I have years of writing here on my wordpress blog, and this will stay archived for you to enjoy. But this is a very random collection of columns and musings and outdated things and…well, it’s pretty much like the gigantic pile of laundry on the spare bed waiting to be sorted. It’s never going to happen. I just pick through to find what I want and leave the rest for another (never) day. It’s a word pile that’s not really serving any of our best interests – or who I am now.
In The Gloaming focuses more specifically on life and the creative journey. While there are some random writings, everything has a goal of walking with you through that liminal space between where you just were and where you’re going. We’ll focus on the process, not necessarily the product, as we sit together in the gloaming.
In the penumbra. In between it all.
The blog is free to subscribe to. You’ll be prompted to consider a paid subscription; just skip that. You don’t need to pay to read anything but I do recommend you subscribe to get the posts via email.
the gardens of the Environmental Studies program at Allegheny College, 2023
(This poem is written by participants in my Collaborative Creativity workshop at the St. Davids Christian Writers’ Conference, June 2023)
IN THE GARDEN
I am the air, carrying the sweet scent of a flower and the musical melody of a bird to a mournful heart; bringing moisture to lift dry soil back to life; replenishing the lungs of a tired body; and rejuvenating the spirit of a weary soul.
I am the mulberry tree, looking so simple – green with 1000s of differently identical leaves, but now showing no evidence of my flowers and fruit, that will come in their season.
I am the rich, dark soil; broken, raked, overturned; teeming with complexity and filled with nutrients to nurture growth.
I am a wildflower, deeply rooted, yet aimless; persistent, thriving despite being untended; faithfully showing up, not to lead but to perhaps encourage; a supporting actor in the summer bouquet.
I am a rock, steady and solid, small and fragile, immovable but easily tossed, porous but impenetrable.
I am the succulent that thrives by bending my leaves and resting them in the soil.
I am suspended by the flow of liquid that ripples around me and through me. I am in a serene space inches below the surface of chaos and I am at peace. I am a golden splash of sunlight called fish.
I am a leaf that used to be a bud, but I’ve unfolded, steeping in sunshine, soaking up rain, preparing to become crimson in my last flash of glory before I turn brown, fall off, and crunch under your feet…never to leave your memory.
I am the soil, gathering the spent blossoms of last year, the castings of worms and what seems worthless. I hold them and over time transform them into something precious to nourish the roots of today’s new growth. I waste nothing.
I am the weatherworn pine, with branches no longer in service, hidden behind fragrance and foliage with far greater appeal. And yet I offer shelter and new growth and proof of life in the seeds offered to a world hungry for new beginnings.
I am the air, carrying senses in and through the lives of those who live.
I am the ground, sealing off for the frost and softening for the growth.
I am the wood, using moisture to build strength.
I am the storm, causing chaos to bring change.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
THE POEM & POETS
This poem was the result of a writing prompt I gave participants in a workshop I led on Collaborative Creativity at the 2023 St. David’s Christian Writers’ Conference, held at Allegheny College. The prompt was to go outside into the gardens or stay inside in the living atrium and connect with nature in some way. Then write a statement beginning with “I am….”, suggesting they use nature as a metaphor for some part of themself.
I collected the responses, compiled them, and read the poem at the ending night banquet.
THE ARTWORK
A photo I took of the gardens at the garden at the Environmental Studies building on the campus at Allegheny College, where the conference took place.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
This Exquisite Collaboration Project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work with no one seeing what the other participants contributed. My goal is to encourage non-writers and artists to embrace their creative selves in a safe, supportive, “you can’t fail” environment. What began as a way to maintain some sort of connection with other people during the early days of the Covid lockdown has continued to unite strangers from around the world in creative collaboration.
