Category Archives: MICHIGAN POET

WILD THING


This writing and this poem that will come at the 
end of this narrative, was inspired by Wendall Berry, 
The Peace of Wild Things, and Mary Oliver's poem 
Wild Geese.
It's the 'Wild' in both of these that called out to 
me this morning.  The freedom in the Wild that 
during this time of sequestered sheltering, doesn't 
feel so free, so wild.  So, I go into 'remembrance' 
of that first time when that wild freedom flowed over 
me and all I could do was let it have me.  I dedicate 
this Earth Day, this New Moon day, My day to The Wild.
~~
In 1966 the song Wild Thing came out. It seemed a 
call out to the way of the world then, one of the 
freedom calls of that era of Vietnam, free love, and 
the peace movement.  It felt a call to young women to 
let their freak flag fly, be groovy, make heart's sing.

Wild Thing
The Troggs
"Wild thing
You make my heart sing
You make everything, groovy
Wild thing
Wild thing, I, think I love you
But I want to know for sure
So come on, and hold me tight
I love you
Wild thing
You make my heart sing
You make everything, groovy
Wild thing
Wild thing, I, think you move me
But I want to know for sure
So come on, and hold me tight
You move me
Wild thing
You make my heart sing
You make everything, groovy
Wild thing
Come on, come on, wild thing
Shake it, shake it, wild thing"

I had moved for that summer to Hamilton, ON to 
be part of a program put on by my Uncle, the priest.  
I lived in a German Lutheran Church parsonage on 
the edge of downtown Hamilton, with four other 
young people whose names I have forgotten.  
We were a diverse group, I was the only one from 
the U.S., and I was a family member of the leader.  
That placed me in a position of either being special 
in a suspicious way, or being that 'other' that was 
clearly a bit of a wild thing;  unpredictable, 
amusing and just cute enough to stir everyone's pot 
up with a certain charm. I was an unknown factor.  
I was liked, and often not trusted to be present in 
the way of the rules given down by my revered Uncle. 
I had rebellion written on my soul and there was no 
way to stop it.

I was a Wild Thing. My then boyfriend, Scotty, that I 
had left at home in Michigan, had sent me that record 
about a month into this program.  It came with a 
very endearing card of love and missing that tickle 
at my hearts edges.  I was already crushed out on one 
of my Uncles students that paid visit to us, probably 
to see how we were all doing on behalf of him. 
Henry, dear sweet Henry.  Someone I will never forget.

It was confusing for me at 18, sassy, cute, smart, 
curious beyond measure, to have a boyfriend at home, 
and this unique, 'older' guy really wanting to know 
me.  It brought the wild of me to all my surfaces and 
made my decisions based on the immediate rather than 
anything thought out.

Henry was willing to accommodate pretty much my every 
whim. I knew his crush on me made him vulnerable to 
my charms.  I took advantage of that with a frivolity 
I had no idea of it's hurtful and joyful impact, 
to both of us, to the program, to my uncle.  
In my playfulness, my spontaneity, my overall 
first-time-away-from-home freedom, I was pushing 
life's edges in ways that were freeing for me, and 
tedious and confusing for others.  
That awareness for me came later.  I was testing the 
world and people around me, finding where I might 
fit my creative, wild spirited self. 
Who were my people?  
What kind of Wild Thing would I be?

A Pantoum to The Wild.

Race the Wild self across freedom's radiance
Soar wide out into the vast unknown moments
Welcome the curious creative Spirit on fire
Hold back nothing in the Everything

Soar wide out into the vast unknown moments
Let the menace and frolic find pure release
Hold back nothing in the Everything
Earth, Fire, Air, Water are the orchestra

Let the menace and frolic find pure release
Be the clear channel of paradox in it's dance
Earth, Fire, Air, Water are the orchestra
Infinity is a boundless playground waiting.

