"Sweet Leaf" a poem by Jess Coffman

A silent morning rustling, 

amid the ever-hum of the big city.

Living, rusted, shimmying leaves, 

Without shame in their yearly shift

and decline, 

Yet we human beings, fall into the 

unease of the change. 

Allowing goosebumps on our skin, 

to become a physicalization of the 

unknown fear of a new life season. 

One can't exactly plan change, 

for we all change according to 

our own unique inner pacing. 

But, sometimes we can feel it come on like a wave on the distant ocean, 

not knowing the moment of rumination's break and release.

But with devotion, we can choose to trust the fiercely fervent wind that brings this wave,

and with immense satisfaction, allow it to hold us upright, as we push against it, 

testing it's love like a mischievous child. 

In this, we attempt to welcome abundant life as it roars at us, 

bracing ourselves for it's powerful baptism. 

I, would like to be like the leaf, allowing 

new colors as they come, 

Surrendering the illusion of intentioned will, 

to make my life 

what it must be. 

Rather, I will synchronize by the Great Sowers whisper, 

allowing myself to be stained and washed. 

And enjoy the unprecedented and familiar pigments painted on me, 

as I weather time and accept the truth that we are all hanging with 

divine purpose by God's Grace. 

And like the aging and ever-changing leaf, 

we don't know when we may be plucked, or fulfill our time and 

swirl to our end on the ground, 

being gently escorted by the palms of the wind. 

And on that day, I will roll and cartwheel and run among friends until 

I am collected under the feet of exuberant young children. 

And I hope the last sound I hear, is the laughter of these children as they 

jump and kick and dance on my well-worn and crunchy body.

And I will smile as I deteriorate, and my purpose will be fulfilled. 

And I will consider it all, to have been a blessing, 

And I will consider it all, to have been good. 

JESS COFFMAN

"You are under no obligation to be the same person you were a year, month or even 15 minutes ago. 

You have the right to grow. No apologies." - Unknown 

"him." a poem by Jess Coffman

him.
We're sitting in the exact place, 

Where he first began the smile, 

That's tattooing on my heart.

he is the source of happy sighs. 

he is the capturer of moments of peace for me. 

he is a preserver of rare beauty, 

An accomplice to my whims, 

A gentle wave that swirls in my chest, 

And disassembles my fears. 

A calm silver lining, 

Amidst the heaviness of flow in this place we call home.

Transplants attempting to plant roots in ourselves 

And each other,

But with hearts welded back together by our own unsteady hands. 

"Will moments like this be lost forever like breath in the winter?"

Shadows of sweet holding and vulnerable morning kisses, 

Give hope to a new beginning,

A wise and cautious rebirth. 

I'm whole without him, 

My Soul, a beam of Light that aligns me to my Creator.

But with him, I'm embraced in time, 

Made shiny in his sight. 

What a gift this moment is, 

To look the stunning sunset in it's adoring eye, 

And adore it right back,

To have an unquestioning gut, 
And a Full Heart. 

I close my eyes and feel his eyes on my face, 

Taking me in, 

In Prayer. 

Praying for us and thanking our Creator

For this Gift Of Today. 

I open, and look into his dark eyes, 

Seeing the Light On The Inside. 

And once again I surrender a happy sigh, 

And a silent swirl of Ecstasy. 

JESS COFFMAN

"There are some things that are only meant to be seen 
with your eyes and your soul, 

not to be captured on camera." - B.A.L.M

"In Grateful Love," a poem by Jess Coffman

In Grateful Love

In twisting uncertainty I leapt,

And you opened your arms to me,

In following my searching, though certain heart,

You provided for me,

That which every person seeks,

A home.

You let me cry in your arms,

You let me sleep in your bed,

You invited me to eat at your table,

You listened to far too many bumbling words.

You let my body rest,

When it should have kept working.

And through all of this,

 Your insane compassion and graciousness,

Saved my life.

Steven as Husband, Molly as Wife.

With this love, all things are possible.

All things can change.

Your greatest gift together might be

Your inclination and ability to hold a woman upright,

When she is bonelesss, broken.

You offered time and your intimate space for healing.

With a smile on my face and tears of

Gratitude on my cheek,

I bow to you.

The greatest performances of your lives,

may not be those you gift on the stage,

But the enduring gifts of love that heal others in your presence.

I am forever in debt to you.

A debt that I take on with pride,

As a promise to love you forever,

And use my life as a service to others,

As you have served me.

In loving honor, I celebrate your unbreakable strength together.

