"Smuggled Love" a poem by Jess Coffman

Our toes sunk in the sand,

As sailboats drifted on the sea.

Paint dripped from my hand,

Admiring you carefully.

But I couldn't hold your hand in peace,

Without whispers hot with hate,

So I paint the insides of our hearts 

With the colors we create.

            Honorable love in hiding,

            A love distinctive from the others.

With the passion of artists, 

And the loyalty of brothers.

           

            With you my life makes sense.

            Each day it's you, I choose.

            With an absolute devotion,

            That I will never lose.

It has all been worth the struggle,

The most painful and beautiful test,

Though I wish I never would have smuggled.

Our life and love past the rest.            

           

I’ll paint you each day before I die,

I’ll ache to love you tenderly.

and in Heaven, I'll ask God why,

He created homosexuality.

JESS COFFMAN

 I woke up at 4 am this morning with no idea of why I had woken up, and decided it was time to post a new poem! 

I actually wrote the first draft of this poem originally in a lyric writing class that I took at UCLA, taught by the hilarious and talented, Mr. Marty Panzer. He is Barry Manilow's life long writing partner. One of my favorite things about that class were his wild stories, and the fact that he would buy us pizza every week. I actually think that that was when I fell in love with sausage on my pizza. 

One of the other wonderful things that I loved about his class, was the fact that his life-long partner Greg, would come to class too. Greg was pretty quiet, but every once in a while he add in a little quip to one of the stories and we all loved it. I remember Marty reading us a set of lyrics that he wrote, with the title, "I'll love you back to life," and I had to imagine it was inspired by their relationship, which I found to be beautiful. 

Isn't that an amazing lyric? I would be so relieved, overwhelmed and grateful to hear someone say that they would "love me back to life." That seems like a lot of effort, that this impatient world just doesn't have time for.

So this song was actually an assignment that we had been given. Unfortunately I don't remember the names of the two men that we studied, but Marty gave us some reading material about a couple who was gay and a bit oddly matched due to their rather large age gap. The older man was a painter who painted countless works of his partner even up until death. 

I know for some of you this poem may make you feel uncomfortable, due to my liberal social views. But almost always seeing how the other half lives or thinks causes us to grow. I felt that way recently, when  my Dad took me to a gun range to learn how to shoot. I was pretty terrified, but I was quickly calmed by the prevailing sense of humility and reverence for the danger of the sport. Safety was first, there was no fucking around. Much to my surprise, I ended up shooting 3 different rifles that my Dad had brought that day. Though it was definitely a weird way for me to spend a Sunday afternoon, I ended up actually enjoying it and was pretty good at it. I also realized that an unloaded gun is just a piece of metal, but in the hands of the wrong person, it is extremely powerful and destructive. Did the experience completely change my political views? No. But it did give me a greater sense of understanding about the way that the people on the other side of the fence lives, and I was grateful for that. 

All the best,

Jess

"The Eyes That Turned My Tides" a poem by Jess Coffman

The Eyes That Turned My Tides

A familiar fear echos through Me

And I contemplate running away

But you hold me still with tranquil eyes

And in them, I can’t help but stay

What I thought was real love from another

Left my hopeful heart, sunken and drowned

But you’ve kept me safe with buoyant love

And in you, my new faith abounds

JESS COFFMAN

This tiny love poem is dedicated to my Billy. 

 

"Let Me Know" lyrics by Jess Coffman

Let Me Know

If you want me, just say it.

Cause I need to hear it.

But if you don’t feel it,

I’ll just smile and go.

I’m not jealous or needy,

My love isn’t greedy.

But if you really see me

And want me…

            I just have to know,

            I need to know, I need to know.

            If you want me just say it and show it.

            Kiss me so slow,

My heart will open and glow.

            If you want me, I just have to know.

If you think that I’m witty,

Or a little bit pretty,

It would make me so giddy

To hear that you do.

Though I may never cry

And hold my head high,

What I need from my guy is to hold me,

And just let me know…

I need to know, I need to know.

            If you want me just say it and show it.

            Kiss me so slow,

My heart will open and glow.

            If you want me, I just have to know.

                        In the silence I am scared

                        To step ‘cross the line into love.

                        And I know I will be fine

                        If I can’t have your hand closed into mine.

                                   

                        But baby I wished to the moon on the sea,

                        That you’d hold me right now,

                        And someday maybe you would love me.

                        And if you ever do…

           

Just let me know.

            I need to know, I need to know.

            If you love me just say it and show it.

            Kiss me so slow,

My heart will open and glow

            If you ever love me,

I just have to know.

JESS COFFMAN

Hey Friends!

I wrote this song while aboard my first few weeks on The Disney Dream. Billy and I were at the beginning of our unconventional love affair that would last 7 1/2 months at sea. Though I had real feelings for him in a very short time, I was really hesitant about the relationship because he was younger than me. Also, we had only gone on one real date on land, before getting onto the ship. He made me one of my favorite meals of all time, homemade macaroni and cheese, brussle sprouts and whiskey. He learned right away, that a happy tummy leads to a happy heart.

 At the time, I didn't know if our romance would end up as a "showmance" or if it would turn into something real. He was only 24 when we met, and I was sure that he needed to "sew his wild oats" on the ship, so I gave him plenty of space in the beginning. But he kept coming back to me every night after our tiresome work days, and I really started to fall for him. I wrote this song, with love and confusion in mind. I really didn't know how he felt about me. I knew I wasn't ready to say "I love you" yet, but I was ready to receive some validation that he really cared for me. Actually, we've been happily together for 2 1/2 years now, but even to this day, these song lyrics ring true sometimes. He is always really good about saying "I love you," and I know that he does love me. But, sometimes I feel like I have to fish for compliments in order to get one, and it makes me feel so lame. I know that I can always count on my gay friends or my girlfriends to tell me that I'm awesome, but I wish I would get more of that verbal validation from my boyfriend on a consistent basis.