In the garden at Allegheny College’s Environmental Studies
OUR NEW STORY written by the conferees at St Davids Christian Writing Conference during a general session, June 2023
I used to be spry and now I am stiff
I used to be young but now I am older
I used to be young but now I am old
I used to be ugly but now I am passable
I used to be thin but now I am thick
I used to be healthy but now I am sick
I used to be a Masters in Social Work student but now I am a writer, because I got sick
I used to be a writer but now I am a waiter
I used to be an irate driver, road raged but now I am serene, calm and cool, despite what is going on around me
I used to be broken, disheveled but now I am peaceful
I used to be an orphan, now I’m a favorite daughter
I used to be afraid, but now I’m tentative
I used to be afraid, now I am unsure
I used to be eager to please but now I am obstructive
I used to be bound but now I am coming undone
I used to be overwhelmed but now I am not as bad
I used to be an English teacher, now I’m an anything teacher
I used to be a professor, but now I am retired
I used to be scared but now I am excited
I used to be shy but now I am able to express myself
I used to be a dreamer but now I am a wonderer
I used to be shy but now I am outgoing
I used to be shy but now I am bold
I used to be very pressured about control and others expectations but now I am enjoying the freedom
I used to be married but now I am happily divorced
I used to be ME but now I am…me. Can I find again? Can I see?
I used to dislike who I was until I realized that God made ME me
I used to be a white crayon but now I am a rainbow
I used to be invisible but now I am seen
I used to be invisible but now I am invincible
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
THE POEM & POETS
I led a general session at the St. David’s Christian Writers’ Conference in June 2023, on turning self-limiting statements into new stories. At the end, I had everyone respond to a prompt I use often for self-reflection:
I used to be _________ but now I __________.
I collected the responses, compiled them around themes, and, at the request of the venue director, read the poem at the ending night banquet.
THE ARTWORK
A photo I took of the gardens at the garden at the Environmental Studies building on the campus at Allegheny College, where the conference took place.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
This Exquisite Collaboration Project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work with no one seeing what the other participants contributed. My goal is to encourage non-writers and artists to embrace their creative selves in a safe, supportive, “you can’t fail” environment. What began as a way to maintain some sort of connection with other people during the early days of the Covid lockdown has continued to unite strangers from around the world in creative collaboration.
This morning, I hosted a Creative Open Space with the lovely Misty Yarnall. Like every event I host, we put the event out there, planned as best we could, invited everyone we know, and then left it to the creative gods to make the magic happen.
Here are some thoughts after this event:
* As we were nearing “start” time, I told Misty that I’m never sure if I hope no one shows up or everyone shows up. I love being a good host but I also just want to set the scene and then crawl under a table to watch what’s going to happen.
* In the end, people always show up, and it’s the right number of people every time.
* I have a loving core of humans who support me by putting their collective energies and spirits in the same space at the same time, over and over again. And while they are acquainted with each other and always seem happy to see each other, they don’t actually “know” each other. And yet there they are, together again, right on time, making the world a better place because they are there.
* People I don’t know, or who I haven’t seen in forever and two days, will also show up, because “I just felt like I was supposed to be here” or “I was craving community” or “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about…” and they will add to the beauty.
* This combined group of people will always be exactly the right people to be in that space and time. Call it destiny, call it divine guidance, but things are waiting to happen in the universe and all of the pieces need to be together to get things started, and today’s the day, folks. I can see this happening in real time, even if the people involved don’t. It’s like clear, calm space one minute, and the next minute sparks are flying all over the room.
An unstructured, creative doodle (c) 2023 Joanne Brokaw
When I was in grade school I had teacher who gave the class an exercise to do quietly while, if memory serves me, she graded papers and filed her nails. She called us up to the desk, one at a time, randomly made a line a piece of paper, and then handed the paper to us with the instruction to turn it into something. While other students worked hard on their drawings, I doodled, turning that one curvy line into another and another, until I’d created tangle of squiggly lines. I remember being done before everyone else, and when I brought my paper back to the teacher, the conversation went like this:
“What did you make?” she asked.
“A squiggle,” I said proudly.
“What’s a squiggle?”
Uh oh. This was a test. “It’s…a squiggle design?” was my cautious reply.
“That’s not good enough. Try harder,” she said, handing me another paper with another line, reminding me that I had to make some thing out of the mark. An actual picture. Of something real.
