What I Learned as Volunteer for the Local Lit Festival

-

 What I Learned as Volunteer for the Local Lit Festival 


Last night I met a woman.
Last night I met a man. 
Last night I stared at twinkle lights.
Last night I stopped being a fan.

This morning I woke up alone.
This morning everything I see is my own.
This morning I strike a new tone.
This morning I am in the zone. 

This afternoon I may meet a stranger.
This afternoon I may meet a friend.
This afternoon I meet the world without danger.
This afternoon, inferior and superior end. 

Let's Connect on Instagram

Coffee Button

Send Sarah Emma Ruth $5 for coffee via Venmo

Popular Posts from this Blog

When You Don’t Go Online

-
  What You Get When You Don’t Go Online Time moves slower. Sun inches across each pane. You’ll notice the shadows  changing. You’ll notice wind, and rain. When you don’t go online The only “people” can be sensed sometimes smelt, or noticeably in the back of your mind, fenced. When you don’t go online There are no numbers hovering over your head. No one barges in telling you whether folks are living or dead.  In general, it’s just a lot more grass, and stone, and sea When you don’t go online What a great big world you see.
to the poem »

Lazy Poem

-
  Lazy Poem Today I went to a planning meeting a poetry chat a critique circle a bunch of little stops  in between. They all said the same thing: The only way to live life is through action.  Action. Unavoidable,  whether you try hard or not.
to the poem »

Market Day Round 2

-
Image
  Market Day Round 2 At dinner, my family  has demands: “Give us the highlights.” “What was the play by play?” “Did you enjoy it?”  These demands for me demand more questions. If they mean the way golden light danced across the white blanket this morning in such a way I had to rub my eyes, twice, to make sure Tink wasn’t in the room, ~ Or how I saw, twice, between passing faces and funny t-shirts and stories about rocks and poems and art, an airborne shadow of a hummingbird darting about eucalyptus  leaves across the way, ~ Or the weight of heartfelt  admiration of an eight-year-old boy with long hair over the rock I made about my dad, and the way his younger brother called the whole family back to add more color to his rock, twice, ~ Or how, when my awareness  skimmed light as a water bug atop the wash of a whole day, I wrote in my notebook “Is this the right place, the right time?” and my poet friend arrived, twice,  baring gifts like humor and grace...
to the poem »

Self Compassion Poem

-
  Self Compassion Poem I saw that  you, bounding over heart full of joy,  head swirling with hope, synchronicities and baby- steps drooling down your chin like life’s ever melting popsicle. That hurt, when she turned away from you. That hurt, when she couldn’t meet you there. That hurt, when she took your promise and upped the anti with her doubt by saying “well, it’s your journey, and one day reality is gonna hit you like a slap in the face.” 
to the poem »