losing power inside your deep roaring wild whitecaps fingers touch fusing together foaming—equal dance partners
last minute quick turn freckled face warmed red singing in sweet harmony until we meet again
While visiting Oregon last week, I stood on the bank of a beautiful green river and was completely overwhelmed by how familiar it felt. Had I dreamed of this place? Did I visit its rushing waters in another lifetime? I wanted to be within its icy water and feel the power sweep me swiftly away. It called to me. This poem is an attempt at processing this strange and odd feeling. Has this ever happened to you?
I’ve spent the last week traveling through Oregon with my teenage daughter. We started at my dad’s house in Depoe Bay, moved to Bandon, and then finished in Rainbow. I took hundreds of photos. Oregon is photogenic as heck! I’ve decided to split them up and share some each Monday for a few weeks.
My photos today are of tiny Depoe Bay and our whale watching excursion through Dockside Charters. We saw four tails and lots of spouts of water, but I wasn’t quick enough to capture a great photo within our hour trip. It didn’t stop us from having a blast standing at the bow of the ship as we bounced through the ocean laughing and scanning the water. It’s an experience neither of us is likely to forget.
I hope these photos of the peaceful coolness of the Pacific coast bring you a little bit of joy.
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joyful wild whispers dancing damp locks freckled face freedom
After spending the weekend surrounded by messages of peace and love, I traveled to the lush coolness of the Oregon coast. I spent the morning whale watching on a boat with my daughter. The world seems to be whispering to me to be still and observe. I’m listening.
For the last few days, I danced and listened to music at California WorldFest. This global music festival is held each summer in the heart of the Sierra Nevada. It’s become a family favorite and for us it means free roaming children, pesto pineapple pizza, dirty feet, giant bubbles, dancing until your dizzy, hanging with friends, and discovering new musicians to obsess over.
This year I took my camera for the first time and snapped photos while I danced near the stage, walked through the festival, and sat on my blanket beneath the beautiful trees. The experience felt magical and refilled my creative bucket until it overflowed. I wrote snippets of lyrics as they caught my ear—”joy rings like a mission bell,” “words are your currency,” “love=revolution,” and “will we lemon or honey?”
Here are just a few of the hundreds of photos I took this weekend. I hope you enjoy them.
Another fiery hot headache erupts inside your skull turning pale cheeks crimson. Disappearing beneath a thin, black blanket—you retreat into the cave’s deep crisp darkness. I suppress bubbling anger’s hot breath tight inside infinities compassionate heart; draining like cups lining crowded cracked windowsill. Please,
be okay. Worry lines crease, carve my aging mom face— chiseled rock tracing waters long cascading movements through life’s echoey darkness. Foamy pools of cooling relief sit waiting for moments to pass, for pacing eons to eek by into light’s laughing return. Heart remembers every nighttime outcry, each soothing back rub. Please,
be okay. Reaching through foggy depths flash flooded with writhing madnesses ugly nightmares, your fingers wind tight around blankets edge; my feather-soft motherly kisses on soaked brows do nothing. Anger ripples dirty clothes piled high igniting guilt’s powerful ringing rage pounding ancient rocks into fine powdery dust. Please,
be okay. Fear transforms uneven tapering columns into screeching monsters to slay. Drawing wet sword angry words drip, drip, drip through silence too thick for thinking. Screams soften by plunging heavy, headfirst into icy water’s depth to see through stinging eyes past adventures where love’s sweet patience held fast. Please,
be okay. Lashing, tearing with pain’s tired hoarse voice blame begets blame until desperate razor-sharp rockslides throw open windows repose letting sweet swirling wind signal truce. Whispered kindness wipes at particles left stinging, laughing off this dance, forgetting how darkness clung everywhere at once—embracing love’s shining light.
My teenage son suffers from chronic migraines. While I strive to be loving, kind, and motherly at all times, anger bubbles forth when he’s down. It’s anger at the situation, but it becomes anger at everything. We fight when it’s over as if we can keep it from returning by scaring it away. I’m not proud of this pattern and this poem is my attempt at processing my feelings.
It’s fascinating to discover the mood of a person’s home—the things they choose to collect, the way the furniture is arranged, and the items which make up the unique personalities of the people who live within its walls. I’d describe our home as weathered, warm, eclectic, and messy. I am sentimental. I have lots of artwork made by my kids, plants, a teacup collection from one grandmother, a glass perfume bottle collection from another, ceramics, and lots of books and photographs.