What I’d crafted with the squiggles was real to me. But even at that young age I was learning that the most important thing was to always obey the grown ups. So when she gave me the second page, I turned the mark into something recognizable. I seem to remember there being a house involved.
Squiggles moved on the pages; houses just sat there. But the teacher was pleased with attempt number two, reinforcing the lesson that if you give the people in charge what they want and keep the squiggles to yourself, you win their approval. This is just one of many chapters in the story of how people-pleasing became my lifelong coping mechanism.
In my current exploration of tools for adult creative play, I’ve recently rediscovered the joys of simple doodling. Much like pour painting, there’s no agenda. I’m just clearing my head as I let my hands produce lines and shapes and patterns, randomly combining colors, and then figuring out later what it is I’ve created. If it’s anything at all.
I was surprised to find that this kind of creative meandering is known formally as Neurographic Art, “invented” in 2015 by Russian artist Pavel Piskarev and now a widely recognized form of art therapy. What I was doing in a very simple form back in grade school now has science-backed evidence to support the neurological and therapeutic benefits of unstructured creating.
While the scientific evidence is fresh, the concept wasn’t new even when I was a child. Consider 19th century British artist Georgiana Houghton. Working with spiritual intuition and Divine leading, her works are meditative and inspiring. They predate the abstract art movement by decades and formal Neurographic Art by more than a century.
Neurographic Art and Houghton’s spirit-led works are more in depth creations than the casual doodling I enjoy, but both are working with the same ideas of letting the unconscious lead the artistic process.
Which brings us to a little piece I did last night. I pulled out a sheet of card stock, grabbed a marker and some paints, and started creating. When I was finished (finished being the moment I didn’t want to do any more), I had a soggy piece of paper dripping with watercolors accented by the stink of the marker I’d used to draw with. But since the goal was just to create until it felt done, I didn’t care. I did it. It was done. I set the page aside, opened a window, and went to bed.
This morning, with fresh eyes, I can see I was processing on the page some emotions and concerns I’ve been carrying – consciously and unconsciously – the last few days. The death of my dog last fall. Open windows for new business (but not doors, weirdly; I always see these opportunities as windows, which is something to explore). Water. Blinders over my eyes to things that need my attention. A laundry list of things that have been jumbled in my head, creating sadness and melancholy and hope and inspiration and rest and growth and relief.
And it’s still pretty enough to hang on the fridge.
Here are some suggestions if you’d like to try this form of unstructured doodling:
1. Get something to write on and something to write with. It doesn’t really matter what you use. Paper, cardboard, the back of an envelope. Pencils, pens, crayons.
2. Create a comfortable space where you can sit for a while without being disturbed, however that feels right to you. I find sitting outside in the sun with birdsong as my soundtrack to be the perfect setting when I’m writing or sketching. Maybe you enjoy soft music or silence. It doesn’t matter. Just sit and be present in the moment.
3. Without thinking about what you’re doing or why, make one long mark across the page, moving your pen however it feels right (squiggles, lines, etc), crossing over the lines as you feel led. You’re done when you want to stop or your pen leaves the page.
4. Look for places the lines intersect, and turn the sharp corners into rounded edges. This is one of the things that takes random doodling a bit deeper. You’ll find this task requires focus, and in that focus you’ll likely find you’re able to let go of whatever is flitting around in your head. (You may notice in my drawing I missed some sharp edges. Oh well. That’s the beauty of these kinds of art projects. You do you, my friend.)
5. Make a few more lines on the page; repeat rounding the edges.
6. Add some shapes to the page. Remember, you’re not trying to create something in particular. You’re just giving space for marks to organically come together on the page.
7. Using crayons, colored pencils, markers, paints, whatever you want, color in the spaces. You can even add patterns inside the spaces and color those tinier spaces. Do whatever you’re feeling, as long a you’re not trying to make something happen on the page.
8. When you feel done, you’re done. Take some time to really look at what you created. Notice how what you created without intention mirrors things you’ve been trying to process in your every day life. If you’re inspired, journal about what you see in the images and how they make you feel.
