
my green heart aches with songs.

Rooted in this life so deeply how do I brave the change?

next to my white paper cup
a blackbird of spattered paint
looks up at the wooden beams

nebulae burst
I may never have children
electricity enchants me

paint spilled everywhere
evidence everywhere
time marching past
I obsess over lost
and found

they have a purpose
like flying buttresses
these porous ivory ribs

she moves freely
under the gaping archway
my closed throat aches

bodies crave touch
soft and warm
opening
my mind is freed
the wind has done its job

when you come home
open the patio door,
I’ll be listening still.