I’ve been mostly homebound this week so I decided to photograph things around my house—a tiny glimpse into the place I call home. I hope something here brings a smile to your face.
Next week I’ll be attending a music festival and should have some interesting photos to share with you. Have a wonderful week and, if you live where it’s heating up, stay safe!
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gazing through bubbles refracted light I search the curves for the parts of me stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
unrecognizable, untouched I smile despite treading choppy waters of the darkest sea gazing through bubbles refracted light
probing tired feelings I write and rewrite hurts with bleeding fingers, piled debris stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
colorful galaxies explode with meteorite quickness, explosions blasting truths proxy gazing through bubbles refracted light
exhaustion whispers hurt meant to incite rioting wildness, love’s saddest symphonies stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
finger poised to break rainbows requite I pause, struck by life’s familiar frailty gazing through bubbles refracted light stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
This was my attempt at exploring my reoccurring seasons of depression and loneliness through the format of the villanelle. There’s something appealing to me about writing poetry with strict formats—perhaps it’s a false sense of control when I’m feeling so helpless and vulnerable. Let me know what you think of my first attempt at this type of poem and if you are in the dark right now please know you aren’t alone.
I’ve not felt patriotic in years. After seeing a terrible car accident this morning and reading of yet another mass shooting, my mood is far from celebratory. I decided to photograph my day in an attempt to combat the anger, disappointment, and sadness at fully realizing freedom in America has always been selective. It’s getting harder and harder to cling to the hope things will get better.
Here’s a look at what brings me joy and gives me the energy to keep fighting—my sister’s new puppy, playing with my sweet nephew, dominoes, fresh tomatoes, swimming with my mom and aunt, and sparklers.
Thank you so much for your support.
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clinging to rocks with five arms the starfish thrives under the sea bounded by thick seaweed forests and surrounded by free creatures living complex underwater dramas and grasping tightly for survival
diving under I hold my own survival like a bawling baby tight within strong arms made tough by fighting external dramas created through daring the churning sea of man to see me worthy among creatures; equal to those hiding within its dark forests
with wide womanly hips, I dance in forests singing of my own truth, my own survival while being told I’m weak among creatures, unworthy of spinning with wide open arms spread like wings deep into the sea of truth you’ve churned into polity dramas
you try and create new elaborate dramas within the shadowy, political forests telling me my body floating in the sea isn’t worthy of fighting for its own survival; instead, you must tie my wide-spread arms behind me like all wild and crazy creatures
for you know better, you zealot savage creatures bent on pushing single-minded dramas held in your pure, pious, and holy arms; while I must run into the dangerous forests without protection, fighting for survival in your newly created shark-infested sea
with wide breaststrokes, I swim out to sea feeling one with the wild salty creatures who know the sacred truths of survival; watching breezy seaweed dramas dance before me in underwater forests, hugging myself tightly with loving arms
the tempestuous sea hosts maddened dramas of all God’s creatures within wavy seaweed forests filled with starfish arms reaching toward survival
untie my sweet womanly arms as I float in the sea or dance in forests with its many feral creatures; let me control the myriad dramas of my own survival
After spending a few days at the ocean I wrote this sestina to process what’s happening to woman’s rights in this country and ready myself to fight back. I’m not interested in debating the issue and any comments attempting to do so will be removed.
I’ve spent the last few days with my writing partner Anna, her daughter Bella, and my daughter Lola at Dillon Beach. While it’s over 100 degrees back home it’s been cool and overcast here. We’ve had several days filled with talking, relaxing, and writing. Considering the state of affairs in the world right now it felt extra special to be together as women near the healing energy of the ocean.
I struggled to photograph the beach in ways I haven’t before and I’m not sure I was very successful. I included a photograph of a fire truck as yesterday we came across a woman who broke her ankle on the hiking trail down to the beach. Anna held her leg and comforted her while the rest of us flagged down the first responders when they arrived. Watching how everyone came together to help this woman was a wonderful example of kindness in a world that feels a bit scary at the moment.
Thank you, as always, for your support of my blog. I hope you have a wonderful day.
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Here’s a bonus photo my lovely and talented friend Anna took of me. You can find her incredible artwork and writings at loscotoff.com.
Bridgette Tales 