There’s no question there’s something therapeutic about just creating for the sake of creating, allowing what comes out – shapes, patterns, colors – to help you process what’s going on under the surface, and letting the squiggles escape into the world.
April is National Poetry Month, so let’s celebrate with the responses to the prompt from March, in all of its glorious wonder. Contributors were asked to provide five words in this format: Adjective, Noun, Verb, Adjective, Noun. You can learn more about the poem and the 20 contributors at the end of the post.
sparse words paint vivid pictures (a collaborative poem)
bored crows crowd crowned corn
lofty towers descend yellow corridors
green grapes dance purple grapes
shining shamrocks shade green gypsies
blue kittens run wild toys
spoiled felines crave warm sunshine
talented calligraphers create beautiful art
brilliant words beckon beautiful poems
lively tunes speak grand patterns
opalescent eyes dream golden harmonies
life-giving water sustains life-giving women
feisty females make fabulous friends
delicious nerds dance willing flowers
crazy hearts run roaring times
busy bees hover soft sky
shuddering poplars share modest dreams
colorful birds sing perching branches
free souls want only time
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
THE POETS
Jen Tissot
Mindy Hoffbauer
JS
Laurie B
Coriander in the Spice Rack
Robin Murphy
Sue A. Fairchild
The Jackalope
Kay Ross
Chris Johnston
A. Moses
LDA
Lynne
Jack
Ty
Justin Rielly
Yvonne DiVita
Christina
J.M. Roth
JudyW
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
THE ARTWORK
Thanks to artist Mark Groaning for sharing the image used with this poem. I gave him just the poem title, and he sent a few photos to choose from. This was the first that came through, which is the one I used, and it was perfect.
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THE POEM
For our March prompt, contributors were asked to provide five words in this format: Adjective, Noun, Verb, Adjective, Noun.
I’ll be honest. As I compiled the 30 lines from 20 contributors, I experimented with tweaking the verb tenses and adding in articles to make more “sense”. That’s no uncommon to do with this prompt, and sometimes I make tiny tweaks in the final poem to help the pieces flow. But in the end, this poem wanted to be presented to the world raw, each line as it was contributed.
I agree. Everyone who reads this will see and hear and feel something different, and that’s the point of these Exquisite Collaboration Poems. But one thing is for sure…sparse words paint vivid pictures. (See what I did there with the title?) The only changes I made were to punctuation and capitalization so it flowed visually.
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OUR POETS HAIL FROM
Rochester, NY
Ohio
Fredonia, NY
New York
Maine
Watsontown, PA
Houston, TX
Hong Kong
Fairport, NY
Minnesota
Binghamton, NY
St. Cloud, Florida
Bangor, Maine
Penfield, NY
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
This Exquisite Collaboration Project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work with no one seeing what the other participants contributed. My goal is to encourage non-writers and artists to embrace their creative selves in a safe, supportive, “you can’t fail” environment. What began as a way to maintain some sort of connection with other people during the early days of the Covid lockdown has continued to unite strangers from around the world in creative collaboration.
Love is like getting hit with a Mac truck,
a soft smelling, sudsy bubble bath with a gorilla during a blizzard,
a warm fuzzy kitten that draws blood with its claws when it’s had enough.
Even manipulations and rages and murders arise from love.
I wonder what the world would be like if we committed to cultivating kindness, respect and playfulness within, moment to moment, and quit worrying so much about love, if others really loved us?
Love is like salt on the tongue, wind in the trees, silk to the touch, a rose in bloom – at its height, but wait for the inevitable decay.
Love can destroy and cause new life in the same minute.
It is beautiful and terrible.
It is all of it.
Love is a longing for someone out there, that someone you wish you were with
the allowing of all and sharing it.
I can’t help but lose my balance; love is the world spinning beneath my feet.
Love is like a secret that tiptoes into your heart in the quietest of moments bringing unexpected joy to an ordinary day,
a warm blanket, keeping us warm and cozy,
a hand reaching down to lift someone out of the dirt.