This aspect of our relationship makes me feel so needy, and we don't really have the kind of relationship where neediness is normal. We are independent, we have our own creative and financial agendas separate from each other, and neither of us suffer from self-worth issues. But I've spoken to many of my friends who are in the same situation. They are in loving, happy relationships, that lack verbal validation from their loved one. For those of you who feel the same way that I do, I hope this song brings you some peace knowing that you are not alone feeling like a needy bitch. And for those of you reading this realizing you may not compliment your loved one enough, start today! A little positive feedback can do wonders for your relationship. 

I love you and think you are all awesome!

Jess

"Daniel Webster: The Gatekeeper" a poem by Jess Coffman

I fell into the Flow today,
Into the quiet and majestic.
It's mystical and collective,
And it selected me to stay.

On a day most unsuspecting,
I moseyed from chaotic to calm.
In Strawberry Fields of September,
I write to remember, blessed connecting.

I stopped my step and turned around,
As if someone had called out my name.
And sure enough Daniel Webster stood,
Speaking as eloquently as he could,
Though never making a sound.

I looked upon his copper face,
Framed by billowy, playful clouds,
In the bluest sky where the airplanes fly,
And teal balloons die in space.

All at once, hundreds of voices hushed,
As a far away cello swelled,
And scored the glorious improvisation, 
Of natural beauty in perfect collaboration,
As my soul became whole and flushed. 

I could hear the giggles of the grass,
And the hum of the mothering Moon.
My eyes were fixed, as were my feet,
As the cellist played The September Suite,
While the unknowing tourists passed.

What a stunning opportunity,
To feel as the butterfly feels!
And as summer green turns to autumn yellow,
I mellowed in the Flow of Unity.

A plump ballerina jeted in a cloud,
Right over Daniel Webster's head.
And he gave me a wink,
As the world began to shrink,
And the voices became loud, from the crowd.

The giggling grasses waved goodbye,
And the gentle sun hugged me warm.
I stood transformed in just one hour,
Summoned by the power of the sky.

I came away renewed and ablaze,
And I'll never be lonely or poor.
For I have been One with the Stone and the Sun,
I will run through life roused and amazed.  

Friends!

It has taken me so long to finish this poem! I am relieved, though slightly unsatisfied, because these words don't really capture the beauty of my experience. I found this poem to be so hard, partly because of the rhyme scheme. But it also proved challenging because I was trying to adequately explain what is happening inside my head, and how my senses are heightened when I am inspired.  

On a Saturday, about a month ago, I found myself walking in the Strawberry Fields portion of Central Park. It was absolutely beautiful, fall was just beginning to show itself in the turning leaves and chilly air. I stopped to look at this giant statue of Daniel Webster, and I noticed the gorgeous sound of a nearby cello. All of a sudden, my senses were heightened and diminished in different ways that I have never experienced before, and I could see the purest beauty in everything around me. The words that came into my head to make sense of this feeling, was that I somehow was invited into the flow of collective energy. At one point in my journal I wrote that I was in the "Flow at the Center of Spirit and Cognition." I felt a complete natural high, where all of the colors where brighter and every sound was silent except for that beautiful cello scoring the scene.

I call this poem "Daniel Webster: The Gatekeeper," because it was precisely at the moment that I looked up at his statue, that I became overwhelmingly inspired. It was almost as if Daniel Webster protects the portal in which one can enter Flow of the Universe. Ha! Either I had fortuitously been at the right place at the right time, or it was destined. I have attached a picture of the statue below, and was absolutely shocked at the epitaph on the pedestal. On the day that I wrote this poem, I didn't even notice the epitaph, though it perfectly describes my connection with nature that day. It says,

"Liberty and Union
Now and Forever
One and Inseparable"

Now I am sure that the statue of Daniel Webster is the Gatekeeper into the Flow of the Universe! I'm sure this sounds wacky to some people, and I totally get it. I don't think anyone could understand an experience like this, until they have one.

Thanks for reading!

"Hold It In" lyrics by Jess Coffman

Hold It In

I'm hungry for something that I just can't have.
I'm losing patience,
And this time wasting is making me mad.

I want to sing, but this lump in my throat,
Is choking me like a boat that's left and sunken,
On a waterless sea.

   But I hold it in, I've got to hold it in.

   I've to take it once again, 

   Find the peace within,

   And hold it in. 

My feet are hurting from standing up for the right to believe.
My pocket's empty,
But I'm stubborn and I don't want to leave.

I want to dance, want to throw out my chest,
Want to know I've been blessed,
And that the best part of me is getting to breathe.

   But I hold it in, I've got to hold it in.
   I've to take it once again,
   Find the peace within,
   And hold it in.

      And someday, I will be done, living on the run,
      And waiting for my dreams to turn out.
      But I'll fight until that day,
      And when it comes, I'll pray
      To be thankful, to never have to wait again.
   
   But til then...

   I'll hold it in, I've got to hold it in. 

   I've to take it once again, 

   Find the peace within,

   And hold it in. 

Hey!

So...if you are an actor, especially a non-union Musical Theatre performer, this poem is for you! I went on an audition last week, and I had to wait 4 hours to be seen! I literally did everything I could do to keep myself busy for those 4 hours, I ate, called friends, checked my email, took care of random shit I had been putting off, warmed up my voice, and still that only took up about 2 hours. I definitely learned that I need to have a good book, and all of my devices to keep myself from wanting to beat hundreds of identically dressed girls to death with my sexy black heels. That's right, I rebelled and wore black heels instead of beige. And let's be clear, I'm not mad or threatened by those other girls. I just want to be the first in line, so I can get the fuck out of there.