BE the clear channel of paradox in it's dance
Welcome the curious creative Spirit on fire
Infinity is a boundless playground waiting
Race the Wild self across freedom's radiance

copyright. jeanne adwani



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I AM A POEM


I am a poem of painted symbols, ancient wisdoms
Crafted visuals, words with rhyme and reason 
in the no reason at all in inky color prisms

Color frequencies, Pirate girls, mystic Mama
Bengali Tiger, peace, and love, vampire bites
dripping blood, Dante's Furies and wordless drama

A her-story of talisman, primal remembrances 
A needled rapture of yesterdays longing 
etched beneath my tender flesh in my transparence

Yes it hurt with a celebrated welcome
Leave that judge of yours off my skin
I am rich in story as it is my rebellion 

Poetry becomes me. It is a wound I choose to wear
Even tho' you may read me on my surfaces
It's to the heart of me that waits the deeper share

copyright  jeanne adwani 

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Filed under a poem a day. Michigan poet, jeanne adwani, Jeanne Beauchamp, MICHIGAN POET, NAPOWRIMO, national poetry month

It’s in the small kindnesses


It's in the small kindnesses
In the feeling heard, being seen
The way eyes meet and you know

It's in the acts of gratitude 
the gesture with no word attached
Of words that come from the heart

It's in the actions that speak
Louder than superfluous verbosity
full of empty promises.

It's in the giving that requires 
no receive, no laud, no fame
a welcome silence in the blare

It's in the doing nothing 
That that something finds it's way
to the surface that needs doing

It's in the know that you are there
on the other side of the world
across the street, in front of me

It's enough to feel that presence
surrounding me and that I am Loved
and held tenderly to your heart


  copyright jeanne adwani


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Filed under a poem a day. Michigan poet, Geezer Girl, GRATITUDE, jeanne adwani, Jeanne Beauchamp, MICHIGAN POET, NAPOWRIMO, national poetry month

The Last Ember


Not the first burn-it-all-down 
An aftermath of broken hearts
In the relief of at last it's done
Or undone yet again in the fever pitch

Of how the cycle returns to itself
with a hundred matches lite under
The vulnerable exposure of choices
Incongruent with each other, writhing

Looking for that patch of green
Under the April showers to bath in
From the smoke and faltering
Cinders laid to waste by the 

Try to hard yet again and again
By the lashing beseech of lost 
Yesterdays yearning to free the heart
Outcasted on a lonely patch of Spring

Waiting for a renewal
Waiting to be the seed planted
Waiting for the rain to drown
The last ember 

copyright. jeanne adwani
  
 

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What are we slipping into


Days slip into each other
Like they are liquid, viscus
Even a little rubbery, stretchy
We presumed them to be different 
Because the calendar says that's so

Only.

Days keep slipping into each other
A strive to make them different 
make them defined from what was yesterdays
breakfast, a different route for that 
dog walk, shift feeding the animals first
making coffee the priority, showering in 
the afternoon instead of after morning chores
Connecting with friends in the middle of
the day, sitting around in wonder of this
time that has no time stamp.

Because

These days, they keep slipping into forgetting
Slipping away from the predictable 
Slipping away from the rituals, 
Slipping away from the define productivity 
of the familiar that now must flow into change

We

Are Slipping from the ways that demand that of us
Not because it's a slippery slope or that
we might slip on our asses and make us the fool
No, this slip and slide routine is the order of
these new days, a pandemic reprograming to release 
the old, the uselessness, the unimportant habits that

Must

Be slipped into like a tight woven chrysalis 
So that when we melt, dissolve from our old self
we morph into our new self resolved, renewed
We push, we crack, we hurt, we scream, we weep
and are re-birthed in a new paradigm of renewal
We slip into the arms of this unknown and 
become fully realized in the only Truth 

Love



 copyright. jeanne adwani

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QUIET


In the quiet is when I hear myself
The steady beat of my heart 
the echo crackling pulse in my ear
The questions my skin asks of me
like... 
When will you rub cream on me?
Why haven't you let me feel the wind today?
I hear the Sun calling to me 
Will you take your face to greet him?

The quiet doesn't sneak up on me
She doesn't really do anything overt
Or show any change in her weather
She is simply define by a lack of noise
By the clarity of the air 
The ripening  freshness 
As green returns to the once Wintered land

Quiet doesn't claim any particular season
There isn't one element or another 
That she aligns herself with
There is no vitriol to her presence
No pressing want of need given or asked for
She doesn't make any demands of any kind
She simply is.

