It’s not what you read, but what you see, that goes to the core of what you will believe.

I once read a quote where an eight-year-old described poetry as something “where they don’t use all the page” Over the past couple of days I’ve read quote upon quote, a few poetic philosophies, and an inane pseudo-essay including obviously misunderstood academic terms, explaining what poetry really means.

Nothing I have read is as accurate as the child’s description.

Poetry does, undeniably, require space to breathe on the page. Sometimes, when properly done, only a few words are required to present the poet’s wit, wisdom, or worth. Although it is not simple, poetry is involved and too many people are determined to make it complicated.

Truly, poetry is more than words on a page. The craft, art, and undertaking of poetry goes beyond language, and it does so with more accuracy than any other written form.

If words were simply words; love songs would sound like streetcar alerts, love letters would be as romantic as minutes from a board meeting, and a poem would read like ingredients on a cereal box.

Words, indeed, have a meaning (some words have more than one) but even the description of a word does not define the meaning of a poem. Each word has an essence, and a backbone, with sentiment, soul, emotion, and memory stuffed inside. A poem takes these words and gives them space to resonate.

Poetry can heal or poetry can hurt. We read the words and we respond.

Yet, there are people who look distractingly deeper at poetry and, most times, complicate the process. They study the metrics of the meter, confuse the cadence, look for implied imagery, and search for the metaphor instead of the meaning.

This practice shows little regard for the poet who has already taken sufficient time to work through the mechanics of language and the moral or message, taking into account catastrophe, context, and heartbreak, stanza size and line break, and the politics of the atmosphere.

By the time a poem is presented, the poet has already struggled with the format, whether it is an orderly sonnet or set out in a measured stanza. Even free-form involves an acceptable purpose.

Over and above the poet’s intentions, a poem speaks for itself. It just happens.

Poetry does not take words at face value, yet it does not beg for description, interpretation, or even attention. All it asks for is endeavored understanding.

Your understanding may not, or will not, be the same as the writer, or that of the person sitting beside you on the bus, or another soul halfway around the world.

That’s good. It’s more than good, it is right. Everything else on the planet is so set in its way (even as we evolve or disintegrate), that so much seems too consistent. Except poetry.

Poetry needs to be consistently unpredictable so that we can receive it in the mood or the moment. It should be comforting to know there are words waiting that will accept the way you see them, or feel them, or believe them.

As soon as you have to study a poem it becomes a chore instead of a charm. There is no is no risk/benefit analysis required of poetry, don’t go looking for it.

I read a lot of poetry; far more than I write. Each year I take a volume of a celebrated, “classic” dead poet and, for the entire year, devour the work one poem per day (and some days even more). Last year it was Wordsworth, this year Emily Dickinson.

I’ll absorb, I will react, I will reread and recite, but I dare not call it study. If I call it anything, it is appreciation; and it may not even be that. And my reading is not limited to only those volumes, nor is it limited to treasured bards of years gone by. I’m still cherishing the recent work of a woman who is very much alive, and there is always a book of a recent, or lesser known, poet in my day bag. It might even sound corny, but I breathe poetry. Inhale and exhale. It’s just what I do.

I’d encourage you to do the same. Armed with a poem, you’ll be better equipped to take on the world. By avoiding the news (fake or foolhardy) for 10 minutes a day, or stealing a few moments away from text books, bible study, or gossip pages on your mobile device, you will better understand the human condition.

Try it. A poem a day, every day. There’s even an app for that and it’s free, functional, and quite enjoyable.

Just read it. Leave the analysis to sales reports, tax returns, and political maneuvering, and instead be moved by the writing. Words are important.

Poetry matters; let it speak to you, and for you.

Today is World Poetry Day
Take a poem to lunch.

©2018 j.g. lewis

by Leslie I. Bolin

When I was a child, one of my parents would read my sisters and I a bedtime story. I looked forward to this magical part of the day, especially when my dad, who would have preferred being an actor instead of a draftsmen, read. I’m not certain what enthralled me most: hearing him skillfully use different dialects and voices to embody each character, or catching a brief glimpse of his inner world which he shamelessly revealed while he read. He was as delighted to read as I was to listen.

After the story ended and my parents left the room my sisters and I shared, we were often keyed up and giddy, so my sisters would ask me to tell them a story. I would ramble on, stringing whoppers together, the three of us in our flannel nightgowns giggling at the ridiculous predicaments of my invented characters. There was one story in particular that my sisters asked me to repeat.