What difference might it make in our moments if we chose to marry based on kindness and respect instead of love?
Love is like a father who marries his daughter off, but always keeps a light on and the door open wide enough to let her know home never lets go.
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THE POETS
Christina
Brigid
Jean Marie
Justin Rielly
Janyce Brawn
s
JM Roth
MEH
Jennifer Eagleton
Shikha S. Lamba
JudyW
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
THE POEM
This month was a simple prompt. Participants were asked to write a sentence based on the phrase:
Love is like…
Responses were edited slightly to remove the starting phrase “Love is like…” to help the poem flow, or for spelling or punctuation
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OUR POETS HAIL FROM
Macedon NY
Pennsylvania
WNY
Hong Kong
Maine
Florida
Rochester, NY
* * * * * * * * * *
This Exquisite Collaboration Project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work with no one seeing what the other participants contributed. My goal is to encourage non-writers and artists to embrace their creative selves in a safe, supportive, “you can’t fail” environment. What began as a way to maintain some sort of connection with other people during the early days of the Covid lockdown has continued to unite strangers from around the world in creative collaboration.
Click here to read the series of Exquisite Poems and to find the links to the current prompt so you can join in the fun.
That time, pre-pandemic, when I dressed up like a butterfly for an event at the Seneca Park Zoo.
I learned something recently about butterflies and caterpillars.
I always thought a caterpillar went into a cocoon and shed its crawly outer self to grandly reveal the butterfly beneath, hidden wings simply unfurling in the dark before bursting back into the world anew.
Nope. The process is actually gruesome. It involves a complete deconstruction of the insect, a total unmaking, a breaking down into a cellular soup of everything that makes a caterpillar a caterpillar in order to build something completely new from the mess and goo.
The clatter of the dog’s toenails on the kitchen floor, as she wanders into the kitchen to check on the progress of the toast, has gone unheard for months. The silence is deafening.
I’m letting go of fear and I’m grabbing a hold of faith.
I am getting rid of clothes I no longer wear, canned foods beyond their use-by dates, coffee mugs I never use, and unrealistic expectations and goals,
fatigue, disappointment, and dust on books,
disorganized clutter, because I’m ready to dance and I need space to flail,
saying goodbye to old assumptions as to “who I should be” in order to embark on new adventures and new ways to become my best self.
Goodbye to resistance, because I’m ready to fly.
I’m saying goodbye to places I used to know, because I’m ready to celebrate in other places without snow;
anger, because all it does is create fire in the face of kindness, no matter how clumsy or nervous the form it takes;
fear, because healing becomes trapped in its snare, and to heal is to be free and defined the broken bits of me;
the need to please other people, because I’m ready to be pleased myself.
The heavy weight of fear and regret must go so this midlifer mama bird can fly.
Farewell sins of others, I will not feel your shame any longer, as now is my time to heal.
Goodbye toxic people, because I’m ready to feel less lonely,
letting go of the negativity that weighs me down – people, things and thoughts,
shedding fears, anxieties, “what ifs”, because it’s time once again (at long last!) to fly–someone has left the gate open!
I’m leaving behind the old version of myself that was defined by other’s expectations, as I carefully craft the me I want to be,
shedding high-heeled shoes and skates and skis, to keep intact my septuagenarian knees,
goodbye timelines, because all I’m good at is breaking their continuum by interfering. I just need to let things be and untie the plans that just want to fly away.
Goodbye bland acquiescence and getting by, you are the the round belly of my personality – making deep breaths really uncomfortable. Hello to creating space for myself and others, as we are and as we are not.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
THE POETS
Brigid
Paula K. Parker
Coriander in the Spice Rack
Jenean M. Roth
Lori Duff
Marcia Gunnett Woodard
Tracy Gerhardt-Cooper
Sara Zavacki-Moore
Justin Rielly
Jen Tissot
Lynne
Lisa A. Johnson Speaks Life
WAK
Margaret
Fred
s
Anne Murphy
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THE POEM
To close out 2022, participants were asked to “write a sentence discarding what you don’t need to make room for what you do.” Their contribution could take any form they wanted. Responses were edited very slightly, occasionally removing punctuation and opening phrases like “I”m saying goodbye to” or “I’m letting go of”, allowing their words to flow in a powerful collaboration.
