"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

"Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day" a poem by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Though art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE


I would not take it as a compliment if an admirer compared me to a New York summer's day in August. You know that kind of humid heat that makes the insides of your elbows sweat, as you wait 15 minutes on a Saturday for the train to ooze its way up to your stop. Luckily, now I live off of a subway stop that is above ground. But summertime Washington Heights...was swamp ass city. And with this mouth... one probably would compare me to a New York summer's day.

Actually today, it was beautiful in New York, and because I had the day off, I went for a run. Believe me, it was still totally sticky and hot. But I was all in, uninhibited even by a shirt, and ready for a nature adventure. You see, when I see things growing, I see God. I literally ran into the Socrates Sculpture Park, some soft green hydrangea nodded at me, and I said "Oh hey God...so this is where you are hiding in Astoria!" Next time you meet me, ask me about the "Pink Floyd-Palm Tree-God" sighting while I was doing Yoga at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. God actually waved to me via a palm tree, that I saw upside down through my legs...while I was doing downward facing dog. That's pretty much the whole story, and it was the first of many stories of God saying "Surprise, here I am Jess!" mainly through trees. But, God has said "What's Up?!" through waves, butterflies, and today a handful of flowers.

Anyway, now that you think I'm totally a hippie granola walnut job, I'll get back to my day. So after the hydrangea and I had our moment, I walked around thrilled to be there, and admired the durable installations in the park. There was this amazing piece called the "Living Pyramid," created by Agnes Denes. Each level of the pyramid's outside edge is composed of garden boxes, and each box contains flowers and grasses. It definitely doesn't look like it was designed by a landscaper. The flowers seem to be fortuitously planted and the grasses are on a spectrum from dead to alive, and overgrown. But I loved it. I love when architecture and nature can come together, because they seem to be mutually exclusive to me, especially in a place like New York City. One thing I learned from performing and living in Northern California this summer is, that I want to eventually settle down in a place that has more trees than buildings...and more trees than people.

However, I did meet a lovely person today named Rebecca. We were both singles looking to take advantage of free kayaking on the East River today! The little beach is small and misshapen, and completely missable, had I not decided to hang a left on my run outside of the Socrates Sculpture Park. Rebecca (an only child from New Jersey with a fancy editor job in Manhattan) had been waiting as a "single rider" for awhile, until I hopped my drippy sunscreen strewn body, upfront with her in the kayak. Although, I was eager to encounter God again on the water alone, I shrugged off the hoped for inspiring alone time, and decided to enjoy the 20 minutes with Rebecca. We had a lovely chat. Though at one point, we rode up to the corner of a building along the shore to admire the amazing metal sculptures, when a ferocious unleashed guard dog surprised us with terrifyingly threatening barks. It wouldn't have been so scary, except that there wasn't a fence surrounding the building, and the dog came right up to the corner edge of the dock. Being only a few feet below the barking beast, we both screamed because we were so surprised. There were a few torturous moments when we scrambled to get our bearings, and couldn't seem to paddle ourselves away. But eventually we did, and then we laughed together.

It was truly a beautiful moment exchanged between two single women trying to chase their dreams in New York City...and play a little too.

Even though I assume Shakespeare's above poem is meant to reveal romantic admiration for a lover, I would like to dedicate this poem platonically to Rebecca in Astoria today. Thank-you for being a "single rider," who was both lovely and temperate. And when "fair from fair sometime declines," hopefully we won't be "single riders" anymore, and I will still be grateful for our life-giving adventure together today. Rebecca, I shall compare thee to this beautiful New York summer's day.


Peace, Love and Smiles,

Jess

"Spanish Moss" a poem by Jess Coffman

The silent swishing of the Spanish moss, 

The Sun peeking between the leaves,

My heart swells and I release a sigh,

Of uncertainty, love and overwhelm. 

The dusky haze, halos growing wine,

The Presence weighing warm and heavy.

The faintest spice upon my lips,

Equally fulfilling and melancholy.

River-wrought and filthy, 
Bacardi purified within, 

I close my eyes and accept it all. 

His gentle fingers leave invisible scars on my skin,

And I'm old and I'm new,

And I'm young again and renewed.

Nothing is certain,

But his head 

Laying bravely on my lap,

Conjuring words of beauty and devotion,

Creating a never-ending ocean. 

Which he offers and takes,

In the quakes he creates.

JESS COFFMAN

"The Valley of the Moon" a love poem by Jess Coffman

The Valley of the Moon...

Where you're baptized in Beauty,

the instant you step

outside of your door.

A Cleansing,

Shameless Wonderland

Awakening hidden desire

And a Full, Body Smile.

Transcendence,

within every sunbeam,

If you're Brave enough

to find Your Light.

If you're Open enough

to Discover it,

If you're Bold enough

to Uncover it.

If you're Adventurous enough

to touch the Abundant, Astounding

Fruits of Nature

with just One fingertip...

Imagine what you could feel

if you Surrendered

your whole hand...

or Two whole hands?

Imagine what you could give of yourself!

The Valley of the Moon...

With Energy that pulls you

into its tides of Fun and Forgiveness.

With the eventual realization that

the Pulse you feel,

is your Deepest Self Aligning

With The Flow.

WIth the Universal Heartbeat.

In Connected Awareness,

Senses and Responsibility Heightened,

wine never tasted so full-bodied,

your Body never felt so Full of Joy.

a gentle touch feels Ecstatic,

and at once you're In Love

with every pair of eyes you meet.

The Valley of the Moon...

where words of Love

Bubble and Pour from your lips,

under hot pink clouds,

resembling visions of

Your Highest,

Most Uninhibited Being.