For my friends and family, who are unfamiliar with this type of situation, it's pretty much like the feelings that come up while waiting in line at the DMV. You wait for hours, and when the wait is over, you get your new stupid driver's license picture taken. I am always so pissed that something that took one minute to accomplish, required me having to wait for hours. The picture usually entails a forced fake smile, disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, because you have murderous frustration in your soul by this point. Do you have a sense of that feeling? Okay, now imagine at the end of the wait, having to completely mask your DMV rage and sing like a princess? Yep, that's a real thing people. Not only do you have to look and sound better than everyone else, you have to give the casting directors a sense that you are positive, cheerful and will be an easy person to work with. If you can act your way out of the rage for the 1 whole minute that you are in the room, and get a callback...you deserve a glass of bourbon. I don't care if at that point it is 9am, you march right over to an overpriced overstimulating Times Square tourist bar, and get yourself some brown liquor.

So, when hour 3 of waiting rolled around at this audition and I was filled with ungodly thoughts from frustration, I started to write down these words. A little melody came along with it, and I was able to successfully finish was it now "Hold It In." I really do feel that even if you have never auditioned for anything, this song and these feelings relate to lots of other things that you have to wait for in life. Whether it's waiting for love, financial stability or simply waiting for the fucking 1 train to get to your stop, we can all relate to the frustrations of waiting and how important it is to find the peace within and hold in the rage sometimes.

I celebrate each and every one of you for continuing on your arduous path to fulfillment today!

Speaking of celebration...today marks the 6 month anniversary of my poetry blog! Thanks to all of you for your loving support and comments left here or on facebook. If one of my posts moves you in anyway, a simple like and especially a comment left, provides the motivation for me to keep going with this.

All my love,

Jess

P.S. Sometimes withstanding the wait is completely worthwhile. I did get a callback from that audition, and it went great. Spending your time waiting for something you really want, is never a waste. Good luck spending your time doing something you love today.

"New Leaf" a poem by Jess Coffman

 

New Leaf

I love when it rains.
I love how nature smells.
I breathe in the Living,
And everything relaxes.

Every color stands out unexpectedly,
Without the sun to make me squint.
People tend to hide away,
And I'm glad to be alone.

Every rainfall is precious,
For it's what sustains life.
When it gathers in a puddle,
A new perspective is reflected.

The tranquil sound revives me,
Every trickle, drip and plop.
I'm giddy when a bubble appears,
And I live for when they pop.

I'm wide-eyed with wonder,
As the droplets play the trees,
Like the giant hand of God,
Is conducting "The Reverie of the Leaves."

This is my favorite kind of day,
When the silent leaves fall,
When the trees are quenched and fragrant,
When God splashes me "Hello."

JESS COFFMAN

Hello Friends!

I wrote "New Leaf" last week when I was enjoying a full day off with nothing scheduled. Aren't those days amazing? I ended up finding lots of things to keep myself busy indoors that day, including baking homemade granola cereal and cooking meatballs. But by 3pm, I was getting a touch of cabin fever and decided to go for a walk to Fort Tryon Park. Fort Tryon is a lovely park in Upper Manhattan, that has a stunning view of the George Washington Bridge stretching over the Hudson River. 

It was raining really hard that day, and I am always surprised how east coasters shy away from inclement weather. But because of this, the park was unusually empty. I walked around taking in the wet beauty all around me, but then I became very aware of the fact that I was the only person wandering around. I decided to to head New Leaf,  a chic-rustic restaurant hidden within the park, for sanctuary and hot tea. Unfortunately New Leaf is closed on Mondays, but I had my mind set on going there to write. So, I shrugged it off, sat down on the dry stone steps that lead to New Leaf's front entrance, and began writing.

"New Leaf" is really a free write of the sensory experience that I was having, while taking in the rain that day. I know that you can relate, and I thoroughly hope that you enjoy this poem. 

Best,

Jess

"Prayer for a Faultless Friday" a poem by Jess Coffman

Prayer for a Faultless Friday

Shine down on me Lord,

Hold me in your hands,

Cradle me in love,

Show me your demands.

My will is fatigued

I’m disappointed,

I don’t speak my thoughts.

I feel disjointed.

Make me unafraid

Let my words be kind,

Help me speak wisely,

With mercy in mind.

Let my song be sweet,

Help me not forget,

Every callous refrain,

Is a crime I’ll regret.

JESS COFFMAN

Hello!


I thought that it would be quite apropos to post this poem today,  because it is after all a Friday. But honestly, this poem tells of a daily struggle of mine. As much as I try my best to start the day off with a positive attitude, by the end of most days, I'm a pushy, grumbling New Yorker just like everyone else. I do think that the cramped and sometimes sticky subway trains have a lot to do with that. But in LA, where each person has space and control over the air temperature in their own vehicle, this frustration exists too, and is referred to as "road rage."

Though I do think that travel in it of itself can be annoying, in any major city. The problem and solution, really lies in how you emotionally handle your frustration. Most of the time I am reasonable and have a controlled grip on the way that I handle my frustration. But honestly, I have been known to slam doors or throw something, in those moments of extreme impatience. I am completely aware that this is called "throwing a temper tantrum." I do not however, throw tantrums like that when other people are around, it is always when I am alone and feel powerless. These outbursts of impatience also come out of my mouth. I will say something negative about another person or complain because I think it will make me feel better, but it never does. The negativity simply spreads.