“The shutters were open and the bright moon woke Lisa. The shadows of the plum tree looked like scary fingers, so she clutched her stuffed Bunya as she eased out of her bed. Warily, she peered out the window. She loved the moon, and that night it was enormous! It had a kindly, grandmotherly face, and seemed to float gently above the lilac bushes. She decided to call it ‘Madge.’”

I have always told, and enjoyed telling, stories. I have always loved the moon.

“Madge whispered for Lisa to come outside, into the yard. Lisa decided she could trust Madge, so she padded barefoot through the kitchen to the back door. Her cat Chutzpah followed her, but wanted none of this adventure nonsense and decided to clean his paws, instead. Lisa knew her parents would worry if they found her missing, so she quietly, gingerly eased the door open and raced outside.”

Good characters, like children, are often propelled by impulse and a power outside themselves, and struggle with powerful emotions: guilt, responsibility, regret. And chutzpah is a handy trait to have.

“Madge lowered herself onto the cool grass next to the swingset. Using craters as handholds, Lisa clambered aboard, giggling at Madge’s knobby, bald head.”

My mother was severely deficient in mothering instinct. She didn’t want to be bothered with caring for three girls’ hair every morning, so we all had very short pixie cuts. Most of the girls who I went to school with had long hair, and I wanted long hair, too. Stories allow us to get unpleasant memories, disappointment and pain out of the way.

“Madge told Lisa to look inside one of the shallow craters above her right eyebrow. ‘You’ll find a silver key—the kind you use to wind up a clock. Don’t lose it—the fate of the world depends on that key!’ Lisa nodded gravely. She picked up the key, surprised at how large it was and how heavy it felt. She stowed the key safely in the pocket of her nightgown.”

Storytelling allows the truth to be irrelevant. A storyteller has the power to shape the readers’ experiences. She also has license to negotiate her feelings, especially when she is a powerless child, by operating in fantasy.

“As Madge whirled through the air, Lisa saw claws reaching up from the ground and gasped. ‘Madge! Look out!’ There is something with claws down there trying to steal the key!” Madge chuckled gently. “Claws? That’s just a plum tree. You must be hungry! I’ll swing by slowly; grab yourself a plum or two. He won’t mind.” Lisa was relieved to realize she didn’t have to be afraid, and since she fed half of her disgusting tuna casserole to Chutzpah, she was hungry!”

Perceptions are funny things. They can be distorted. It can be hard to separate what happened from what you think happened.

“Madge whisked Lisa from her tidy neighborhood to the looming skyline of the city beyond. As they traveled toward downtown, Madge explained to Lisa that before the sun came up, she would have to use the key to wind up all of the buses and cars so that people could get to work on time. Lisa thought about how her Aunt Mary, when she last visited, had called her clumsy, and how her mom constantly needed to remind her to stop dawdling. What if she accidentally dropped the key, and it fell down one of those sewers in the city? What if she couldn’t crank up all of the vehicles fast enough, and ran out of time? How would people—how would her father—get to work?”

Most lessons are learned in the infinite space between losing and winning. Storytellers pay attention to their arch rivals; they’ve studied their opponents.

Are you discovering that our inner worlds are similar? Yes? Good. I’ll get out of the way and let you finish the story.

Risk delight.

©2018 Leslie I. Bolin

Leslie I. Bolin is a marketing, graphic design, and multimedia professional by day, and after hours, writes poetry and prose, weaves textiles, and designs historical costumes. She enjoys viewing the world through her polarized light microscope, and week-long loaded bicycle tours on Tomatillo Absinthe, her trusty two-wheeled steed. Visit Leslie at www.studiosouthpaw

Illustration by Leslie i. Bolin

by Melina Paris

I did not plan to drive my son to school today. He is supposed to get up in time to catch the bus, at 7 a.m. Why kids need to get up so early is another subject. They need more rest. When I pulled over to let him get out, he made a comment that I do not exactly remember. But the message hit me.

My son is overwhelmed.

He is 14, in 9th grade, and dealing with everything that adolescents have to. Right now he has to determine what classes he will take next year and he’s getting some advice from older friends. He’s anxious and wants to get this all done. He mentioned summer school, online classes and online Drivers Ed. I joked with him, that last class is only online until you have to hit the road. In addition, he is trying to recover from a stubborn cold. We are in unusually low temperatures, even for winter in Southern California. He is tired much of the time and he sleeps – a lot.