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OUR POETS HAIL FROM
Dallas, TX
Rochester, NY
At my desk at work
Istanbul
New Jersey
In the neighborhood
New York
Webster, NY
Western NY
Tullahoma, TN
Florida
Loganville, GA
The Only Swayzee in the World!
* * * * * * * * * *
This Exquisite Collaboration Project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work with no one seeing what the other participants contributed. My goal is to encourage non-writers and artists to embrace their creative selves in a safe, supportive, “you can’t fail” environment. What began as a way to maintain some sort of connection with other people during the early days of the Covid lockdown has continued to unite strangers from around the world in creative collaboration.
Last week, for not the first (or second or third or fourth) time in the last month, I stood at the stove making a pot of soup.
I’m not a great cook. I don’t really even like cooking, if I’m being totally honest. The creativity that flows in some areas of my life hits the wall in the kitchen, and I’m okay with that. I have a few standard dishes I rotate through. I rely heavily on my crock pot in the winter. We eat a lot of grilled chicken and salads in the summer. We have some favorite take out places. It’s not fine dining but we’re not starving over here.
But making soup? This is a signature meal, and numerous times over the last few weeks I’ve turned carrots, celery, escarole, chicken and vegetable stock, rotisserie chicken, and a pinch of white pepper into liquid comfort.
It’s a kind of kitchen alchemy, turning base ingredients into healing balm for mourning, sickness, fatigue, distress.
I often hold back a cup of soup from each batch to eat later. I think about the person it was made for and hope it eased some stress in their day. I imagine them finding nourishment in a meal they can quickly reheat so they can focus on their family and not the food. I think about their situation and wish them peace. It makes me feel good to be able to provide. I hope it makes them feel good to be provided for.
It’s a kind of communion ritual.
I’ve had a lot of discussions over the last week about the nature of help, our motivations for giving, beliefs about spirituality and the Divine, the effectiveness of prayer. Big questions that often arise in times of distress or crisis.
I once heard an interview with an astrophysicist who said that scientists can only see about 25% of the known universe, that most of what we know is out there is invisible to us. Beyond that is a mystery.
In other words: We don’t even know what we don’t know about what we do know. We can’t possibly know what else is out there – or who we are in the context of physical infinity, let alone spiritual.
Do our good intentions or pleas offered to the invisible actually help? I’d like to think so.
And so, I peel carrots, and chop celery, and stir the elixir as I whisper words of encouragement and hope over the pot with the confidence that God and the Divine and the stars and universe will respond.
It’s funny how we run for the things on the horizon,
the storms that chase us with fierce wind and darkness as we gaze other days, all the quiet glow of the setting sun.
And we wonder, will we see another day of storm and sun?
As she watched the sun rising on the horizon
she realized that her life would also.
“On the horizon I see my future,
just waiting for me to put one foot in front of the other
and claim it.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
THE PARTICIPANTS
Jen Tissot
Mickey Cherry
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
THE POEM
This month, our poem prompt offered lots of room for experimentation as participants were asked to contribute up to three lines prompted by the word “horizon.”
For me, most of January was one snag after another as Covid number surged, events and classes cancelled, and quirky technology mucked up the poem prompt link and monthly mailing. All of which is to say that in the midst of that two poem participants picked up the ball with this reminder that while we might be in a momentary muddle, new opportunities are just over the horizon.
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This Exquisite Collaboration Project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work with no one seeing what the other participants contributed. My goal is to encourage non-writers and artists to embrace their creative selves in a safe, supportive, “you can’t fail” environment. What began as a way to maintain some sort of connection with other people during the early days of the Covid lockdown has continued to unite strangers from around the world in creative collaboration.
BRIGHT MORNING I AM MEANT TO BE
(a collaborative poem)
Hello darkness, my old friend, as time’s incessant pendulum swings yet again.
