write

https://allpoetry.com/So-You-Want-To-Be-A-Writer

Morning Pages Exercise

http://juliacameronlive.com/basic-tools/morning-pages/

"If beauty is simply our radiance from within projecting out, how do we let that inner light shine? How do we stroke our inner fire? How do we cultivate our radiance? An essential ingredient is acceptance; accepting ourselves exactly as we are, good and all. Our culture wants us trimmed and clipped like a well-cut lawn, but we're not manufactured, manicured mannequins. We're women! We're the embodiment of the Diving. Every hair has a purpose. Every curve is a blessing, an expression of our creative, feminine power. To deeply relax into the body, as it is, to accept and bless every hair, every mole, every freckle, every fold exactly as it should be is to embody our femininity. It's the first step to true beauty."

- Sat Purkh, Everyday Grace

Piedras sueltas
by Octavio Paz

1
Flor

El grito, el pico, el diente, los aullidos,
la nada carnicera y su barullo,
ante esta simple flor se desvanecen.


2
Dama

Todas las noches baja al pozo
y a la mañana reaparece
con un nuevo reptil entre los brazos.

3
Biografía

No lo que pudo ser:
es lo que fue.
Y lo que fue, está muerto.


4
Campanas en la noche

Olas de sombra
mojan mi pensamiento
-y no lo apagan.

5
Ante la puerta

Gentes, palabras, gentes.
Dudé un instante:
la luna arriba, sola.

6
Visión

Me vi cerrar los ojos;
espacio, espacio
donde estoy y no estoy.

7
Paisaje

Los insectos atareados,
los caballos color de sol,
los burros color de nube,
las nubes, rocas enormes que no pesan,
los montes como cielos desplomados,
la manada de árboles bebiendo en el arroyo,
todos están ahí, dichosos en su estar,
frente a nosotros que no estamos,
comidos por la rabia, por el odio,
por el amor comidos, por la muerte.

8
Analfabeto

Alcé la cara al cielo,
Inmensa piedra de gastadas letras:
Nada me revelaron las estrellas.

LOVE! LOVE! LOVE this!

"Master your mind and you can re-create your reality"  ~Sonia Ricotti

A Color of the Sky

BY TONY HOAGLAND

Windy today and I feel less than brilliant,

driving over the hills from work.

There are the dark parts on the road

                     when you pass through clumps of wood   

and the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean,   

but that doesn’t make the road an allegory.

I should call Marie and apologize

for being so boring at dinner last night,

but can I really promise not to be that way again?   

And anyway, I’d rather watch the trees, tossing   

in what certainly looks like sexual arousal.

Otherwise it’s spring, and everything looks frail;

the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves

are full of infant chlorophyll,   

the very tint of inexperience.

Last summer’s song is making a comeback on the radio,   

and on the highway overpass,

the only metaphysical vandal in America has written   

MEMORY LOVES TIME

in big black spraypaint letters,

which makes us wonder if Time loves Memory back.

Last night I dreamed of X again.

She’s like a stain on my subconscious sheets.   

Years ago she penetrated me

but though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed,   

I never got her out,

but now I’m glad.

What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.   

What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.   

What I thought was an injustice

turned out to be a color of the sky.

Outside the youth center, between the liquor store   

and the police station,

a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;

overflowing with blossomfoam,   

like a sudsy mug of beer;

like a bride ripping off her clothes,

dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,

so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.   

It’s been doing that all week:

making beauty,

and throwing it away,

and making more.

True love/gratitude > limerence

From Hamlet

Nature is fine in love, and where ’tis fine,

It sends some precious instance of itself

After the thing it loves.

-Ophelia