the risen

Time to post another ‘found poem,’ created from lines written during a single writing session inside. These go back to the week we read and responded to Maya Angelou’s “I Rise” poem. That poem elicited a lot of extremely powerful individual writing; taken together, lines from the minds and pens of many weave into a true battle cry:

From a past that is rooted in pain
always steered this way and that
I had to rise –
this was no good place to stay,
a constant state of eclipse.
After this journey I’ll never be the same.

I am the dream and the hope;
I carry possibility in the tip of my pen,
the wonderful absurdity of laughing through the tears,
daring to be bold.
I will not give up and not give in.

The bright lit midway’s
bitter twisted lies
loved me, couldn’t live without me?
Every addict ever known
passed that love along to all their friends. Continue reading

always wanting

Each week, I create a ‘found poem’ from lines written and shared by women in the writing circle. It is always a surprise to see how the lines will weave together, forming a meaning entirely new/different from that of the original writings. At the same time, women delight in seeing their lines transformed, supporting one another’s meanings and words in fresh and surprising ways. Each week is different in content; but this element of delight is a common experience week after week.


I’ve battled with my own fear
to give you whatever you wish —
your heart or your mother’s dream for you,
need for open space unfilled.

The bucket of my open mouth
is all I’ve ever wanted —
only wanted love and acceptance

How can anyone resist
your smile from ear to ear?
Stories and laughter abounded
until my demon pushed everyone away.

Through miles and miles of cold,
you lit small worlds into being.
I heard that voice years ago,
every minute of me and you.

Then things got really tricky,
unknown, unplanned;
I peel myself off the ground
hungry for myself, hungry for you.



my heart’s deepest craving

If only we could all listen to these women inside Vermont’s prison, we’d discover, and quickly, that we are not so very different in what we want for our selves, our loved ones, our lives. The writer below addresses her yearning in simple and eloquent words:

to want to feel more than the immediate
to close my eyes and dream of more than sweet release
to hear and be heard
to touch the world with my words
to infect lives with laughter
to heal with naked truth
stripped down to a new beginning
one where the intro is worth reading
and the middle has real substance
where the end simply makes me crave
another page