Come with me into the expansive gift of poetry to experience a disruption of habitual ways of thinking and perceiving. The magic of poetry happens when it is spoken, heard and felt as vibrations in your body.
|
This week’s blog is dedicated to Carl Stark, a beautiful young man who tragically died last month at the age of 17.
Your anger is holy. Your grief is pure. Step quietly out of your shadow like a panther who leaves no tracks. Let your fierceness fertilize the void. Fling generous curses into musky voluptuous furrows so that fiery petals of inexpressible bliss spring up for no reason in the forest of your nerves. Be what happens in tombs and bridal chambers, among lovers and mushrooms. Let your bruises ripen into juice. Keep rooting down until you touch your vacuous core. Precious the dung. Sacred the manure flower. This is the only way up to the Rose. -Alfred LaMotte |
Archives
April 2021
Categories
All
|