"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

Philadelphia Magic Gardens!

On Friday, I was called off of work and was looking for something fulfilling to do, when I came across an email from the Philadelphia Magic Gardens. I discovered this amazing creative compound on a walking exploration I was doing of my new city, about 6 months ago. Mind-blowingly talented artist, Isaiah Zagar is a mosaic muralist who alongside his wife Julia, has dedicated his life to grand public art. He was born in Philly, raised in Brooklyn, which immediately I think creates a pretty bad ass and creative east coaster. He acquired a B.F.A. in Painting and Graphics from the Pratt Institute in New York City, travelled the world creating and learning and with wife Julia, spent 3 years in Peru serving in the Peace Corps. After many world-wide accolades and completed commissioned pieces, the  creative couple settled in Philadelphia with a mission to share their world discoveries of art and life with this city of cheesesteaks and Phillies fans. What they created is jaw-dropping. As you walk along South street heading toward Old City, your curiosity is tantalized as your eye is drawn to the light-catching mirrored mosaics that are scattered along the sides of churches, Jamaican restaurants and run down buildings. The gorgeous mosaics light up the city and beckon you to follow. You do of course follow because the unique beauty is unlike anything else you have seen in Philly. After about 7 blocks, your curiosity peaked, you stand at the gates of The Philadelphia Magic Gardens and you can't believe your eyes. Handmade mirror and tile mosaics, bicycle wheels, colored glass bottles, toys and trash create a maze of sculpture that is so inspiring and satisfying, you can't wait to be visually overwhelmed. In addition to the half block outside sculpture garden, there is also an inside gallery that houses Zagar's smaller pieces and also the works of other artists within a similar medium. On Friday, I was fortunate enough to be able to see the opening night of an installation called Imaginings From Nature by local artist Katia McGuirk. I was smitten with her whimsical work, I have a weird thing for bats, so I was hooked immediately when I saw them. I also loved her sexy smoking toad, and her sparkling peacock sculpture of course. Here are some photos of Katia McGuirk's work that I founds most amazing. I also came across this lovely quote from one of Katia's peers explaining his relationship with clay:

"Clay moves at every slightest touch. It moves in the sun, in the air, in the fire, till you put the fire out. Let it move. Clay lives." - Henry Chapman Mercer

If you ever come to Philly, you have to check this place out! Here are a few pictures that I took when Billy and I went in the winter. Oddly enough, my sister who had never heard of this place before, saw it online and bought me a year-long pass for Christmas. Thanks Kaleigh!

http://www.phillymagicgardens.org/

Have a great day!

"Saccharine" a poem by Jess Coffman

Good morning! 

I wrote this poem after being inspired by a story that was told to me by a girl that I worked with last summer. This girl, had the most joyful childlike sweetness I have ever seen in an adult, but as soon as she opened her mouth to sing,  you knew she was a woman. She has this voice, like a force that barrels out of her with a mission to capture your attention, and make you hear what is inside beyond the sweetness. One day I listened beyond the sweetness and wrote this. 

Saccharine

Grown-up Saccharine birthday girl,

With brightest smile and chocolate curl;

Constructs her pointy birthday hat,

Then over pancakes we did chat.

Her eyes took on a distant look,

As she recalled a coloring book.

Her mother sent her off to play,

On a distant island far away.

She colored tight and sung out loud.

Her strong voice made her mother proud.

And so she fetched ripe Saccharine,

To glean the talent of her teen.

She gave her gorgeous clothes to wear,

And made her dye her skin and hair.

Her mother always wanted more.

No imperfection could she ignore.

The only time her mother praised,

Was when a crowd would be amazed.

When Saccharine’s voice filled their ears,

It wrapped them up and eased their fears.

Her mother only let her sing,

In the hopes of all the money she’d bring.

After many years of sheltered song,

She decided not to play along.

One rebellious fated night,

Saccharine closed her full lips tight.

She vowed to never sing until,

She chose to, of her own free will.

