Posts filed under ‘Poetry’
Fire
See the flames alight in my hands
radiating out from my heart
holding Gabrielle’s words
singing the song of creation?
Hop to it,
lift up your head
open your mouth
speak love
& live.
I love you,
wendi
p.s. In the mid 1990’s I was fortunate to spend a few years singing with Shades of Praise. I’ve had a version of “Fire (shut up in my bones)” that our director Cora Jackson taught us in my head this evening. I couldn’t find that for you to hear, but I can recommend her first album to you here: Original Praise.
Here are a few other things I found along the way to share:
Jeremiah 1:5, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”
Jeremiah 17:9, “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?”
Jeremiah 29:10-11, “This is what the LORD says: ‘When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my gracious promise to bring you back to this place. ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”
Winter Passage
Diving into darkest days
wind whistles cold songs
footing becomes treacherous
slowing the wanderer.
Smoke is all that remains
of dead wood warmth
clinging like memory
to scarred skin.
In the hollow of the heart
find embers that still glow
to kindle inner fire
until sun returns.
Doing the Doo at Boo-Nanny
Wendi's Word Nest at Boo-Nanny
After a couple of whirlwind months of bringing Poetry Alive! to schools in various states I caught a ride with the Screaming Js caravan to the Doo-Nanny in Seale, AL. We arrived at 6am Friday and while the sleepers slept I covered J.P.’s big green van with magnetic poetry. There is something cleansing about having a few hours of silence to yourself with nothing but birdsong for inspiration as you pull random words from a bag and try to make sense of them.
Screaming Jake's Church of the Dead
I saved one small box for Screaming Jake’s church of the dead which was raised quickly once the sleeper’s awoke. I didn’t take pictures of the poetry on the church, so that will have to remain a memory in the thoughts of those who had a chance to explore it for that moment in time.
After all the magnets were placed, J.P. & I put the finishing touches on the backstage “Green Room” which gave me the perfect place to hide out while practicing or watch the world from above while typing. Then it was our turn to go exploring.
J.P. in the "Green Room"
That night we ventured downtown for the Possum Trot auction & a delicious boil of shrimp, sausage, corn & potatoes. I heard the whole life story of some locals enchanted by the glimmer of bubbles & regretted not having a single dollar on me to bid on the amazing art going at bargain prices. We danced to Screaming Jake’s juke joint piano playing until the sweat streamed off our faces and then loaded up to howl to the moon from the stage with whatever song bubbled up. The best thing about that night was reaching the point when we were all playing…no longer performing.
When you perform for a living, the stress of the work often can take the fun out of it. Especially when folks assume that because it looks like you’re having fun that you’re willing to entertain them for free. They miss the part where you’ve spent six hours balancing artistic egos in a car and another six setting up the stage & equipment & magic that makes it all look and sound so fun knowing that when it’s all done and you’re exhausted it will be time to take it all down and move on to the next job.
Friday night was a night for the artists to play and after a sound night’s sleep we woke slowly to the drizzly grey day of the Doo or Boo-Nanny since it was also Halloween. We mostly kept to the caves we built for ourselves as the locals came in to view the Doo. I sold a few poems off the wall and gave away more while taking some time to stare at the sky and listen to others do the work. Finally when the rain let up Jenny Greer & the Screaming Js took the stage for the lighting of the Doo-Nanny to an impromptu rendition of Burning Ring of Fire. That was the spark that set the music in motion with non-stop boogie until at 1:30am. As if in a daze, we finally abandoned the lights of the stage realizing it was cold enough that we should gather close by the bonfires for ghost stories, tall tales & more sing-alongs led by the ever shining Jenny.
The full moon lit the village and made mystery of the mist rising off the lake in the wee hours as we each found a spot to burrow against the chill before dawn. The next day bloomed bright and beautiful and I finally found time to explore Butch Anthony’s Museum of Wonder. That alone is worth a visit to Seale, AL any time of the year. After a little time to myself for practice we packed up & hit the road again.
Finally, I now have a few days to spend at home & want nothing more than to continue to sing, dance, play, & make art. Do the Doo.
DooNanny Poem from the Underwood
Poetypist
The Underwood
Here’s a photo of a sample from the first batch:
Ode by Wendi Loomis
To the dance
Drum kick drives the foot to the floor
Hip sweep at cymbal crash
while the bass runs up the spine.
Guitar solo follows the rib cage
Hammond rolls the curves
until keys shimmy the shoulders to fingertips.
Head weaves in the harmonies
eyes close to block out distractions
while the ears open wide in wonder.
Sunday morning reverie
Cleansing rain washes away the week
as I rise from sleep
reconnecting, reflecting, & resurrecting
a dream.
Sunshine clears the clouds
that blur my vision.
Cardinal, finches, & wrens
sing in my heart.
Grace has taught my soul
I have more to give than withhold
release, rise, & rejoice
with love.
In the Night
“We’ve got some t-shirts for sale
CD’s too
take us home with you.”
Loud wave of bassdrumsguitar
pounds out the babble
of misplaced dreams.
“The band needs a beer.”
Just to know if you are hear
listening in the quiet moments
between three minute power pulses.
Don’t worry ’bout sound check
everything is turned up to eleven
to cover the noise
of misplaced conversation.
Did you mean to make a pass
I missed it in the wash
talk to the girl behind me
instead
I’m still listening to the voices
across the bar
searching for a dream.
“Thank you for coming.”
We’re not always what we seem
resting between the scenes.
Curtain tomorrow at seven
unless it’s a matinee at three.
Starshine
In the silence of the night
Vibrations bounce
from other space
Words woven in smokey bars
Music resonating off trees
Dancers beating the boards of dance halls
send joyful rhythms through the dark
If you listen close
not with your ears
but your heart
you can feel the electric hum
Whisper your wishes
into the wind in time
let the distant stars answer
& join their song
Starting Fresh
As I peel off the layers of you
The elements are harsher
nausea swells in sunlight
rain soaks to the bone
through new skin too porous.
As I untangle the knot
the trailing ends trip my feet
the rope burns my fingers
as you grip tighter to the lifeline
that has been cutting off my breath.
I am too tired for kisses
followed by a punch in the arm,
sweet nothings whispered in private
that turn to bitter ridicule in public,
the layers of lies that provide no rest.
You say you did more for me
than anyone else in your life,
but I gave you everything.
Now there’s only love
that won’t feed your lust.
From nothing
I’m starting fresh
raw with spit fire & tears
fighting to take care of myself
for the first time in years.
30/30 NaPoMo Challenge
In case you haven’t heard, it’s National Poetry Month. That means I pick up a few more Poetry Alive! shows and many of the writers I know are furiously hammering out a poem a day to meet the 30/30 challenge. I’m already behind. Is it possible to have word jammage of the brain? Between memorizing Eve-Olution, re-memorizing three Poetry Alive! shows, and writing/editing two articles each week while keeping up with hundreds of emails, facebook notices, and twitters I feel like the letters have started dancing out of place to simply trumpet sound without sense.
That’s when I turn to music. Granted if I get caught in song lyrics (I know I’ve driven 18 hours to Austin without repeating a verse or song) that still includes words. What I’m talking about is the sound without words. Whether its whistling with the birds or jamming with new friends, there’s something refreshing about tossing sounds through the air and catching harmony. I feel like it somehow clears my brain. That’s why when I reach the end of my day I don’t turn on the television to hear the corporate babble-on but instead seek out live music where real people are making the real sounds of change.
So, if I ever catch up with myself this month, my 30/30 Challenge may just have to include a few “tone poems” or songs without words to be able to communicate clearly what’s jammed in my brain.
Jazz & Poetry 