"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