Jaffa Truex
Sep 16, 2016 | Poetry, 1st pages
The birth of chaos. Jaffa Truex's first book is an adventure inside yourself at its best and exciting at its very least.It's a mirror reflection that we never see. A science of thought that we feel and can't run from.
This book is a collection of truths and rebirth for all those living now and for all who once were.
Jaffa's collection of poems are haunted with feeling that are spoken by the ghosts themselves.
Each line is a passionate revolution turning another corner.He's fearless in his vulnerability and painfully bold through out a million lens with an emotional meditation addressing loss ,alive with joy that fully embraces the nature of the world. Thought-provoking and raw,it showcases Jaffa's imagination by making everyone feeling a special connection on another level.
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Jesse F. Rodriguez
Jun 3, 2016 | 1st pages, Poetry
Adriana
Adriana, you are the one, who I met long ago,
On an island full of seagulls and ferries—you know.
Meanwhile, over the years, I have missed you—
I Missed you grow, grow into a lady—a lady I
Do not know. Still, I believe you are pure, honest—
Honest like a lady, like the young lady from long ago.
Adriana, where are you now, what happed on that island—
On that island long ago. I do not know, but now I know—
I know what happened on that island—on that island long ago.
You saw a piece of the wonderful world and walked the land.
You fell in love and left the sand. You created a life, all by your
Hand. Still, you are the one—the one who I met long ago—
On an island full of seagulls and ferries—you know—
Honest like a lady, like the young lady from long ago.
Vic Tomlinson
Jun 1, 2016 | Poetry, 1st pages
Oneness
The breeze freshens my face
and rearranges my hair.
The sand is soft beneath my feet
and offers little resistance as I walk.
The thrashing of waves,
as they reach the shore,
triggers serenity
and stirs the depth of my soul.
I am as one with these
and they are with me.
Cynthia Sharp
May 11, 2016 | Poetry, 1st pages
Sensory Writing
Materials:
Whiteboard, whiteboard markers, dry erase eraser, copies of the lesson and worksheets for each participant, pictures of local scenery, vocabulary words written on flashcards that convey meaning through pictures and colour translated into participants' first language when possible, baskets of local sensory items, such as: bamboo, bark, beeswax candle, blooms, candlelight, carving, flower, fur, hedgehog, jade, leaf, pinecones, ridges, rock, sage, stone, sweetgrass, turtle, quartz.
Introduction
The instructor welcomes participants. We go around the circle with each person introducing himself or herself. Then, a volunteer reads the opening poem about paying attention to the beauty of nature. The poem is read a few times.
Breathe Deeply Nature’s Inner World
Breathe deeply
moments in the stillness,
what the moss on the maple tells us,
or each angle of sunlight reveals,
and remember
to let the trees and flowers
and colours speak.
There may be discussion about slowing down and relaxing in nice places and observing details. Good writing uses details. We can pretend that parts of nature have a story to tell us and that it’s our job to listen and write it down.
Martha Triana
Apr 3, 2016 | 1st pages, Poetry
Mohamed Chaouchi
Feb 12, 2016 | 1st pages, Poetry
Morning Coffee
She complains about her routine
as she clings to it,
doing tasks on autopilot —
early mornings, as if walking on eggshells,
she slips into the shower, then the kitchen
where the coffee pot she rinsed the night before
awaits her.
Her shiny blue mug
reminds her of a night,
far back at a campsite,
its dark blue sky illuminated
by a prominent moon
and abundant, cheering stars.
The light, beamed and shared, reigned
like monochromatic fireworks.
Back to the coffee cup: she takes a sip,
zooms in; feels left out.
Her friends have side notes,
hushed discussions, secondary acquaintances,
secret addictions. Quintessentially,
they shop around, gossip, do yoga, seek pleasure.
They cheat time to forget a helpless present.
They extend and stretch arms, push up chests, inhale desires,
and soak in the forbidden — the messy.
She feels like a shipwreck,
exhausted from long voyages,
salty baths,
and the weight of the wrinkly luggage of young sailors.
