"Then Laugh," a poem by Bertha Adams Backus

Build for yourself a strong box,
Fashion each part with care;
When it's strong as your hand can make it,
Put all your troubles there;

Hide there all thought of your failures,
And each bitter cup that you quaff;
Lock all your heartaches within it,
Then sit on the lid and laugh.

Tell no one else its contents,
Never its secrets share;
When you've dropped in your care and worry
Keep them forever there;

Hide them from sight so completely
That the world will never dream half;
Fasten the strongbox securely -
Then sit on the lid and laugh.

BERTHA ADAMS BACKUS

I read this poem months ago and have been saving it to post on just the right day. Yesterday we had a blizzard on the east coast, and it snowed for 24 hours. I was among the very few, I'm sure, who did not have to stress out about traveling somewhere yesterday or working. For that, I am eternally grateful. Truthfully, I'll probably get frustrated later on today while trying to travel, and forget all about my unending gratitude. So this is life.

"A snow chihuahua, is not a thing." - Alan (the chihuahua)

Around one year ago, I went through an incredibly sad break-up with a man I deeply loved, but could not see our future paths converging. I have never felt so physically weak in all of my life. For about 6 weeks, I moved the fastest I have ever moved, at countless musical theatre dance calls, during audition season. Then later on within the same day, I would expel these involuntary heavy sighs, and move in slow motion, like an ailing old woman.

It was then, in an attempt to build something in my shattered heart, that I began writing a gratitude journal. For this, I would like to give a big shout-out to actor/hunk, Sonny Parmar. He passed this idea on to me, and it has been my most treasured ritual. Almost every morning for the past year, I have sat down with a cup of coffee and written down 10 things I am presently grateful for.  I used to to it before bed, that is before my grizzly and enlightened friend Nick Dalton, recommended that I begin the day with my gratitudes.

This past Friday, I had one of the worst days in regards to my profession. It made me question why I am choosing to live across the country from my family, paying too much for the shoe box of a room I'm subletting, if I am not going to succeed in my completely-unstable-though-deeply-rewarding-when-I-get-the-chance-to-have-the-one-Equity-dance-contract musical theater career?! Luckily, I had my trustee gratitude journal on me, and a borrowed pen. I wrote down 10 things I was grateful for. On of which was Molly Alvarez Booth telling me that "Snow is stupid," which made me laugh heartily and started the process of my funk dissipatiion. I also wrote down that I was grateful for Brian Morrison, telling me that he was "proud of me." Right afterward, I texted Jesse Gonzales that I needed an emergency Bare Burger Happy Hour, and he was right there without question. A collared greens wrapped beef burger and onion rings later, Jesse held up a french fry and said, "Life is like this fry," and my funk was officially swallowed and gone.

On this snowy day in NYC, I'm sure there will be unpleasantries. I'm sure you will experience frustration and ungrateful people. Just for today, lets try to bury our own ingratitudes under a snowy mound, then plop down on top smiling at the sun. Lets just lay there for a second and think of all of the stupid and hilarious things that your best friends have said to you...and then laugh. If we can do this and be grateful, we will have succeeded today.

Laughter, Tap Dancing and Hugs,

Your Jess

"Wanderlove," a poem written by Jess Coffman

I want to love you, without the expectation that you will be the only one, I ever love. 
Will you love me and offer me the same? 
You know that you are New York to me. 
You know that you are Kansas City.
Every moment with you is sacred to me. 
I rest in your arms, and another color, is allowed and revealed. 
So much energy is demanded and expelled,
You lie in my arms and I'm temporarily healed. 
Home is ellusive.
I'll never be exclusively yours. 
Until I've traversed every road of my dreams.
Can't you see I'm not intending to leave a trail of heartache? 
You're not being left behind, we're escaping into a perfect moment in time together. 
Fully mindful of celebration. 
Don't diminish this as thoughtless promiscuity, 
It is my greatest hope that you'll let me just Be, in your beauty,
Leaving us both revivified. 
All questions of life, answered and overflowing with our life force. 
Don't diminish yourself as not good enough, not worthy of all of me. 
You're an entire city to me, sometimes a state.
Your charity, a blessing to me.
A gift I never will exchange,
Until I can be the loyal lover that comes with grey hairs, and a legacy pursued and left. 
Come along, be apart of the memoir...
The heart palpitations, the grandness of the journey, the expansiveness of the possibilities. 
I chase the tiny lustrous beam on the black road ahead, 
It's my inspiration and compass. 
My vision insanely clear, it's the only thing I know and trust. 
I offer you my hand now, to be my goddess tonight, to bask in the bright. 
To give all and take all. 
Let's be the lightning that tempts the river, the smile that infiltrates the soul of the Salt, 
A chance at home and goodnight peace. 
Be with me, hold in your body the 
Understanding that You are the Antidote that cures the 
Wanderlust. 
Come, beauty. Come. 
Rest, beauty.
Rest. 