This poem is about "Starting with the Man in the Mirror," as Michael Jackson once sang. It is about recognizing that I do not always behave lovingly, and praying for positivity to guide me in my day. If God is good, and we are all reflections of God, why is it so hard to do the right thing sometimes? Why is it so hard for me to live by my own standard of goodness? I don't know the answer to that question. But I do know that behavior is contagious, and it my daily goal to focus on my own positive behavior and actions. Hopefully this will inspire others, and it will eventually come back for me, when I am being shitty in life and need a positive reminder. It is like M.J. said, "If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make that change."

Have a blast tonight!

Jess

"Unbreakable Strings" a poem by Jess Coffman

Unbreakable Strings

My smile is vague,

Though I want it to be certain.

Communication is weak,

But sex provides the curtain.

Want it, got it, take it, have it,

Is not what I call success.

This behavior restrains me,

But fires up all the rest.

Another night, a case of beer

My alarms quietly sound.

You call me out for acting weird.

I’m stunned as feelings reappear.

We promised not to play games,

And I suppose that’s what hurts more.

That I could be that familiar safe bet

Waiting at your door.

"No more," is what my heart says.

It couldn’t possibly be wise.

To follow in my own past,

And let time fool as the disguise.

But oh it can feel so good,

And nostalgia is the best liar.

It helps you forget about the unrest

And gives permission to desire.

It’s sad and it’s certain,

These are not petty things,

We are sewn together in time

With unbreakable strings.

I’m lying in your bed

Praying this is something new.

Praying this won’t end in anger

A smarter me, a better you.

I guess you still fuck quickly

And don't really want to talk.

Are you always a wall I run too

That will always keep me blocked?

A gunshot fires outside

And wine rolls down my throat.

It was a sincere hope for change,

But it was just a winter coat.

JESS COFFMAN 

Hey Friends!

I have been working on a new poem, called "Daniel Webster The Gatekeeper," and it's driving me crazy! Hopefully I will have it done soon, though I created the most difficult puzzle for myself as far as the rhyme scheme goes. I think it is also difficult because I am trying to put into specific words what it means to be inspired. It is such a physical and emotional experience, that I am overwhelmed by, and therefore really incapable of describing it properly. But hopefully, within the next week it will be ready. 

Actually I decided to post this poem "Unbreakable Strings," after speaking with my Dad tonight. We had a wonderfully intense conversation in which we dissected the past, as a means to find out how to proceed in the future. This agenda was a through-line in the many different aspects of life that we considered throughout our conversation. One heart-breaking topic was my parent's divorce, which I wish was clean-cut and dry at this point after almost 10 years of divorce and my mom's remarriage. But the reality is, that my Dad is still very much attached to my Mom.

In my limited knowledge of love and relationships, at least compared to my parent's 19 year marriage, I tried to comfort him by sharing in the idea of unbreakable attachments to someone. At this point, I don't feel uncomfortable any longer regarding my most meaningful Ex-boyfriend. But I will say that it took quite a while for those strings to no longer hold any emotion. But they still exist. Though thousands of miles separate us, as well as the love with our new partners, I still struggle to make meaning of our past. Looking at things from my Dad's perspective, I can't even imagine ending a loving relationship and still being absolutely bound to a person through children. Divorce is such a  devastatingly casual part of our current culture. 

This poem "Unbreakable Strings," is really speaking of the time in a broken relationship, when at least one person can't fully walk away. Both people in the relationship know that it is over, but there is so much history, so much effort put forth and so much intimacy shared, that casual time spent together or sex, seems like a descent idea. 

Yes, this poem seems rather bleak. But, I post it with the hope that the next time you are lonely or horny, you will think of this poem and stop sexting your Ex. There is so much love and goodness for you out in the world, stop looking back and go find it!

All my love,

Jess

"Just Like This" lyrics by Jess Coffman

Just Like This

Hold my hand, lay me back
Kiss my lips soft with loving Conviction.
Come to me, you'll be free
From the tether of loving addiction.

   Cause I'll never want more than you're willing to give,
   I just hope you'll keep loving me, as long as I live.

     I want you just like this,
     In Our home, in Our kiss tomorrow.

Hold my hand, walk with me
Down a path sure of lovin' and laughter,
But I can bet, without regret,
There's a challenge ahead soon thereafter.

   And we'll do what we can to stay patient and true
   If there's one thing I know, I can't stop loving you.

     I'll want you just like this,
     In Our home, in Our kiss tomorrow.

       If Tomorrow's Forever, I'll thank God each night,
       That he gave me the day to live, With you in his light.
       And I'll fall asleep smiling and holding you tight till morning.

Hold my head, lay me back,
Kiss my lips soft with loving Ambition.
Come to me, we'll be free
In the gift of this lovely Submission. 

   Cause I'll never want more than you're willing to give,
   I just hope you'll keep loving me as long as I live.

     I'll want you just like this,
     In Our home, in Our kiss tomorrow.

    JESS COFFMAN

This photo may not look like the most romantic picture to everyone, but it is so special to me. Billy loves pancakes and we both love bourbon. What you are seeing are some homemade pancakes that Billy made one morning, topped with adorable heart pancakes made especially for me and Billy's own maple bourbon syrup. You feel so warm, so loved and lightly boozy after this breakfast. I am pretty sure that I got teary eyed when I saw the heart pancakes. 