Your wildest Dreams

become like the wings of doves,

with Inborn Instincts that Follow

and Lead you to Home.

The Valley of the Moon...

where my feet sing,

and my lips dance.

My perspective flipped upside down,

but held firmly with

The Strength and talent of

So many Persistent Adventurers

Alongside Me.

I'm Enveloped in a Kindred Hug

of Understanding,

Fueled by Tenacity and Perseverance,

with an undercurrent of

Uncertainty and Flexibility.

In Their arms,

I am Known.

In Their arms,

I am Home.

With chests raised high,

And hands entwined in Unity,

We Breathe Together,

With Unfailing Belief, Courage and Respect, in

The Valley of the Moon.




JESS COFFMAN


This poem is dedicated to every single person who has put their personal time, talents, positive energy, gratitude and laser focus, into making the Transcendence experience what it is today. 

This poem is especially dedicated to the "Oh, What a Night" cast, crew and volunteers who with grace, persistence and love, make glorious magic for one another, and every guest who is touched by our uplifting performances, in the Jack London State Historic Park. 

This poem seeks to put into words that which is so beautiful and unique about the Valley of the Moon wine region, which is where our Transcendence Theatre Company experience takes place. It is also meant to give the reader, a look into what it feels like for me, to align my personal creative energy with like-minded individuals. We begin each experience together with the intention of sharing our unique gifts and being of service, not only for each other, but for our audiences and ultimately for the greater good. 

I adore the Valley of the Moon and my Transcendence family. 

This was written to be a love poem to both.

Thank-you for reading!

Have a joyous day,

Jess

"Off-Roading" a poem by Jess Coffman

Spellbound and stagnant,

Head cocked to the side, 

In this Sonoma haze, 

In this Sonoma laze. 

I'm completely off-roading, 

Riding wild and fried, 

Not unraveling blind, 

Though not heeding the signs. 

Waking in beauty, 

Without consequence,

In ignorant bliss,

With ignorant kisses.

We frolic and caper

In summer romance, 

Hands up in surrender, 

In worship to chance.

I keep an ear to the wind,

Collecting blue flowers,

Covered in answered prayer, 

Bowed down to, for hours.

But foreseeing from past, 

The road'll call till I'm back, 

And I'll dance in sweet virtue, 

Once I've learned from the lack. 

Though when I lay in blue flowers...

The bees buzz me to sleep. 

Can I dream this to life? 

With my Soul mine to keep? 

So...I spin till I'm dizzy,

The gypsy's lament,

With no roots firmly planted,

In downward decent.

Or, maybe I'm heading, 

Toward Heavenly ascension, 

A skip on the clouds, 

With no road to mention. 

I suppose I'm in fear, 

I'm capricious and waiting,

For these bubbles to pop,

For the heart-sink, and drop.

At once, wistful and quiet 

In this reckless abandon, 

Recalling past kisses

When I threw all my cards in.

And how I withdrew then, 

I picked them slowly, 

My lips hanging lowly,

As I took back my chances.

At sunset's beckoning,

I let worry bow,

And fall to the beauty 

Imbuing us now.

I sip up a breath,

And halt the reckoning.

The overture plays, 

For my life's second act.

I step up to the stage, 

Submit to the beckoning, 

Embrace the Off-Centered,

Unbuckle my knees. 

Swept off of my toes, 

In utter improvisation,

I whirl in wonder, 

And swallow the dream. 

Wholly present, I choose

This gifted hallucination,

And bask in the 

Stunning possibility 

It gleams.

JESS COFFMAN

 

 

  

Hey Friends!

"Off-Roading" was written over the course of about 24 hours, which is a really rare occurrence. I usually get sucked into The Flow of inspiration, and I have to drop whatever I'm doing immediately, to quickly receive and interpret the words. This is why I always have to have my phone charged and a pen and notebook on me, at all times. I never really know when I will be gifted the opportunity to be invited into inspiration. It's not always entirely precarious, I can definitely sit down and write, and feel good about what I have just put down. But there are times, usually when I am stimulated by the beauty of nature or unique experiences, that I enter a kind of euphoric state, where I'm taken over for a period of time. I can feel it coming on, and while I'm in it, I try my best to stay in it, and then I can also feel it receding. It's like a sort of high, and not to be totally crass, but it's akin to different levels of orgasms. Sometimes its totally euphoric and other times it feels good but isn't life changing. Sorry Mom, and other family members...but I'm thirty. 

I am currently in Sonoma, having the most amazing time working for Transcendence Theatre Company. This experience has felt like a honeymoon...partly because there are lots of people here on their honeymoon. But honestly, the people of Transcendence, the people of Sonoma, the marvelous natural landscape, the ability to sing and dance in the stunning Jack London State Historic Park, and the fact that I am so inspired here, has made me recommit to life. Recommit to God. Recommit to health. Recommit to dance. Recommit to insane generosity. Recommit to being weird. And has opened me up to respecting silence, respecting different belief systems, respecting hard work, respecting indulgence, respect for the lack of control in my life, respect for a garden and meat that I consume, respect for making insane dreams come true. And...respect for the mysterious welder/artist who owns Cyclops Ironworks, who is responsible for all of the marvelously weird art you see above. 

And after committing and recommitting myself to so many things, and vowing to respect so many other things, that is when the honeymooning began. I am in love with life right now...and a sparkling red from Paradise Ridge winery, thanks to Jonathan. But every great honeymoon must come to an end...or does it? 

Love, peace and wine, 

Jess