Yoga + Poetry = Yogetry?

15 years of dance classes in my (relative) youth may not have provided me with any kind of lasting coordination or grace, but they instilled in me a need for my exercise to be scheduled. Despite the fact that I can see the apartment complex workout room from my couch and there is a TV in there that can show me Modern Family just as easily as mine can, I can never motivate myself to work out unless I know someone is expecting me to show up (even if they're really not).

So, I bought myself a Groupon for Yoga classes (75% off!) at a studio less than three minutes from my apartment and convinced myself I could carve out the time to throw on stretchy pants and attend the 10 classes by the end of the semester. Tonight, I went to the first one.

Tonight's class was a combination of Yoga and creative writing, and although I was skeptical (possibly rightly so) about the quality of both the writing and the Yoga I was about to do, it was a peaceful way to spend an afternoon and I got the teeniest bit of writing out of it.

After working (and wobbling) through Warrior poses, we stopped to read William Stafford's "Being A Person" and write whatever came to mind. Unsurprisingly, even in the barefoot earth mother atmosphere of the Yoga studio, work was still on my mind when I read the line, "suddenly this dream you are having matches Everyone's dream," and the result adds a bit of Emily Dickinson and a lot of my current stress level to Stafford's earthy nature scene. It's completely scattered and unedited, but it entertained my fellow barefoot earth mothers, and that's got to be worth something.

Matching Everyone's dream

Everyone thinks they know
how to teach; Everyone
went to school, so
Everyone is clearly an expert.

Everyone has an expectation
of finding Everyone's dream teacher -
well, good morning, Everyone,
it's time to wake up.

This isn't just Someone's job -
it's everyone's job.
Everyone must also help themselves.
Our dreams can't match if I get no sleep.

October 5, 2011

It's the little things...

Crazy day at work... I don't want to get into it. But it means I brought a lot of work home tonight, so today's poem has to be short, sweet, and already finished. This idea and half a line had been sitting idle in my notebook since around this time last year but had never developed, so the other day I set it free by turning it into a haiku.

Basically, I'm a big dork. Duh. And when I dorkily worked at the library, I would oftentimes have to take big carts of books upstairs and put them away. This required using an elevator. By myself. And what does a dork like me do in an elevator on her own? Crank up the iPod and DANCE.


Elevator dance -
book truck will never tell, but
makes a poor partner.

April 1st, 2011