"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