Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem “Crows” by Mary Oliver, posted below.

Our prompt was: “Write an equation for your morning.”

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Friday November 10th at 12pm EST, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.

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 "Crows" by Mary Oliver

In Japan, in Seattle, In Indonesia—there they were—
each one loud and hungry,
crossing a field, or sitting
above the traffic, or dropping
 
to the lawn of some temple to sun itself
or walk about on strong legs,
like a landlord. I think
they don’t envy anyone or anything—
 
not the tiger, not the emperor
not even the philosopher.
Why should they?
The wind is their friend, the least tree is home. 
 
Nor is melody, they have discovered, necessary
Nor have they delicate palates;
without hesitation they will eat
anything you can think of—
 
corn, mice, old hamburgers—
swallowing with such hollering and gusto
no one can tell whether it is a brag
or a prayer of deepest thanks. At sunrise, when I walk out,

I see them in trees, or on ledges of buildings,
 as cheerful as saints, or thieves of the small job
who have been, one more night, successful—
and like all successes, it turns my thoughts to myself.

Should I have led a more simple life?
Have my ambitions been worthy?
Has the wind, for years, been talking to me as well?
Somewhere, among all my thoughts, there is a narrow path.
 
It’s attractive, but who could follow it?
Slowly the full morning
draws over us its mysterious and lovely equation.
Then, in the branches poling from their dark center,
 
ever more flexible and bright,
sparks from the sun are bursting and melting on the birds’ wings
as, indifferent and comfortable,
they lounge, they squabble in the vast, rose-colored light. 

Credit: Mary Oliver

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we viewed the painting “Flight of the Swallows” by John Henry Lorimer, posted below.

Our prompt was: “The others were so excited but I…” 

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Monday October 30th at 6pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.

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Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem “Sorrow Is Not My Name” by Ross Gay, posted below.

Our prompt was: “Write about what keeps you from sorrow.”

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Monday October 23rd at 6pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.

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"Sorrow Is Not My Name" by Ross Gay

       —after Gwendolyn Brooks

No matter the pull toward brink. No
matter the florid, deep sleep awaits.
There is a time for everything. Look,
just this morning a vulture
nodded his red, grizzled head at me,
and I looked at him, admiring
the sickle of his beak.
Then the wind kicked up, and,
after arranging that good suit of feathers
he up and took off.
Just like that. And to boot,
there are, on this planet alone, something like two
million naturally occurring sweet things,
some with names so generous as to kick
the steel from my knees: agave, persimmon,
stick ball, the purple okra I bought for two bucks
at the market. Think of that. The long night,
the skeleton in the mirror, the man behind me
on the bus taking notes, yeah, yeah.
But look; my niece is running through a field
calling my name. My neighbor sings like an angel
and at the end of my block is a basketball court.
I remember. My color's green. I'm spring.

      —for Walter Aikens

Copyright © 2011 by Ross Gay. 
Source: Bringing the Shovel Down (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2011)

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem “Finale” by Pablo Neruda, posted below.

Our prompt was: “Write about a sea of renewal.”

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Friday October 20th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.

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"Finale" by Pablo Neruda

Matilde, years or days
sleeping, feverish, 
here or there,
gazing off,
twisting my spine,   
bleeding true blood,   
perhaps I awaken
or am lost, sleeping:
hospital beds, foreign windows,
white uniforms of the silent walkers,
the clumsiness of feet.

And then, these journeys   
and my sea of renewal:   
your head on the pillow,   
your hands floating
in the light, in my light,   
over my earth.
It was beautiful to live   
when you lived!

The world is bluer and of the earth   
at night, when I sleep
enormous, within your small hands.

Source: The Sea and the Bells (City Lights Books, 2002)