May you always choose mercy and devotion with yourselves and the world.

With a healed heart I breathe new life.

JESS COFFMAN

Happy 1 Year Anniversary to Molly and Steven Booth! This amazing couple, embraced me when I was struggling and heart-broken. 

You two have made so much of my happiness this whole year possible, starting with one of the happiest days of MY life, which was at your wedding! 

"Blushed and Awaiting" a poem by Jess Coffman

The fall breeze of possibility and "like" 
at least,
Brush the hot blushed cheeks of my 
smiling face,
And I'm elated.
Unprecedented spastic kinetic energy 
swirls about my breast and
I'm hopeful. 
Unknowing and unloving,
I take chances that I've never taken 
before.
Possibly strong and wrong, 
Until I receive the sweets and 
confirmation of my apologetic and 
gloriously outright communication. 
I hold my upright stance of Wonder,
Affection and Openness. 
Unable to detect if the boldness is
unwanted,
I accept the fear and live regardless.
What is destined will be. 

My heart is in bliss, with wings afloat
on hidden desire and shamelessly
in love with Presence. 
Will I be ashamed ultimately?
There is none to know.
My fingers in a flutter,
I'm disappointed at neglecting my afar guitar. 
But the possible missteps prove
Worthy.
In unabashed anticipation of a 
rising sun and a golden harvest of love,
I giggle and await. 

JESS COFFMAN 

Hello Sweet Friends,

I post this poem today with a full heart. It is so rare that I am moved enough to write a happy love poem/lyrics. A scorned heart is so much easier to write from usually because, I'm generally a happy and positive person. So, it's the moments when I'm devastated or pissed off that stand out, and usually draw words out of me. 

This poem is about the fruits of possibility and my excitement for the unknown. Often times, unknowing can cause anxiety or fear, and I am by no means beyond that. In fact I've been known to have a panic attack or two, from not feeling like I possess enough control over my own life at times. But I was surprised last night to find myself giddy with this idea that I don't have any control over what hasn't played out yet. It was freeing and made me feel fresh and giggly. And...because most of my work is romantically inspired in some way, it would come as no surprise that this one is too. I had begun to feel nervous about getting to know a new person. Not the bad knots in your stomach nervous, the swirling joy in your chest nervous. This was somewhat new for me, and was thrilled to feel inspired enough to write about it. Now, I'm sure you'll be able to figure out the story based on future poems, but for now, everything is red flagless and hopeful. I want to suspend this moment as long as possible, before any disappointments, awkwardness or ending occurs. Cross your fingers and toes with me :)

With a smile and a cotton candy heart,

Jess

"Sobered" a poem by Jess Coffman

I did it. 
I busted my heart open.
Throbbing desperately aware.

And you watched the blood drip to the ground,
With a flattened, sterile stare.

And as you turned away from it,
Unconcerned and Uncouth.

I gathered what was left of it,
Sobered in a pool of truth,
And mourned my fleeing youth. 

JESS COFFMAN

Hey Friends,

So...this poem is pretty intense, right? I wrote it a few weeks back when I was downhearted and immensely disappointed. I was up on my roof admiring the setting summer sun and lavender sky, trying to calm my body down from shaking with anger. After chain smoking 4 cigarettes and completing 2 poems, this one included, I had an overwhelming sense of relief. The relief did not come from the cigarettes, which is an infrequent indulgence, I may add. The relief came from the realization that I can never regret the moments, when I open myself up to a passionate experience. Even though, sometimes it creates anger, frustration or sadness, and ultimately comes to an end, it usually inspires me to write. Inspiration is of the utmost importance to me, and love given is never lost. That is not to say that I haven't learned from the times in which, I wasn't wise about who I opened my heart to. I am still learning this. But, a man who becomes My Muse, and stirs me so much that it causes me to create, will never be forgotten. Those men who have done this, have tatooed my heart, and are part of the legacy of my most cherished creative work. After this poem was finished, I put on "House Of The Rising Sun," and danced freely on my roof. 

This poem is dedicated to all of the men who are tatooed on my heart, for better and for worse. The only vow I can make right now in my life, is keeping loving, gaining wisdom and writing about all of you mother-fuckers...till death do us part. 

Sobered, Cleansed and Open,

Your Jess

"Outwitted" a poem by Edwin Markham

He drew a circle that shut me out - 
Heretic, rebel, at thing to flout. 
But Love and I hat the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in!

