Hello friends, I’m thinking about poetry this week, mostly because the great writer, teacher, and activist Nikki Giovanni died at the age of 81. Poetry was the constant companion of my childhood, teens, and twenties. I read poetry voraciously, and wrote. I always wrote. I stood up in cafés and bars and read my words out loud, testing my voice and shaping my world. I still read and write poetry occasionally, but even when I don’t, poetry has formed me. My breaths are marked in meters and my eye catches rain on leaves in a way only a poet can. Nikki Giovanni was one of the poets who influenced my youth. She wrote of simple things and grand things. She wrote about falling in love, relationships, and place. She wrote about revolution and social systems, honeysuckle and the stars. She wrote about being Black and a woman in the US. She wrote about history and math and physics, and the ways they fill our bodies and our lives. sometimes after midnight or just before
the dawn
we sit typewriter in hand
pulling loneliness around us
forgetting our lovers or children
who are sleeping
ignoring the weary wariness
of our own logic
to compose a poem
no one understands it…
Giovanni showed how the smallest things resonate out to the largest, and how vastness dances with the minute. I drank those lessons in on her words. Yes, poetry formed me, and for that, I feel grateful. Thank you, Nikki Giovanni. May you rest in peace. Your words live on. Best wishes - Thorn Want some gentle insight? The You Are the Spell oracle deck and book offers poetic, meditative food for thought.
|
Hello friends, There’s an artist—or perhaps an arts collective—here in the Pacific Northwest that makes wooden dragon heads with glass teeth and jeweled eyes made of old CDs. The dragons are always painted in bold colors, and attached high up wood utility poles, so it seems as if they are roaring to the sky. I love that part. The roaring to the sky, part. I also love how bright and colorful these dragons are, and how carefully thought out, even if they are made of scraps of wood and outdated...
Hello friends, It’s a rainy summer solstice here in beautiful Portland, Oregon. The sun is hiding, but, as I move my way around the city, I still see all the ways in which things shine. There are roses in full bloom everywhere. People don’t call this Rose City for nothing. Some roses are fragrant, others, not so much. But each flower is gorgeous in its own way, whether pink, red, yellow, or white. What else is shining? The glint on a crow’s beak. Rain on the sidewalks. People. Yeah. People....
Hello friends, These are tough days, aren’t they? At least, they are for anyone paying attention to the world. In Portland Oregon where I live, a dedicated group of activists have been holding it down outside the ICE facility. This is a privately owned building, and another group of activists is pressuring our city council to revoke the lease, so ICE does not have a holding and staging area in our sanctuary city. Especially not next to a school and apartment buildings. Last night, the...