This photo is a perfect depiction of what "Just Like This" means to me. I really adore the everyday moments that we share together, when it is just the two of us at home. Actually it was one of those moments that inspired this song. We had just finished eating breakfast and he had to leave for work shortly, but I pulled him on top of me for a full body hug. Honestly...nothing too sexy happened. We just laid there together on our couch and shared a really loving and passionate kiss. It was so wonderful, I could have stayed in that moment forever. But one of the great things about our relationship is that there isn't any pressure. There isn't any pressure to get married, there isn't any pressure to have babies and there isn't any pressure to be anyone else, but ourselves. So I wanted to make the point in this song, that I am focusing on our love in the present and just hoping that it will be there tomorrow.

So far we have been together for almost 2 1/2 years, and I wake up and go to sleep smitten with him everyday. This song is dedicated to you Billy, my sweet Smoe.

"BeMused" a poem by Jess Coffman

This painting which hung in my bathroom for years,
was painted by one of my favorite Laguna Beach artists, Karen Petty.

BeMused

I wait and wait...for a little bait,
To spark my mind and help me Create.
Though my Muse is being fickle today,
I think she gave up, and slipped away.

I can't really blame her for needing some space,
My spelling today, has been a disgrace.
And most of Her dreams, I write and erase.
Why wouldn't she go to a more thrilling place?

Maybe she flits in a genius's mind,
Or puts on a show, in the minds of the blind?
Perhaps she goes, where Muses go to unwind,
In the daydreams of children, with answers to find.

Maybe she's boldly spray-painting the Sun!
Or improvising dance moves never been done!
Or writing the silliest song ever sug!

And I know why she left...my dumb thoughts are no fun!

But in my next breath, I'm inspired instead,
When I realize, I too, was just out of my head!
With Insecurity gone and Inhibition Dead!
My Muse came right back, and here's what she said:

 "Sometimes," she chimed "You leave no room inside
for Creation, when fear is Oversupplied.
Restore Faith in yourself and I will provide
Inspiration and Ease as your Muse and your Guide."

And with such clear advice, I pick up my pen,
And wrote until fear, stopped my hand again.

JESS COFFMAN

 I wrote this poem last summer and re-imagined it this past week. I know I have spoke about my Muse before, but just for those who are unclear of what I am talking about, I will explain it again. This idea of a Muse was first introduced to me while watching a TED talk given by Elizabeth Gilbert, the writer of the world-wide best-selling book Eat, Pray, Love. Her TED talk was about creativity, and continuing to create after you have accomplished what might have been your most successful work in life. After her wild success, she went in search for a process that would help her continue to write and create without the unending pressure of having to write a masterpiece. What she has now adopted as her new process, is one that is inspired by the Ancient Greek's explanation of creativity. The Ancient Greeks believed that creation was only possible through connectivity to the spiritual world.

This resonated very strongly with me, because I have always felt that the inspiration for my songs come to me in a very mystical way, that I do not really have any control over. Elizabeth Gilbert now makes a time commitment to her writing, and also maintains a spiritual openness to be guided in her creative writing. It wasn't until after reading The War of Art written by Steven Pressfield, that I really adopted the idea of relying on a Muse, which is essentially my creative Guardian Angel. Before sitting down to write, I say a prayer to my Muse and ask for her to guide my writing. In this way, it is really her responsibility to provide the inspiration, and my job to be open and patient. It never takes long, I usually have an idea quickly. The thing that I like best of all about this process, is that it keeps me from judging the work that comes out of me in a given writing session. If I finish a poem and realize that I don't love it, it's really okay because it wasn't my idea in the first place. It also keeps me humble, because I can never fully take credit for the creation either. I hope this idea makes sense to you.

I know this method requires faith, but if you have ever had writer's block, you will try anything to get out of it. The next time it happens, I really recommend trying this method of the Muse.

Of course "BeMused" is explaining that exact process of self-doubt and being blocked, and how it is such a struggle even when you are trying to be faithful.

Good luck in all of your creative endeavors today! Please let me know if this method works for you!

All my Love,

Jess

"A Mandolin and Sicilian Skin" a poem by Jess Coffman

A Mandolin and Sicilian Skin

I got swept up in the romance,
In the tremolo of the Mandolin,
In the fragrance of spices and You.
My hands caressed you impulsively,
Cause it seemed like the Natural thing to do.

But now I've crossed that Line,
And Exposed my debility
For olive skin, rich food and sex.
But you chose to ignore,
And I felt like a whore...

Our friendship is now more complex.

JESS COFFMAN

I looked at many images relating to mandolins and olive oil, but none of them quite encompassed the emotionally raw visual I was going for. I quickly thought of this album cover that I took note of a few weeks ago. One of my very favorite things that Billy and I do, is listen to our Pearl Django inspired jazz station on Pandora, and cook together. Seth Ford Young's sensual, toasty and joyful instrumental album was constantly popping up. I must confess that I gave it many thumbs up before actually taking his name down to purchase the album. But I am so please that I did, his music is brilliant, and I absolutely love this album cover. 

Though I was technically the aggressor within the poem, I feel like this image perfectly captures the sensual, musical and candid themes within it. To me, it also captures the shameful aspect of it to.  Neither of the people in the photograph are looking at the camera, they cannot admit to the audience that they are sharing this particular moment together. 

This poem was written about 8 years ago, so it is very much a story of my careless past. But I must admit, that I am very thankful that the man in this poem ignored my advances that night. He knew that our connection was to make music together, and he is responsible for some of my most beloved creative dreams coming true. Sometimes you take a chance, in what ends up being the wrong direction. And sometimes, someone who truly cares about you will forgive, forget, and help restore your dignity. Thank-you for that.

Peace, Love and Spumoni,

Jess

"Dancing Man" a poem by Jess Coffman

Hey!