Adios thinking, being, self-realization.
Billionaires with their dragon-hoards
Sit still and get stupid.
Fields of control rampant,
Strength in numbers, working poor,
Deeper questioning, open-ended.
Hello frigid, bright morning
There is a light on in the living room – just a candle in the window, but it lifts my heart with joy because I know he’ll be up, anticipating.
Goodbye to what you knew, to what you said,
Hello to what you will know, to what you will say.
Hello another trip around the sun.
.
She raises her hand and waves it, but it’s nigh on dark and I can only imagine her there, hand up, lips in a smile, standing a little on tippy-toe, to reach over the high gate.
Goodbye Daylight.
Goodbye short sleeves and sandals.
Goodbye the last trip around the sun.
Goodbye to what no longer aligns with me.
Hello to what I believe is what I am meant to be.
* * * * * * * * * *
THE POETS
Janet Coburn
Miki M
Maur J DeLaney
dwa
Jack
Justin Rielly
Yvonne DiVita, founder of Nurturing Big Ideas
Lynne
* * * * * * * * * *
THE IMAGE
Photographer and artist Anne Murphy provided the image for this poem, altering a photo she found on Pixabay. Anne was given only the prompts when she offered to provide the image.
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THE POEM PROMPT
Our contributors were asked to provide two lines, the first prompted by Hello and the second prompted by Goodbye. They could begin the line with those words or just use them to inspire their contribution. Their two lines could be full sentences, fragments, lists, single words – whatever they wanted. The two lines were then separated from each other and rearranged to create the poem you just read.
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This Exquisite Collaboration Project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work with no one seeing what the other participants contributed. My goal is to encourage non-writers and artists to embrace their creative selves in a safe, supportive, “you can’t fail” environment. What began as a way to maintain some sort of connection with other people during the early days of the Covid lockdown has continued to unite strangers from around the world in creative collaboration.
Transition is the main theme of my life,
trepidation around stepping into the unknown.
The transition from wife to widow is like the transition from spring to winter;
something was lost in translation.
No longer allowed to teach Mockingbird?
So impossible to understand.
Did anyone fight this?
Get off your ass and do something!
I feel the sun pulling me outdoors.
Another warmest month ever recorded,
helping me transition from there to here,
never knowing if the demons in the shadows are real or only my imagination.
Sometimes the burden of coming out repeatedly is heavy, like elephants swimming.
Or transition.
Vulnerability to overflow the confines of expectation and assumption,
strength to expand into galaxies of authenticity and wholeness,
curiosity and excitement about the future.
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THE POETS
C.W. Rainbeaux
Mickey Cherry
LDA
Greene King
Maur J DeLaney
Jack
Yvonne DiVita, Founder of Nurturing Big Ideas
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THE PROMPT
For this month, contributors provided two lines prompted by the word TRANSITION. Those lines were then used to create a free verse poem.
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THE PHOTO
For every poem, I ask someone to provide an image, photo, picture of their own artwork, whatever they want offer up to go with the poem. Here’s the thing: they get ONLY the prompt. They don’t get to see anyone’s submissions or the finished piece. This month, I posted on Facebook, said I needed an image, explained the prompt was “TRANSITION”, and I’d take the first image offered up and that it would be the right answer.
Beth Boatright, who’s participated before in some off these poems and gets that the process really is about making an offer and letting the creative gods sort it out, responded right away with this photo of the produce section, saying, “That’s the first pic in my camera roll that strikes me as evocative of transition. I was surprised that they [the bananas] were edible in just two days.” Perfect.
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This Exquisite Collaboration Project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work with no one seeing what the other participants contributed. My goal is to encourage non-writers and artists to embrace their creative selves in a safe, supportive, “you can’t fail” environment. What began as a way to maintain some sort of connection with other people during the early days of the Covid lockdown has continued to unite strangers from around the world in creative collaboration.
