From the beach church

"I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me — that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns."

—Anne Lamott
from Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith

Bluebird in my heart

On this last day of April, National Poetry Month comes to a dramatic close with Poem in Your Pocket Day.

I love this day. For weeks I have been preparing: posting poems, reciting poems, and sending postcard poetry. Already this morning, I have been gifted with poetry. Hannah, of the Young Writers (a high school writing group), emailed me a lovely Shel Silverstein ditty; and Julianna, barista at the Green Salmon Coffeehouse, handed me a coffee and one of her favorite poems, Bluebird by Charles Bukowski.

What can be better, I wonder, than standing in this circle of words?

Poetry

Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age . . . poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, not silence,
but from a street it called me,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among raging fires
or returning alone,
there it was, without a face,
and it touched me.

I didn't know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind.
Something knocked in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first, faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing;
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
the darkness perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire, and flowers,
the overpowering night, the universe.

And I, tiny being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss.
I wheeled with the stars.
My heart broke loose with the wind.

A pocket poem

National Poem in Your Pocket Day is on Thursday, April 30, 2009.
Time to write a poem, post a poem, carry a poem.
Share poems with friends, family, neighbors, strangers.

Isn't this the perfect poem for your pocket?

Hope

It hovers in dark corners
before the lights are turned on,
it shakes sleep from its eyes
and drops from mushroom gills,
it explodes in the starry heads
of dandelions turned sages,
it sticks to the wings of green angels
that sail from the tops of maples.
It sprouts in each occluded eye
of the many-eyed potato,
it lives in each earthworm segment
surviving cruelty,
it is the motion that runs the tail of a dog,
it is the mouth that inflates the lungs
of the child that has just been born.
It is the singular gift
we cannot destroy in ourselves,
the argument that refutes death,
the genius that invents the future,
all we know of God.
It is the serum which makes us swear
not to betray one another;
it is in this poem, trying to speak.

— Lisel Mueller
from Alive Together: New & Selected Poems

Off the page, the hook, the charts . . .

Off the Page was off the charts!

Held this past Saturday night, the third annual event packed the house. Over 70 people attended, filling every seat, tabletop and even the floor. Many squeezed in doorways and leaned against walls to enjoy the word extravaganza.

Two days later and I am still buzzing with gratitude — for the encouraging crowd, for the engaging writers, and for the buzz of creativity circling this community.

Books sales were brisk and the table pulsed with eager readers. Did you get your books? If not, no worries. You can still purchase, at the source:

• Words Out Loud, poetry & flash fiction by Khlo Brateng. Go here.

• Kevin's Quicksand, a novel by Sheila Evans. Go here.

• Beyond Forgetting: Poetry and Prose on Alzheimer's Disease, featuring work by Kake Huck, Mark Thalman and Drew Myron. Go here.

• Every Last Cuckoo, a novel by Kate Maloy. Go here.

• Forecast, a horoscope-inspired word-art collaboration by Drew Myron and Tracy Weil. Go here.

• When Movie Was a Band: The True Story of My Short Life as a Rhythm Guitar Player, a memoir by Rick Schultze. Go here.

• Catching the Limit, poetry by Mark Thalman will be published soon. Get updates here.

Special thanks to:
• Green Salmon Coffeehouse for supporting the arts and letting us invade (and rearrange) the space.
• Shamrock Lodgettes for providing rooms for our visiting writers.
• Richard Sharpless for setting a cool-coffeehouse-music vibe.
• Writers far and near, for taking part and sharing words & good spirits.
• An encouraging audience who filled the room with laughter, energy and enthusiasm.

Thank you!

Anywhere we choose to look

Poetry is hiding. In train announcements, tabloid pages and grocery labels.

I have a new joy: The Found Poetry Project, a blog dedicated to celebrating the unintended beauty of ordinary prose.

“Anyone can write poetry and poetry is everywhere,” explains Timothy Green, who, with Megan O’Reilly Green, created the The Found Poetry Project blog in 2005. “Poetry is nothing more than finding enjoyment in the medium that we spend most of our waking hours living within. It happens by accident all the time.”

For example, with a few line breaks, a travel guide offers unexpected beauty:

From La Ventosa

roads lead
east and west.

Each soon splits

with a leg
heading inland

and a leg
following the coast.

One branch
following the coast

the other

climbing

to Oaxaca.

— Written by Mike Church and Terri Church
Traveler’s Guide to Mexican Camping, p. 318
Rolling Homes Press, 2005

— Found by Sandra Leigh
Nanaimo, B.C., Canada

Rather than willing words into place, the Project seeks unintentional poetry, whether it’s in a newspaper article, a blog, a letter to a friend, bathroom graffiti — anywhere you don’t expect to find it. The rules are simple: no editing other than lineation, punctuation, or omission. Titles are optional.

“Poetry,” notes Green, “appears anywhere we choose to look.”