JESS COFFMAN 

"Wanderlove" is a poem inspired by my dear friend Dru DeCaro. He is dear to me, because when we were younger, Dru made my musical dreams come to life. He is dedication. He is talented. And sometimes he is my Muse. We are both seekers, listeners, lovers and Italians, playing to create and eating with our eyes. Though we are trotting head high, on different paths to achieving optimum lives, we howl at the same moon. This poem was birthed after a long chat in NYC after he played on Jimmy Fallon. He's killin' it you guys. Our long whiskey chat roamed from love to legacy, and our unique and beautiful gypsy lives. And...to the unique and beautiful loves along the way, who are tattooed on our hearts, and will be written of in our memoirs. Here's to you Dru. Cheers! 

I would also like to thank Jonathan Bradford, for inspiring in me these words, concepts and feelings as well, during the time that this poem was written. 

Warmth, Love and Soul Wolves,

Your Jess

"What Was His Creed?" a poem by H.N. Fifer

What was his creed?
I do not know his creed, I only know
That here below, he walked the common road
And lifted many a load, lightened the task,
Brightened the day for others toiling on a weary way:
This, his only meed; I do not know his creed.

His creed? I care not what his creed;
Enough that never yielded he to greed,
But served a brother in his daily need;
Plucked many a thorn and planted many a flower;
Glorified the service of each hour;
Had faith in God, himself, and fellow-men; --
Perchance he never thought in terms of creed,
I only know he lived a life, in deed!

H.N. FIFER


creed - noun 

1. any system, doctrine, or formula of religious belief, as of a denomination

2. any system, or codification of belief or of opinion.

3. the eldest, most mysterious and my favorite character on the American Television show "The Office," played by actor Creed Bratton, ironically his character name is also "Creed Bratton"

4. 2015 follow-up film to the Rocky films, (93% rating on Rotten Tomatoes) in which "Rocky Balboa" trains "Apollo Creed's" son to be a boxer.

meed - noun - Archaic

1. a reward or recompense

I would like to dedicate this poem to my friend Brendan Flaherty, who exemplifies the man spoken about in the poem. Let me also mention that Brendan is alive, well, and being amazing. He recently got his car broken into, but not much was stolen except for some tissues and loose change. Instead of letting this situation take his spirits down, he is instead going to turn "this negative act in to a positive one and will be donating what money said person was hoping to find to a good cause, and if you [stealer] are someone in need perhaps you will indirectly benefit from it."

This inspiring act of choice regarding perspective really makes my day. It is an amazing reminder to me, that we don't always get to choose what happens to us, but we have complete responsibility over how we handle ourselves. Thank-you Brendan.

Getting angry is too easy... Spread the LOVE! - Brendan Flaherty

Peace, Love and Patience,

Jess

Excerpts from "Ode On A Grecian Urn," a poem by John Keats

II

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 

Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;

Not to the sensual ear, but more endear'd,

Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:

Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave

Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;

Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,

THough winning near the goal --yet, do not grieve;

She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,

For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

III

Ah, happy, happy bough! that cannot shed

Your leaves, not ever bid the Spring adieu;

And, happy meloldist, unwearied,

Forever piping songs forever new;

More happy love! more happy, happy love!

Forever warm and still to be enjoy'd,

Forever panting, and forever young; 

All breathing human passion far above,

That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,

A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

V

...When old age shall this generation waste,

Though shalt remain, in midst of other woe

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,

'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' --that is all 

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

JOHN KEATS

P.S. The photo above was taken while on an adventure, discovering a portion of the Sonoma Creek in Glen Ellen, CA. It is of wild raspberries and mint growing together, among the yellow butterflies and blue dragonflies. Fresh Raspberry Mojitos anyone?

"Growing Old" a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The days grow shorter, the nights grow longer;
The headstones thicken along the way;

And life grows sadder, but love grows stronger

For those who walk with us day by day.

The tear comes quicker, the laugh comes slower;

The courage is lesser to do and dare;

And the tide of joy in the heart falls lower,

And seldom covers the reefs of care. 

But all true things in the world seem truer,

And the better things of earth seem best,

And friends are dearer, as friends are fewer,

And love is all as our sun dips west. 

Then let us clasp hands as we walk together,

And let us speak softly in low, sweet tone,

For no man knows on the morrow whether

We two pass on --- or but one alone.

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

"The Human Touch" a poem by Spencer Michael Free

'Tis the human touch in this world that counts,

The touch of your hand and mine,

Which means far more to the fainting heart

Than shelter and bread and wine;

For shelter is gone when the night is o'er,

And bread lasts only a day,

But the touch of the hand and the sound of the voice

Sing on in the soul alway.

SPENCER MICHAEL FREE