This struck me hard. On top of my son being overwhelmed, right now we are all reeling in this country. I believe our kids are reeling most of all. Last month, on the other side of the United States children, teachers and others we’re gunned down in a massive school shooting.

I don’t need to know more than the shooter had assault weapons and that souls were lost. I see these kids, who were saved from death, not speaking out but SHOUTING out! They have had enough.

As a parent what do we do? Much of our approach for how to discuss this tragedy with our children depends on their age. But the point is to check in. We know this but the rub is, we hear this news and we must carry on. We feel heartbroken, confused, even despair and powerlessness.

I talked to my son a little before he got out of the car. He has struggled to keep up with his work. Recently, he is improving. I rubbed his shoulder and encouraged him to continue.

That thing, the quick drop off, it’s always been awkward for me. I want to tell my son all the wonderful traits I see in him and show him a little extra love. I make whatever attempt I can in seconds, before he’s off running to class. I tell myself, I’ll get back to this when we’re both back home.

Once again I realize the blessing in that.

From this place of confusion and despair, as parents what coping mechanisms do we have? We sit with the gravity of our feelings, the frustration and helplessness. Personally, I had two very rough days around this horrific event. I’m certain every parent did. But how do we cope with these events and give our children the best tools so that they can cope?

And how can we stop this?

It feel’s insurmountable. But it’s not.

I feel I’m not living in the same country I grew up in. When we look back in time, sometimes we look with a fonder shade of reality coloring then is accurate. But I grew up with the certainty that huge wrongs (such as shootings), are corrected. That we as a society protect each other and punish those who would do harm and – here’s the difference- we would fix the underlying problem that initiated such wrong acts because it is the right thing to do.

No. Matter. What.

After I came home, I made a cup of coffee and checked emails. As if the universe responded to my confounded state of helplessness and heartbreak, I saw my daily Morning Prayer email from Guru Singh (third-generation yogi, master spiritual teacher and) author. It spoke of how those in power try to change perceptions. It said we are living in a world dominated by unconsciousness.

Intrigued, I read on.

“In today’s world, dominated by unconsciousness, social psychologists speak of emotional manipulation operating more rampantly than ever before in human history…convincing beliefs that are exactly the opposite from the facts.”

The opposite from the facts. I believe that statistical odds exist. And the odds of arming teachers with guns mean more guns in schools. That equation does not statistically have a good outcome to my mind. Many counter my argument with the idea that a “good person” with a fire arm can protect the innocent from a “bad person” with one. I wonder how they think children will feel knowing their teachers and other adults in their schools possess guns? I wonder how a child can learn in such an environment? I wonder why a child may not think that they too will then need a gun? I wonder about much more than this that I don’t want to get into here.

I heard a news interview with a commander with 30 years on the police force. To paraphrase his opinion on guns in schools, he said, it’s very easy for a bad guy with a gun to get a gun away from a good guy with a gun.

The NRA and the president tell us guns in schools is the answer to this crisis. I call it emotional manipulation; convincing beliefs that are the opposite of facts.

My email went on to say this technique has been practiced in “intelligence” communities for centuries. It’s called perception management or the controlling of power words. And unlimited information sharing in social media culture, creates an increased willingness to accept “statement as fact.”

This is interesting. I understand this as a sort of domino effect. As we navigate through social media and receive unlimited information, our critical processes can become diminished, thus opening increased opportunity to accept “statement as fact.”

I would like to think that’s not the case and I don’t know this to be a fact, on individual bases. I have a enough common sense and education to filter out bogus information. Yet, the question then becomes, does this remain true among masses of people on social media? I’d bet the odds say no.

The message continued, even with the potential negatives of this effect there is a potential positive side.

“The ancient science of bhakti yoga describes the power of miracles contained in the presence of ultra-strong beliefs. Imagine the forces of your beliefs unleashed to their fullest, you are imagining the physical momentum contained in the energy potential of each moment. Manifestation, linked to beliefs. . . the ability to focus perception, to such a degree, that the perception manipulates the perceived.

“This is the language of quantum physics,” Singh wrote.

This is another domino effect. To focus physical senses to the degree that the perception manages your beliefs unleashed to their fullest.

We witness this miracle through our children. They are the defenders who fulfill this positive side, manifestation linked to their beliefs. This is where miracles happen. It is our bond to nurture them and do what is right by our descendants, as they speak the language of quantum physics. We follow their lead and ensure that we do everything possible to stop these senseless tragedies.