EDWIN MARKHAM

There are seemingly many divisions between us as citizens in America, ethnicity, education, race, socioeconomic background, religion, money, privilege, success, status, political beliefs, language and residence. But looked at from all angles, we really are in essence, the same. We want love, freedom, acceptance, connection, to feel worthy, to have purpose, to pursue our dreams and to be able to take care of ourselves and loved ones. Can we give "the other" a chance, a listening ear today, and perhaps a smile of understanding?

Love, Respect and Peace,

Jess

"All In A New York Minute," a poem by Jess Coffman

All in A New York Minute,

I'm thrust out of my own head. 

The familiar sound of a street performer,

asking for energy and attention,
that is stretched so thin in 

New York City. 

All in A New York Minute,

The familiar chords of a love lament sounds, 

on the otherwise silent train full of
pre-rush hour travelers.

Though lucky for him, and me, 

the aisles are clear. 

Distracted by a song I love, 

I turn away from the map, 

From the stress of my lateness,

From the stress of my lovelessness. 

His skin is "black," his shirt is black.

He moves with a strength and weakness, 

in perfect likeness, to that which is imbued 

in the song of lost love. 

All in A New York Minute, 

I'm transfixed in his movement, 

so aggressive and yet so fluid.

His "popping and locking" within and against
the backdrop of the rocking train.
Entrancing. 

His balance exquisite, 

the sun casting playful shadows on his ever-focused face.

Eyes downcast, asking nothing more. 

He quietly mouths a few lyrics, accenting his dance.

I want to cry as my heart swells for his art, 

for his tension and release.

All in A New York Minute, 

I'm given a gift that makes my life. 

My guard drops, and My heart opens to My fellow man, 

My fellow mover through space.

I give him 4 dollars and tell him, 

"This is what is great about New York City."

But it in no way, does it adequately express my gratitude 

for causing my invisible veil of callous to disappear, 

for A New York Minute. 

All in A New York Minute,

I swell and fall, 

In joy and sadness. 

These moments sneak up on you here,

And are easily missed in a city 

Overwhelmed with people living on top of one another, 

Holding their tongues.

We're all a bit too tired and weather whipped. 

All in A New York Minute,

I vow to change one of my worst behaviors...a lack of respect for time. 

Tardiness is inadvertently irreverent to whomever
you are promised to. 

But in this instance, had my timing been different, 

the white rose of my innermost being 

would not be in bloom right now. 

I breathe in the aroma of this gift, 

Keeping my lungs full as long as possible, 

knowing that my exhale corresponds directly to the end of this life-giving experience. 

But holding on would be a misuse of the gift. 

Time doesn't judge or have patience,

it simply carries on. 

All in A New York Minute, 

I hold the weight of this beauty in my hands,
and watch it disappear. 

Leaving me in communion, 

with hands cupped in anticipation 
for the next opportunity

to be One within myself, One with the living, 
One with God. 

JESS COFFMAN

Friends,

I'm so thrilled to share this poem. I actually had this experience a few weeks ago while traveling between the 36th Avenue and Queensboro Plaza stops in Astoria, on the N train. I was on my way to a friend's improv. show, totally running late, and feeling terrible about it. I was searching the map on the train, stressing and trying to figure out how to get to an area of town I was unfamiliar with. It was about 4:00pm on a Friday, so the train was relatively empty going into Manhattan. As I was looking at the map, I heard the song "Stay" by Rhianna begin to play. I love that song, and though the music filled the train, it wasn't overwhelmingly loud. I looked over to see this beautiful man begin to dance in a style that I could never even attempt to imitate. It was "urban," the movement all about tension and release. The man looked down the whole time, it seemed as though to not to ask aggressively for our attention. But I gave him my undivided attention and smile. I couldn't help it. He was so captivating, dancing in his own style, mouthing a few meaningful lyrics here and there. The strength and weakness of the movement matched the evocative feel of the song, and gave me an insight into what is perhaps challenging in this man's life. I was moved most of all by his candid artistic expression, and his ability to remain composed and balanced as the train rocked significantly back and forth as he performed. He never wavered, he just danced, with such commitment, power and grace. 

The whole experience lasted about two minutes, but it truly changed my life. When we got to Queensboro Plaza, I gave the earnest dancer  $4.00, and like I said in the poem, I told him "This is what is great about New York City." He took the money somewhat gravely, and as he exited the train I wished I was in a position to give him so much more. I wished that I could give him a job or something else more significant to support him. He was utterly remarkable. His courage and movement were completely responsible that day, for causing me to drop the awful callous, that we build up unknowingly in New York City. Unfortunately, it builds back up rather quickly, but I am always so grateful for the people and experiences that cause my soul to bloom.  