This is a poem that I wrote last summer, and for some reason it has really been on my mind lately. It is in the "Cautionary Tales and Distress" section of my future poem book, In Pursuit of Peacocks. It is called "Dancing Man," and it was inspired by a friend of mine who struggles with depression. Making a living pursuing art, can be so incredibly difficult sometimes. This "Dancing Man" would get very down when thinking or talking about his level of success, in life. He would often see himself as unlovable, untalented and undesirable. I would see him overindulge and self-sooth with sex or booze, and the next day he would be miserable again. This poem is a reminder for me, that when things get shitty, I cannot allow myself to stay stuck in frustration for too long. I have been blessed with abundance, as have you. Now we just have to work hard daily, to be thankful for it.

Dancing Man

The Dancing Man will wear a smile,
Though only for a little while,
But when it's gone, it's far away,
And nothing Good, can make it Stay.

The Dancing Man then takes a Chance,
On quick relief from Cheap Romance.
But shameful whispers fill his brain,
'Til he's submerged in self Disdain.

The Dancing Man fills up with Beer,
With hopes to Drown all living Fear.
But when he wakes form Blacking Out,
He learns of each Destruction spout.

The Dancing Man desires Peace.
His Starving angst is now Obese.
To coax his smile to come again,
He Must Forget What Might Have Been.

The Dancing Man should Prance and Leap,
And know that when the demons creep,
His Earth-bound path was always so,
Just as the summer Berries Grow.

The Dancing Man Must Learn well, how
To give thanks for the here and now.
His gifts in life are no mistake,
God gave to him, and He can take.

JESS COFFMAN

"My Shortest Skirt" a poem by Jess Coffman

I am not sure exactly what inspired me to write this poem the other day. I must have been looking down at my lower half and thinking how boring and grown up my pants looked. I don't particularly remember seeing a young girl in a slutty tight skirt or anything. I was simply standing in the subway station waiting for my train, when these words started rolling around in my head.

My Shortest Skirt

My Shortest Skirt, I give away,
With Hope that it will not bring Trouble,
To younger hips who are searching still,
Let a rose emerge among the rubble.

My memories, are lost in time.
When pleasant nights tuned into heartbreak,
A shadowy past, angers those I love,
The conscious mind suffers, for the heart's sake.

My Shortest Skirt, I give away,
As wrinkles settle round my lashes,
That I have earned from lessons learned,
As youthful embers fade to ashes. 

JESS COFFMAN 

"Extraordinarily Ordinary Woman" a poem by Jess Coffman

So...I am truly getting adjusted to New York and learning to appreciate it, for it's differences. The thriving mass transit system in NYC is truly remarkable and unlike anything I have ever experienced before. Being from L.A., the few cars I've had in my life were always like a second home. I pretty much got all of my phone calls done while sitting in traffic, I could change my entire outfit (including undies) safely on the freeway and was definitely able to count on solitude while traveling in my car. These days, none of those things are possible, though I did sneakily change into my work clothes one morning in an almost completely empty subway car.

I definitely cannot get phone calls out of the way, because there is no cell reception underground, and there is absolutely no solitude. Surprisingly, it is usually really quiet on my hour long morning ride, but you can definitely count on touching shoulders, thighs and sometimes knees with multiple strangers within that time. I usually don't like my personal space invaded, and having that as a daily part of  life here, was really off-putting at first. But over the past few weeks, I have gotten an amazing amount of reading done on my morning commute, which is an accomplishment that has never been possible before. It is definitely a unique perk to not being personally responsible for transporting oneself.

A few mornings ago, I decided to take out my journal and look over "tiny white feather free." At that point, I hadn't written at on the train, but that was all about to change. I reached down to zip up my over-pocketed Jansport backpack, and found myself oddly smiling at this woman's feet. I know that sounds weird. She was wearing these sensible red wedges with bright green polish on her toes, and for some totally unknown reason, I was completely creatively turned on by her. She was exactly the title of this poem "extraordinarily ordinary." She had accents of color and a certain kind of beauty in her own way, but she certainly wasn't catching anyone else' eye that morning. I totally started sneakily writing about her. Then she sat down millimeters from me which was absolutely nerve wracking. I didn't want her to accidentally read it, totally misunderstand my intentions and get creeped out by me. But I also selfishly didn't want my creative vibe to be interrupted by her discomfort either.

Luckily, she played "Words With Friends" for about 100 blocks and had no idea that I was creatively creeping on her. After I wrote this poem, I began to look at people on the subway in a completely different way. The experience made me feel much more empathic to all of my fellow riders. I have begun to see them as beautiful possibilities for inspiration instead of annoyances. Now I ride the subway, excited that the lady I'm sharing shoulders with, might inspire me to write something that brings me personal fulfillment.  

Extraordinarily Ordinary Woman
 
Granny Smith apple toes,
Sandals red as candied Rose.
Glasses wrap around her eyes,
Undone hair, curls as it dries.

Whitest leg and freckled hand,
"Words With Friends," no wedding band.
Understated colors mesh,
Handmade earrings, lipstick fresh.

Curvy early morning peer,
Riding in the 1 train's rear,
A nameless muse right by my side,
Who changed an ordinary ride. 

JESS COFFMAN

"tiny white feather free" a poem by Jess Coffman

I began writing this poem in Central Park the other day over by Central Park West and 86th street. I was feeling very unaccomplished, and comparing my lack of personal "success" to the "success" of peers in my business. If I was not overwhelmed and overtaken by this feeling, I would have been able to remind myself that "we all have a different path going down the river." This was an epiphany I came to last summer, while actually tubing down a river in Zion National Park. I was with many friends that day, including my friend Haley who I always think of when I remind myself of this nature inspired mantra.

