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Showing posts from January, 2016

MY ROUNDING WOMANLY BODY by Leslie Caplan

This poem came out of the belly of my changing body as I reach toward menopause with tenuous, tentative hands…
I want to resist, but we all know; that doesn't work. So I give in: Surrender to the softening of body while embracing the strengthening of wisdom that wells up from years of moving through life as deep, human and hearted as possible.
This piece is a celebration of women, birth, aging, self, earth, death, sensuality, acceptance and full-on embrace for the inevitable changes along life's curvaceous road. 
My Rounding Womanly Body  by Leslie Caplan
My rounding womanly body  moves through each veiled doorway and pierces light into the ancient Rounded Womanly Birthing brewing body holding earth embodied with eyes that ignite  the awakened ones  holding true to who they are Sensuous breathing steamy  curvaceous bodies give life in oceans swallowing whole  sea waters of wisdom aglow with fire and moon and all those beautiful shades of blue that seep into the cracks of daylight This rounding womanly …

A PHOTOGRAPHER'S HEART by Isabelle Andres

This poem was originally inspired by one of my dolls, Raphael…
I am one of those grown-ups with a rather creative inner child and I happen to love dolls and the creative spheres around them. Yet, I was quite surprised to see that my dolls could inspire my poetry!
This poem has always been about photography, but it started being about my doll, Raphael, and what it meant for him to be a photographer. But then, writer’s block hit and that was when the he became a she. I began to realize the poem was also about me, for I am a bit of Raphael and he is a bit of me, even though he is more than me, and I am more than him. And so, as I was writing the poem, the he became a she!
The poem traveled along its journey and yet it somehow still remained soulless. That is when I realized that the poem was about us: what it meant to us—apprentice or professional photographers— to photograph. So the he/she became a photographer’s heart and the poem came to life.
A Photographer’s Heart by Isabelle Andres
In a…

THE SOLES OF MY FEET by Leslie Caplan

It is a beautiful challenge to preface a piece of writing and tell you where it came from…
Most of the time, I don't know its origin. When I write, I move aside and let myself be written onto the page so I can know myself more deeply. Most of my poetry tends to reveal itself as 'belonging'. I spill words out in a stream and when I read them back to myself, I notice a theme that strands me together into a set of imperfect pearls illuminating their own inherent beauty. It is through writing that I find where I belong. It gives me roots and wings as it unveils the soft underbelly of my vulnerability that sits along side a mountain of strength. 

The Soles of my Feet by Leslie Caplan
The soles of my feet know this ground My arch settles into the moist soil feeding my blood flow with its cool touch I might never step one more foot on the land you have given me but it has seeped into my bloodstream and floats on the whims of a river like a strand of pearls thrown into the rippling water of wh…

I CHOOSE LOVE by Tammy T. Stone

The idea of choosing love came to me one night as a just that – an idea, thought, a product of the mind...
I was feeling low and a little broken, like I didn’t really have a choice, so I reminded myself that I did have one: I could bring myself to an even darker place, or fill the space within (and without) with love. I was still thinking at this point, unable to feel what I needed to feel to break through. I was tempted to go the first way, but instead … I chose a middle path. I started writing. Immediately, thoughts subsided as the words tumbled out, and a beautiful feeling emerged.
I Choose Love by Tammy T. Stone
When it turns to dark And my heart says hide I can still love. When I can’t inspire Or feel the muse around me Still, I can love. When the air has gone dry When my throat is muffled When I can no longer sing I can still choose love. When the words fail me When everything is wrecked When love has forsaken me And my memories fade So that I’m forsaking myself There is still a space for love. …

THE BACKYARD by Barbara Prince

As I prepared to send my last child off to college, I embarked upon an adventure...

I suppose this happens to many people; some may have even given this period in one’s life the title, “midlife crisis.” Crisis never came to mind. This was an opportunity to devour life anew. As part of this adventure, I set out to tread new paths, literally and figuratively, and to test a theory. My theory is that I have an undeniable and necessary connection to nature. Combining my passion for nature and my desire to tread new trails, I began hiking again. Sometimes I would go out with a friend, and sometimes I would hike alone with my mutts.
I discovered that hiking alone had consequences far beyond confirming my love of nature, and instilled within me a confidence that had unwittingly eroded when living within a box. A beautiful, stable box of carpools, doctor’s visits, caring for aging parents, and the run of the mill “first world problems.” The life I wanted. I realized that now was the time to retu…