I dedicate this poem to all of the street performers in New York City who play, dance, sing and inspire their fellow citizens. You are part of what makes this city great. 

Open, Earnest and Inspired,

Jess

(The sculptures in the above photos are part of an exhibit on display in the Rye Town Park in New York. They are the brilliant work of artists Joan Benefiel, Jeremy Leichman and Bob Cylatt. You can see the series of 6 sculptures on display in Rye Town Park until Nov. 1, 2015.)

"Divided" a poem by Jess Coffman

SHE

You know that overwhelmed, tightening in your heart you live for, at first glance of your approaching lover? 

I have an exacting feeling, a choking squeeze of emotional acid dripping into my stomach. The most potent essence of love burning as it leaks down, collecting in my gut. I lift destruction to my lips, inviting discoloration, tasting every repercussion of my foolish indelicacies.

(The dark leaves in full submission to the wind, 

push and pull against the lavender sky.)

ME

Dirty blues for a soiled soul,

The saxophone soothes the day's rumination, 

That I've once again 

Allowed the Human to coax the Being. 

Everything is strangely calm,

For a summer city night. 

It counters the heavy beat inside,

Revealing clearly that the division, is exclusively internal. 

Love it seems, a wheel of 

Purest hope unfailingly leading to unfulfilled expectations. 

A little is never enough. 

The Patience of my youth running out faster and faster with time. 

SHE

You know who is always silently waving? 

God, in the leaves. 

Disclosing forgotten promises of consistent love, communication and togetherness!

ME

All is known. 

Nature wise with experience of fire threatening existence. 

The ancient redwood, scorched and mangled, looks down on me with knowingness, 

Without judgment. 

She's been gifted a trunk for thousands to love against, and roots to outlast many who defiantly seek truth. 

I revere her and she allows me. 

JESS COFFMAN

The majestic and resilient 2,000 year old Ancient Redwood, thriving in 

Jack London State Historic Park.

"The House by the Side of the Road" a poem by Sam Walter Foss

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
    In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
    In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
    Where highways never ran;
But let me live by the side of the road
    And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
    Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
    As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat,
    Or hurl the cynic's ban;
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
    And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road,
    By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
   The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away form their smiles
        nor their tears -
    Both parts of an infinite plan;
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
    And be a friend to man. 

Let me live in my house by the side of the road
    Where the race of men go by -
They are good, they bad, they are weak,
        they are strong,
    Wise, foolish - so am I. 
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat
    Or hurl the cynic's ban? -
Let me live in my house by the side of the road 
    And be a friend to man. 

SAM WALTER FOSS

The above photo was taken this past Monday August 24th, of this immense crowd in excited anticipation for a public movie event in Byrant Park, NYC. What movie you ask? None other than the first in my favorite trilogy of all time...Back to the Future! I was on a bit of a personal high at the moment, just having danced for 6 hours straight at a music video shoot, essentially right across from Bryant Park. I was exhausted, but that was replaced with immediate childhood remembrance and glee, when I saw the Delorean and Hover Board from the actual movie! But more than that, I was charmed by the fact that an extremely diverse group of New Yorkers, had come to delight in the gorgeous summer twilight together. There was a magical feeling in the air, likened to the innocent and thrilled energy of trick-or-treating on Halloween night as a kid, and the first romantic Fourth of July fireworks display with your lover.

I fell a little bit more in love with New York that night. But our uncommitted love affair is tricky. New York has everything I could possibly want, but withholds from me too. It dangles the possibility of fulfilling all of my dreams, and snatches them away, just as I begin to show traces of a relieving smile. So, I in turn have learned not to put all of my feelings out into the open, in self-preserving protection. Just like every lover, New York City is not perfect. It can shout too loud, be easily angered, invade my space, take up way too much personal time, put up endless walls and be overwhelmingly hard to weather. But all of that, makes those fleeting moments of surprising generosity, compassion and love, glitter like the stinging sun flitting on the East River. New York City at times may feel like an abusive lover. But I always come back because I am hopelessly drawn to intense passion, uninhibited creativity, endless motivation and a push to be one's best self. Maybe someday, I'll end up with a good ole' Midwestern city, where life is constant, predictable and calm, where I don't fear getting old or being forgotten. But for now, I'm unabashedly drawn to the bad ass. Like Bill Withers said, "I'm gonna spread the news, that if it feels this good getting used, Well you just keep on using me...until you use me up." I love you, New York. 

With Unstoppable Passion,

Your Jess