The basic idea is this, literally everyone has a completely different path down the river of life. It was fascinating to me, that a few of the people who jumped in first, ended up being the last ones in line at the end of trip. Some people had advantages of better tubes, which helped them stay out in front, just like certain people start their lives with great advantages of opportunity or money. But what was absolutely true was that everyone at some point got stuck on unforeseen rocks and needed help. Most of us completely bottomed out multiple times and were completely surprised and drenched. Sometimes we were delight by these surprises, but most of the time we were set back and left struggling and frustrated. One friend was convinced that the stick she found was absolutely essential in making it down the river, just as certain people are tied to ideals, religion or lovers and are unwilling to look beyond what they believe is "right."

After a lovely recommendation from my oldest friend Angie, whose honesty is almost always very refreshing, I set out to examine nature. I walked around for awhile, finding a quaint Shakespearean garden, Marionette Theater and cool outdoor music venue. Unexpectedly, I stumbled upon a protected and secluded pine tree forest. I sat there for a few moments enjoying the smell of pine trees, when I saw a tiny white feather blowing by the giant trees. The simple beauty was much like the last scene of American Beauty, with the plastic bag blowing. It was so captivating, it inspired me to write this poem, which I dedicate to Haley and Angie.

 

 tiny white feather free

 tiny white feather free
slowly floating, daintily,
Guided by the August breeeze,
whose heated breath blows
Tenderly.

tiny white feather free
eyes closed tight in ecstasy,
smelling riches, green Pine trees,
she smiles, and glides on
Gratefully.

tiny white feather free
Softly witnessing to me,
A weightless Faith enjoyed with Ease,
a glimpse of joy, felt like a tease,
a moment now I write to Freeze:
One of Natural perfection,
Sparking Creative Dissection,
That sends Gifts of sweet Sensation,
to bring an End to My desperation. 

 JESS COFFMAN 

 I couldn't find an image of the pine tree garden in Central Park, but I did find this plaque that sits within the Shakespeare Garden. I loved this whimsical quote from A Midsummer Night's Dream.

"A Sweet Petite Meet" a poem by Jess Coffman

Hello!

It has been so long since I have posted a poem! I have been on a wonderful adventure for the past month. Billy and I went to CA for my Mom's wedding, and a well overdue introduction of Billy to all of my family and friends. It was a fantastic trip, and then we took about a week in Philly before we moved to  NYC! Our apartment is awesome, but New York is a very high energy place that can kind-of suck the life out of you, until you adjust to it. This has caused me to be slightly blocked creatively, but the transition period of becoming a New Yorker is going well.

My creative block disintegrated unexpectedly yesterday when I was relaxing at a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on the Upper West Side. I was feeling quite successful about the fact that I was sneaking bites of my homemade peanut butter and honey sandwich without getting caught, and...I had just nailed an  audition:)  I was happily people watching, when I realized that I could not take my eyes off of this petite toddler girl and her family. She wasn't really a beautiful child, but she had an amazingly tranquil demeanor that was stunning. She was still acting like a toddler, curiously climbing on the chairs and checking everyone out, but she was so quiet. She only disrupted her Grandfather (Saba) and Father (Abba) every once in awhile for a hug. 

In joyful observance of this graceful child, I wrote this poem.

 A Sweet Petite Meet

Quiet little Ponytail,
Curious eyes of Caramel,

Pulls her Saba to her cheek,

His "Tiny Sprite," Her "Meek Antique.

 Sandals falling off her toes,

Cherubic kisses on his nose,

Little tickles, twist and tease,
His smile of Glee, Hers of...Cream Cheese.

JESS COFFMAN

"Where The Flowers Grow" a poem by Jess Coffman

Hello Everyone!

I have been all over the place for the past few weeks, New York, then L.A. and back to PA! I was having a bit of an arrested development creatively after I received some negative feedback on my poems. This past week on vacation, my Aunt Yvette and Grammy V, encouraged me to keep posting my poems even if they are controversial sometimes. This one today "Where The Flowers Grow," is not controversial at all. It is a poem that I wrote today, as a means to release some moving frustration that I have. Billy and I were supposed to move to NYC today, but after some paperwork setbacks, we are not going to be able to move until next week. I was incredibly irritable today, because we are completely packed up without a place to move in to. I am in this "no man's land" of transition. While sipping a chai latte and being inspired by a beautiful bouquet of deep purple flowers at Ultimo Coffee Shop this early evening, I wrote this self-soothing poem.

Where The Flowers Grow

I wish to be where the flowers grow,
Where the purple is rich, quiet and deep,
Where the air is clean, and the progress slow,
Where we cultivate calm and satisfying sleep.

I wish to be where my roots can settle,
Where my toes can pointe, strong and sunny,
Where love feeds color to my every petal,
Where peace coats my life like a soothing honey.

I wish to be where the flowers thrive,
Where a sprinkle and a smile makes the day,
Where there's peaceful abundance, you can't contrive,
Where home is a place I pick, to stay.

JESS COFFMAN

Philadelphia Magic Gardens!