When all the busy, all the over achieving
All the doing, the placating, the perfecting
the absoluting, the info gathering, and chatter
Stops 
Quiet arrives in her not-very-fancy attire
She's really quite naked,  vulnerable
Unimpressive might be what some think
As she seems small and lacking in personality
With nothing at all to say.  Not a word
Not a thought, emptiness, a void

That's when I know she's here
In the stillness, the silence
Sitting next to me, in me
Quiet is the most tender part
of my heart, a deep well of waiting
Every answer I ever needed to know
arrives in her eternal presence.

copyright.  jeanne adwani






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Filed under MICHIGAN POET, NAPOWRIMO, national poetry month, Silence, YPSILANTI MICHIGAN

THERE IS NO NORMAL


Make mention of the new normal
Thinking that there ever really has been
A normal

A relativity decided by whomever is talking
from the lens of their perspective
we're all talking

LIfe's axis is making a big shift
A quantum move, a flow with or not
You decide how you will shift

Never think that Mother Earth will Not win
Her lung power far surpasses all of us combined
What's essential will win

There is NO normal in any of our days
We made up what we thought we needed
Illusions made safe our days  

What is the essential left when all is surrendered?
Habitualized rituals laid waste to what was
And our very breath is surrendered

~ copyright. jeanne adwani





 



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Filed under COVID19, EARTH CHANGES, MICHIGAN POET, NAPOWRIMO, national poetry month

Charting the Heart


Today’s prompt from napowrimo.net is to select 10 random words and then add 3-4 words that rhyme with them and make up a poem… I took a photo of what the mess I created looks like… Gives you an idea of how it went.

There is a course to chart with the heart
It can start from any need that rises in the seed
of love's demand as you reach out your hands
making a new history from this complicated mystery

Ask permission for a hug respect the little shrug
No need to have the rug pulled out from under you
Respecting the Land that is of other is not in your command
Armadillos are not soft cloud billows to wrap around

There is no need to shove, offer the peace of the dove
Read the body's message of love come hither 
Luminescent Alchemy, roots out any blasphemy
Death's casket waits in the line of your mortality

copyrights. jeanne adwani. 3 april 2020

~


			

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The Meaning of These Days


 

The Meaning of These Days.      NaPoWriMo.  Day 1

2013-06-06 21.10.46-3                 

There is meaning to these days

that drift by in the quiet sequester

of the unknown in each moments breath

Listening to the invitation from Spring rising

in her gay green garment, pushing through the impossible

 hard cold earth that splits her cracks open for the birth push

For a small sprout to give her face to the Sun, feel the rain’s nurture

sway in the wind’s welcome

 

There is meaning to these days

that have us held to quarantine, to ‘shelter’

on behalf for the great well being of All

Settling into the quiet, the silence, the

slow down from the better-stay-busy’s

illusion of true purpose when all around us

what was once normal, standard, ‘the way

of things’, holds us all to the unknown of

everything.

What were rituals and daily bread

Turn upside down

What were the purposeful doings of making a living

Shut down

What held us to a monetary system of illusive security

Closed down

What ways to fight a dis-ease that has no cure we

Hunker down

Become the quiet and the stillness

is Earth’s invitation

in a shifting pattern, 

a readjustment, 

a new calibration of life, 

desperate to renew us all, 

to rebirth a New Earth

To be still and contemplate  

To listen to the all around and within

Earth wisdom is the meaning of these days

We can make meaning of these days

 

~~~~.   copyright, jeanne adwani.

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WIDE EYED AND WONDERING


14march2020

Rising up with this new day

In the brilliance of a welcoming

In the celebration of breath

Wide eyed and wondering.

`

How glorious a morning can be

Knowing the gratitude of living

Feeling life surge in every cell

The tingle of life on our surfaces

`

Wide eyed and wondering

How it can be that this dis-ease

Stalks the very air we breathe

Stalks it into great compromise

`

Each breath that supports life

Each breath that fills us up

With this morning Sun rise

Grants a facade of well being

`

Wide eyed and wondering

Knowing that this glorious

Moment is all there is

Taking it in like a baby’s first

`

Breath of innocence filling up

Out of the womb of safety

To the vibrance of daily living

On our own in witness

`

Wide eyed and wondering

We face what comes

In all our vulnerability

All our joy and skepticism

`

Wondering in the loud and

The quiet of the way life

Delivers us to each breath

Again and again

`

Can we keep our hearts

Wide open to receive

Our moments gracious

In gratitude, in accountability

~

No matter the deliverance

The gifting, the hard slams

The gentle caresses

The dis-ease that tumbles

`

Us all into fears waiting arms

Wide eyed and wondering

Can this new moment

This breath like the very first

`

Guide us back to a new day

A fresh horizon waking up

Inviting us to revel in the

Wonder, the magic, the innocence

`

Of a new day rising

Seeing with eyes from our heart

Wide open and wondering

How can we serve All this in love

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Filed under a sacred life, BE HERE NOW, EYES WIDE OPEN, MICHIGAN POET, Womb of Truth