Poetry2024-12-31T22:47:26+00:00

“Poems are a form of music,
and language just happens to be our instrument – language and breath.

Terrance Hayes

Why, in the middle of this busy life, bother to read poetry?

In a world hell-bent on filling space with activity and silence with noise, on seducing us into image consciousness and productivity, it’s a subversive act to pause for poetry; it doesn’t exactly get us anywhere. So why bother, you may ask? Well, it can inspire, provoke, encourage, soothe, enrich, affirm, remind, challenge, surprise, etc. Bada bing.

Poetry, much like music and dreams, can make us imagine, feel, cry, laugh, cheer, question, contemplate, feel seen, shift perspective, etc. Bada boom.

For me, poetry is a source of visceral pleasure; a jolt that startles me in all the right ways. I bother to pause for poetry because it helps me find myself, again and again, in the middle of my life. May it be so for you, too.

Image: Paul Cezanne, Still life, pitcher and fruit

May 2025 ~ Self-Portrait as So Much Potential


Chen’s poetry reads like “an elegy that has felt light”*. He turns in place like a dancer,
pivots from grief, racism, homophobia & vulnerability – to joy, whimsical humor & a recurrent
motif: love. His subjects are universal: Familial expectations, self-doubt, judgement; the longing
to be seen, to be at ease & love whomever one loves. I’m moved by Chen’s complete lack of guile,
his utter sincerity. And his word-wizardry.  To be fearless as a mango. A mango. I mean….wow.

Self-Portrait as So Much Potential

Dreaming of one day being as fearless as a mango.

As friendly as a tomato. Merciless to chin & shirtfront.

Realizing I hate the word “sip.”

But that’s all I do.

I drink. So slowly.

& say I’m tasting it. When I’m just bad at taking in liquid.

I’m no mango or tomato. I’m a rusty yawn in a rumored year. I’m an arctic attic.

Come amble & ampersand in the slippery polar clutter.

I am not the heterosexual neat freak my mother raised me to be.

I am a gay sipper, & my mother has placed what’s left of her hope on my brothers.

She wants them to gulp up the world, spit out solid degrees, responsible grandchildren
ready to gobble.

They will be better than mangoes, my brothers.

Though I have trouble imagining what that could be.

Flying mangoes, perhaps. Flying mango-tomato hybrids. Beautiful sons.

 

By Chen Chen, from When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities.
Copyrighted material; strictly for non-profit & pleasure.

* From Elegy to Be Exhaled at Dusk 

Check out a giant archive of poems here: www.clearlenscoaching.com/poetry-archive/

Image: Mango Hanging, watercolor by Norman Silva

By |May 1st, 2025|

April 2025 ~ Imaginary Conversation


Happy National Poetry Month! Vivat Poesis!
This poem asks a question that transforms a conventional idea, then illuminates a tiny detail,
casting it in a sacred light. We can do this, too. For example, take seize the day. But why seize?
Why not loosen the day? You can create kickass list poems this way! Go on! You can do it.
Avec amour, XO

Imaginary Conversation

You tell me to live each day
as if it were my last. This is in the kitchen
where before coffee I complain
of the day ahead—that obstacle race
of minutes and hours,
grocery stores and doctors.

But why the last? I ask. Why not
live each day as if it were the first—
all raw astonishment, Eve rubbing
her eyes awake that first morning,
the sun coming up
like an ingénue in the east?

You grind the coffee
with the small roar of a mind
trying to clear itself. I set
the table, glance out the window
where dew has baptized every
living surface.

By Linda Pastan from Insomnia
Copyrighted material; strictly for the purpose of upliftment; not for profit.

Image: Uncredited; Found on  Balroop Singh’s website, Emotional Shadows

Check out a giant archive of poems here: www.clearlenscoaching.com/poetry-archive/

By |March 31st, 2025|

March 2025 ~ More Of This, Please


A hand reaches out through the cold, a voice warmly asks – are you okay?
Definitely, more of this, please. Now, try this: write your own More Of This, Please poem.
Please, may the ground of our connection be kindness and generosity. Avec amour, Krayna

More Of This, Please
In grad school I had a writing teacher who’d completely cream my essays.
Cross-outs and tracked changes. He took me at my word
when I said I wanted to get better. But when he liked something,
he’d point to what was working: More of this, please.
Did I mention he was British? This is important because lately,
whenever something is really working, I tend to think to myself,
in a British accent: More of this, please. A lunch date turned dinner date
with a dreamboat who is slightly embarrassed his eyes water in cold weather.
Him looking like he’s tearing up at Shake Shack. More of this, please.
A toddler turning to me at the park holding her hair tie, asking me
to fix her ponytail. Her grandmother nodding to go right ahead, my hands
collecting wisps of yellow. More of this, please.
Cough-drop wrappers that say, Bet on Yourself. Pop-up concerts in the city.
Stevie Wonder playing Songs in the Key of Life at 10 AM on a Monday,
hundreds of people stopping mid-commute in button-ups and blazers
belting out every word to “Sir Duke” and “Isn’t She Lovely,” saying, “My boss
is just going to have to understand!” …..
An editor saying, “I’ll pass this on,” instead of, “I’ll pass on this.”
A stranger falling asleep on my shoulder for several stops. Staring at dates
in authors’ bios: Ruth Stone, 1915–2011. Larry Levis, 1946–1996.
Recommitting to living as much as I can. Realizing the dash between the year
you’re born and the year you die is smaller than your smallest fingernail.
It’s smaller than a strand of saffron in a bottle the size of a thimble
in the spice shop across the street. 

 

By Emily Sernaker, excerpt; found in The Sun magazine, April 2022.
Copyrighted material; for non-profit purposes only. 

Image: From the cover of Amy Poehler’s book, 7 Life Lessons from Amy Poehler.

By |February 28th, 2025|

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Lucky’s Corner

lucky

A tasty morsel of poetic medicine from Lucky,
who now resides in the Spirit-World.  Down the hatch!

“and nothing can harm you –
unless you change yourself
into a thing of harm
nothing can harm you.”

Carl Sandburg

TESTIMONIALS

“Krayna oozes creativity in the Poetry Playshops she leads, creating an innovative environment that is non-judgemental. So I feel completely safe and free to let loose my own creative juices. I always look forward to the next Playshop!”

Jean Harkin

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“I was looking for a creative experience completely outside my usual practice of making visual, two-dimensional art. The Poetry Playshop I first attended instantly felt like a relaxed environment, strengthening my ability to hear my own voice. I allowed words and stories to rise to the surface in a simple and non-judgmental way. Witnessing others speak freely jostles things loose for my own creativity. I experience shifts after attending a Poetry Playshop. The untangling of conflicted thoughts and feelings often occurs. I believe this is so because I experience unguarded creativity in the presence of others. This deepens my understanding that we all have stories and sharing them is an integral part of our common humanity.”

Patricia Freeman Martin

TESTIMONIALS

“The Playshop experience is a beautiful balance of inspiration, structure and warmth. Thankfully, the space is safe for words to flow and without pressure to share. Krayna’s writing prompts are full of creativity and the poems participants do share are always a gift.”

– Mary Marquiss

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