On Friday, I was called off of work and was looking for something fulfilling to do, when I came across an email from the Philadelphia Magic Gardens. I discovered this amazing creative compound on a walking exploration I was doing of my new city, about 6 months ago. Mind-blowingly talented artist, Isaiah Zagar is a mosaic muralist who alongside his wife Julia, has dedicated his life to grand public art. He was born in Philly, raised in Brooklyn, which immediately I think creates a pretty bad ass and creative east coaster. He acquired a B.F.A. in Painting and Graphics from the Pratt Institute in New York City, travelled the world creating and learning and with wife Julia, spent 3 years in Peru serving in the Peace Corps. After many world-wide accolades and completed commissioned pieces, the  creative couple settled in Philadelphia with a mission to share their world discoveries of art and life with this city of cheesesteaks and Phillies fans. What they created is jaw-dropping. As you walk along South street heading toward Old City, your curiosity is tantalized as your eye is drawn to the light-catching mirrored mosaics that are scattered along the sides of churches, Jamaican restaurants and run down buildings. The gorgeous mosaics light up the city and beckon you to follow. You do of course follow because the unique beauty is unlike anything else you have seen in Philly. After about 7 blocks, your curiosity peaked, you stand at the gates of The Philadelphia Magic Gardens and you can't believe your eyes. Handmade mirror and tile mosaics, bicycle wheels, colored glass bottles, toys and trash create a maze of sculpture that is so inspiring and satisfying, you can't wait to be visually overwhelmed. In addition to the half block outside sculpture garden, there is also an inside gallery that houses Zagar's smaller pieces and also the works of other artists within a similar medium. On Friday, I was fortunate enough to be able to see the opening night of an installation called Imaginings From Nature by local artist Katia McGuirk. I was smitten with her whimsical work, I have a weird thing for bats, so I was hooked immediately when I saw them. I also loved her sexy smoking toad, and her sparkling peacock sculpture of course. Here are some photos of Katia McGuirk's work that I founds most amazing. I also came across this lovely quote from one of Katia's peers explaining his relationship with clay:

"Clay moves at every slightest touch. It moves in the sun, in the air, in the fire, till you put the fire out. Let it move. Clay lives." - Henry Chapman Mercer

If you ever come to Philly, you have to check this place out! Here are a few pictures that I took when Billy and I went in the winter. Oddly enough, my sister who had never heard of this place before, saw it online and bought me a year-long pass for Christmas. Thanks Kaleigh!

http://www.phillymagicgardens.org/

Have a great day!

"Saccharine" a poem by Jess Coffman

Good morning! 

I wrote this poem after being inspired by a story that was told to me by a girl that I worked with last summer. This girl, had the most joyful childlike sweetness I have ever seen in an adult, but as soon as she opened her mouth to sing,  you knew she was a woman. She has this voice, like a force that barrels out of her with a mission to capture your attention, and make you hear what is inside beyond the sweetness. One day I listened beyond the sweetness and wrote this. 

Saccharine

Grown-up Saccharine birthday girl,

With brightest smile and chocolate curl;

Constructs her pointy birthday hat,

Then over pancakes we did chat.

Her eyes took on a distant look,

As she recalled a coloring book.

Her mother sent her off to play,

On a distant island far away.

She colored tight and sung out loud.

Her strong voice made her mother proud.

And so she fetched ripe Saccharine,

To glean the talent of her teen.

She gave her gorgeous clothes to wear,

And made her dye her skin and hair.

Her mother always wanted more.

No imperfection could she ignore.

The only time her mother praised,

Was when a crowd would be amazed.

When Saccharine’s voice filled their ears,

It wrapped them up and eased their fears.

Her mother only let her sing,

In the hopes of all the money she’d bring.

After many years of sheltered song,

She decided not to play along.

One rebellious fated night,

Saccharine closed her full lips tight.

She vowed to never sing until,

She chose to, of her own free will.

Her mother screamed and cried with threat,

She lied and bribed her with a pet.

But Saccharine remained truly steadfast,

Though her mother’s cruelty was aghast.

Until another fated night,

When Saccharine could no longer fight.

She packed her bags and savings too,

And headed toward the ocean blue.

As the very last star whispered goodbye,

She stood in awe of the morning sky.

The wet sand welcomed every toe,

And the seagulls seemed to shout “Hello!”

The palm trees beckoned her to the shore.

The cold sea promised to always adore.

This broke the silence of her song.

And she sang to the sea free and strong.

And everyday she sings at dawn,

To the patient fisherman and passing prawn.

Today her birthday wish is for me,

To release my sorrow to the sea.

And so I will go,

Because I know,

The Joy of my friend Saccharine

Is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. 

JESS COFFMAN

"The Voice of God" a poem by Louis I. Newman and "Vessel" a poem by Jess Coffman

The Voice of God

I sought to hear the voice of God,
    And climbed the topmost steeple.
But God declared: "Go down again,
    I dwell among the people."

LOUIS I. NEWMAN

I read "The Voice of God" last week and I loved it instantly. I love the simplicity and humility of the theme, and it happens to be something that I believe wholeheartedly. I believe that we all have the ability to connect with our Creator, through other people in our lives. Those people whether stranger or friend, act as reflections of our Creator all of the time. There are definitely times in my life when I recognized someone else choosing a kinder,  more helpful, more patient or more understanding choice than my own, and felt like I was being shown a more Godly path. Of course, there are exact opposite scenarios to the ones that I am exploring, but I would like to simply focus on the good for today. It is this idea of each of us being a vessel for our Creator's goodness, that has caused me to write the following poem.


Vessel

Make of me a Vessel, for Goodness and Godness,

To illuminate life’s shadows, and celebrate its Oddness.

I patiently wait with my pen on the page,

For a drop of your wisdom, electricity or rage.

Without fight, I will swallow each ounce of Revelation.

I’ll be thankful for every, slight, daily Transformation.

And with the utmost effort to be a funnel for your Creation,

I hope to bring to you a Counter-Culture Congregation:

A crowd who worships Art and consequently the Most High.

For it is God who began the creative discourse,

And God who urges our Unique Reply.

JESS COFFMAN