One of my new paintings, as yet untitled. (c) Joanne Brokaw
A note about this poem:
During the November Holiday Shop Hop at Central Creatives Co-Work of Art, I invited visitors and shoppers to write on an index card one hope they had for the new year and then clip the card to string I had hanging around the entrance to my studio. I explained that these would then be combined to create a community poem. This was the first in-person poem I’d facilitated since the Covid lockdown began in 2020.
Most people were skeptical at first, until I explained that they only had to write one hope they had for the new year – the rest of the poem would work itself out. I added that they shouldn’t try to be funny and don’t overthink it. I loved watching people’s faces when they finally grasped the concept; even the most resistant took time to jot down a thought and quietly clip it up with the rest of the cards.
Well, here’s what you all came up with!
Every contribution was included: 37 cards, 37 lines, from all ages, sorted into hopes, frustrations, and positive intentions for the coming year. The only changes I made were to capitalization and punctuation. Nothing else was changed to force it to fit. This is what is is, and that’s what it is supposed to be.
My hope for the new year is that you know that you are born of the heavens and stardust courses through your veins. May you be a willing portal for creativity, innovation, and community in 2022. xo
At the end of this post, you can read more about the Exquisite Collaboration Project, and find links to past collaborative poems.
And now, the poem….
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HOPE FOR THE NEW YEAR 2022
My hope is that Melania and Ivanka can bury the hatchet since they’ll be roommates at the crowbar hotel.
I hope that empathy find its way back into the hearts of the people,
for everyone to be treated equally,
hoping that people can be kind to each other and respect one another again.
More common sense.
Less division.
Will it get better?
For the new year, I want Covid 19 dead.
Celebrate the small things:
Happy, healthy family
Beautiful clouds
Rock hunting Lake Ontario by moonlight
Finding joy in my art
Healthy new granddaughter; a peaceful, loving community; an end to the division in our country.
I hope my fantasy football team wins.
To discover my purpose and live it every day,
I want a cat.
I would like to stop putting things off until tomorrow,
find more “heart” in all I do.
I hope for improved health and well being for all of my loved ones and a bright future for all.
My hope is to find my soul-mate in 2022.
My sister and I have a better relationship.
More open hearts, ease,
more sunshine, less pain.
Joy and self love!
Finding hope again.
My hope is for the humans to treat other humans equally,
build bridges to end these divides,
find more gratitude,
joy and peace, contentment,
the end of Covid worldwide.
I hope that I will be successful in going through the college process.
I hope my future explodes like a supernova, so bright!
To take a journey, enjoy the adventure and have a new story to share,
to be happy without others,
you are exactly where you’re supposed to be right now. You can only compare yourself with yourself.
Hoping that the world heals, in as many ways as possible.
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THE POETS, in no particular order:
Laurie Dobson
Chris Hipps
Lynne
Ella Eckert
Amy Krecker
Nancy@scavengedthoughts
Joan R.D.
Christina G
Wendy Kaiser
Connie Gaylord
Marilyn
Sue Anulis
Remi
Marcella
Mark Groaning
Beth
Maxwell M Clement
Alex Eckert
Toto
Lisa
and those contributors who wished to remain Anonymous
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THE PAINTING
The method I use to paint requires a lot of mess, some experimentation, and then patience to let the paint do its own thing and let the images or message reveal itself in its own good time. This is one of my new paintings. It started as a giant mess – I mean, it was a disaster – and I was going just to scrape the canvas and start over. But I was tired and decided to leave it overnight and deal with it in the morning. I was delighted when I checked on it – the colors had settled and images started to emerge. It’s exactly the process we used in this poem – I took what we had and let it reveal itself when it was ready..
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This Exquisite Collaboration Project is based on the Exquisite Corpse, a technique created by Surrealists in the early 1900s, in which participants add to a work with no one seeing what the other participants contributed. My goal is to encourage non-writers and artists to embrace their creative selves in a safe, supportive, “you can’t fail” environment. What began as a way to maintain some sort of connection with other people during the early days of the Covid lockdown has continued to unite strangers from around the world in creative collaboration.
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Notes From The Funny Farm 