Of course we can do more in our adult world. We can vote and stay aware of and choose where we spend or invest money. For instance, it was reported that a growing list of companies are cutting ties with the NRA. We can choose to support those companies who move in this direction.

I found hope. After days of feeling unhinged, a small but powerful prayer message reminded me of the greater potential of humanity at a dark time. We are capable of miracles. We can manifest divine intervention in human affairs. And we can lighten the overwhelming load that we have put on our kids through our unconsciousness.

Though we may live in a world dominated by unconsciousness, these kids are awake.

©2018 Melina Paris

Melina Paris is a mother and writer who covers music, arts and cultural events in Long Beach and the greater Los Angeles area. Her publications and websites include Amass Magazine, Random Lengths News and Palacio Magazine, DTLA-Weekly, The Urban Howl, Tour Worthy and Infinity Artists Group.

by Melody Lima

It is easy to forget.

Forget to love, forget to pause, forget to breathe.

It is difficult to see the beauty, the light or the kindness hidden under the shroud of darkness.

It appears, often, there is nothing but gloom, nothing but aversion, nothing but hatred around us. This is not new. For thousands of years, the world has been filled with war, disagreement, threats, crime, disrespect, prejudice, torture and violence.

And yet, when we are filled with despair, out in the distance appears a glimmer of hope. A ray of the future shines upon us. Gently guiding us forward, onto our path like the loving hand of a parent or a teacher or a mentor. A simple touch to show us one step away from the oppressing cloud.

This small gesture of kindness is tiny, minute and easy to miss. Do not be fooled, gifts come in many sizes. A generous deed is found in the unexpected moments. Love is often ordinary, not panoramic.

Welcome the ordinary. Allow the gesture of compassion to brighten the way. Accept thoughtfulness from the acquaintance whose name you may not remember, but whose acceptance will never leave you.

It is easy to welcome goodness.
It is easy to experience laughter.
It is easy to rejoice in love.

Do not forget to breathe in life.
Never forget to love.

©2018 Melody Lima

Melody Lima is a creative adventurer who will always tell her story somehow, in some way. The narrative is filled with movement (yoga teacher), words (writer), color (artist), texture (parenthood) and other experiences of discovery. Sharing her observations on and off the yoga mat, Melody always attempts to keep things mindful and not too cynical. Her words have appeared through elephant journal, The Tattooed Buddha and The Urban Howl. Read more inspiration from Melody through her website  www.yogamatunrolled.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day to day, every day, we are accosted by words.

Look around. Everywhere our landscape is dotted with slogans, catch phrases, deals and appeals for our time, attention, and money.

Advertising is everywhere and cannot be avoided. Signs. Everywhere. Words from someone else selling, or telling us, what we need, what to believe, and how or when we can see it.

It goes well past products or prestige, and the message is not always clear, but it clutters any and all vacant space within our sight lines.

You get the message.

There is no escape. You can’t help but see the billboard blocking the sunset, larger-than-life banners flapping on the edge of the high-rise, day-bright neon, or lawns signs at election time emphasizing one bad choice over another.

How do you respond to the words? Do you try the new service, or buy what they are selling? Do you stop and take a further look? The truth always telling.

It is nothing new; I can’t remember when it was. It’s the same ol’, same ol’. Brand names may rotate, or the colour or style shifts in another direction, but with all the changes, it is still the same.

It could be handwritten or professionally crafted, and size does not matter, it speaks in our language. We all use words to communicate. We cannot survive without words. We read words whether we like to are not. They are always there.

Perhaps now it has become even more obvious as it has spread further into our virtual reality. We are constantly bombarded with messages each time you click or swipe on the mobile device to get to the information you want and need, our chosen apps held hostage or interrupted with pop ups.

It is a newer format, yes, but it follows the same old premise. The ads, the signs, telling us what we may or may not want, appealing to your hunger(s), or vices, insecurities, or greed.

We respond.

It works the same way a poster for Kool-Aid will distract you on a hot summer’s day. If you’ve got the thirst, you will likely buy. Sometimes you might be looking to repair something, or the best price on something you don’t really need.

Words: they temp you, they taunt you, they upset you and haunt you. The words catch your eye and, as consumers at heart, we look and we buy.

“Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin’ out the scenery, breakin’ my mind
Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign?”
                                                      -Les Emerson