we are held one moment, one
breath, one heartbeat at a time.
even when I feel I am falling,
I am held, safely.
sometimes the fire within,
which most often warms and
lights my next step, rages.
out of control – yes – that is the rage
unseen, well hidden and buried;
wounds of the past.
wanting to be felt, seen, honored –
so the soft warm light returns.
By Carrie Cannady
I am grateful for Carrie’s permission to share her poem from the writing circle here. You can find more of Carrie’s writing on her blog, LeadOurLives.net
I continue to meet amazing women across different time zones. Together we are writing, listening and learning from one another. Share your voice with us.
Writing together can:
• Provide authentic connection
• Allow expression of feelings
• Guide our own journey
Click on the links below for information and registration.
“Poetry gives you permission to feel.” – James Autry
At this time of shifting circumstances the work of my heart is to lead small online groups. I have received a clear message from participants that the writing circles are meeting a need to be heard and to process their thoughts through writing. Below is one of the poems that came from a recent writing circle. Thank you Chere Weiss for granting me permission to share it here. If you are seeking connection within a safe space consider writing with me on one of the dates listed below. No matter where you are, take care of your heart, don’t give up. The world needs your light.
Click on the links below for more information and registration.
Quarantine in Spring By Chere Weiss, April 15, 2020
The world as we knew it has imploded, people are dying, we are afraid. Stuck inside our houses we are; helpless, bored, sad, restless and annoyed. Everyone is wounded, or grieving. What day is it? It’s the day I woke up again. It’s the day after yesterday and the day before tomorrow. I am helpless and then a bird comes while I sit outside, he is small and fierce with his song. So delicate, he sings so hard his body vibrates. The cherry tree in front is snowing pink petals, they coat my walkway and follow me into the house. I am helpless and still my tulips stand tall, closed tight teasing me with anticipation. Every day I have no power, eager as a kid on Christmas morning waiting for them to bloom. I planted those tulips. They will open when they are damn good and ready and their colors will astonish me.
Past participants have shared this about my writing circles.
“Thank you for your loving energy, leading us to a place within ourselves that we either didn’t know was there or had been untapped for sometime. Your deep listening is a gift, and I feel held in it.” – Carrie
“I loved it all. Meeting new people and seeing the similarities between us. This also opened me up to a broader feeling of gratitude.” – Mary
“I loved your focus on being intentional, hearing the voices of other women and your positive energy. You are a light and an inspiration.” – Diane
We are balancing between the blocks of our days large and small. Squares filled with the demands of our days and squares now left open. Boxes where plans once sat in happy company with future anticipation. Now canceled without pattern. Just scattered openings in the grid. Emptiness at first look, then disbelief. As we walk farther down the street, grief standing next to disappointment. Finally we turn the corner and see a tiny new patio garden. Someone is intent on growing beauty from strong willed, concrete pots. The first sprouts are just reaching free.
Determined seeds rise
there is always a crack, wide
enough for thriving
This Haibun Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub we have a visual prompt. It was an new adventure for me. Click here to join the challenge.
As I continue to lead writing circles, I am inspired by the hearts and generous listening of others. Every time I write with others I am changed and lifted by the experience. Here in this space I am calling, Poems from the Circle, I will be sharing poems written by participants of my writing circles. We are stronger when we lean on and learn from each other. This poem is from Kelley Morris. I appreciate her willingness to share it here.
Standing on the bank
All seems quiet
Difficult to perceive
I must be still
Will the river
Tell its stories
Of past travels
Around winding turns
Along cool stretches
Over rough rapids
Crashing past sharp rocks
The path ahead
A free fall
Plunging to the
Clear pool below
But never stopping
And now, it carries
My reflection while
Telling its story-
We have a lot in common
This silent river
In my writing circles we focus on listening. We listen to the poems being read out loud and we listen to each other. I never thought this specific, close listening would work online. I have been happily surprised. My writing circles have been gatherings of authentic reflection, heartfelt sharing and generated connection between people who have never met before. I am so grateful to have the opportunity to write with new people across the U.S. Each of us who joins the circle is embracing the slowing down that poetry offers. We are taking time to hear one another. And when we are heard, we are seen. I think this is more important than ever.
I would love to write with you, to hear your words as they come forth in the safe space of the writing circle. Click on the links below to register.