Her mother screamed and cried with threat,

She lied and bribed her with a pet.

But Saccharine remained truly steadfast,

Though her mother’s cruelty was aghast.

Until another fated night,

When Saccharine could no longer fight.

She packed her bags and savings too,

And headed toward the ocean blue.

As the very last star whispered goodbye,

She stood in awe of the morning sky.

The wet sand welcomed every toe,

And the seagulls seemed to shout “Hello!”

The palm trees beckoned her to the shore.

The cold sea promised to always adore.

This broke the silence of her song.

And she sang to the sea free and strong.

And everyday she sings at dawn,

To the patient fisherman and passing prawn.

Today her birthday wish is for me,

To release my sorrow to the sea.

And so I will go,

Because I know,

The Joy of my friend Saccharine

Is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. 

JESS COFFMAN

"The Voice of God" a poem by Louis I. Newman and "Vessel" a poem by Jess Coffman

The Voice of God

I sought to hear the voice of God,
    And climbed the topmost steeple.
But God declared: "Go down again,
    I dwell among the people."

LOUIS I. NEWMAN

I read "The Voice of God" last week and I loved it instantly. I love the simplicity and humility of the theme, and it happens to be something that I believe wholeheartedly. I believe that we all have the ability to connect with our Creator, through other people in our lives. Those people whether stranger or friend, act as reflections of our Creator all of the time. There are definitely times in my life when I recognized someone else choosing a kinder,  more helpful, more patient or more understanding choice than my own, and felt like I was being shown a more Godly path. Of course, there are exact opposite scenarios to the ones that I am exploring, but I would like to simply focus on the good for today. It is this idea of each of us being a vessel for our Creator's goodness, that has caused me to write the following poem.


Vessel

Make of me a Vessel, for Goodness and Godness,

To illuminate life’s shadows, and celebrate its Oddness.

I patiently wait with my pen on the page,

For a drop of your wisdom, electricity or rage.

Without fight, I will swallow each ounce of Revelation.

I’ll be thankful for every, slight, daily Transformation.

And with the utmost effort to be a funnel for your Creation,

I hope to bring to you a Counter-Culture Congregation:

A crowd who worships Art and consequently the Most High.

For it is God who began the creative discourse,

And God who urges our Unique Reply.

JESS COFFMAN

"Spruce Me Up Ben Franklin!" a poem by Jess Coffman

Happy 4th of July! This is one of my favorite holidays, I love the energy in the air from billions of people excited for the celebration of flag cakes, marching bands, BBQ's and of course fireworks. It is a day when everyone is joyful, forgiving, maybe a little tipsy and playful, I love it. My family and I used to go to a free concert in an outdoor amphitheater where we could bring our own picnic and booze. It is one of my greatest memories of childhood, I actually would love to be there tonight. But I am happy to be in one of the most patriotic cites in the country instead. 

I was speaking with my Dad this morning and he said something about Ben Franklin which reminded me of a poem that I wrote last summer while I was visiting Billy in Philadelphia. I went to a place called City Tavern for a quick drink while I was waiting for his matinee to end. It is exciting for tourists because the servers are dressed in colonial garb and they serve food that is inspired by 18th century early American cuisine like Braised Rabbit and Tavern Lobster Pie. 

They also serve Yards beer which is a local brewery in Philadelphia, which became well known because of its "Ales of the Revolution." These beers include Tavern Spruce Ale, Tavern Ale and Tavern Porter. These beers are based on the original beer recipes that were created by a few of the Founding Fathers. On that fateful July afternoon at City Tavern in Philly, I discovered my favorite beer of all time is the Tavern Spruce Ale. It was inspired by Benjamin Franklin's 18th century ale which used spruce and molasses in its recipe, since barley and hops were not available. Those unique ingredients make it taste like Christmas in a bottle, and I love every single sip of it. I was so inspired by it that I ended up writing a playful poem about the two things that I loved most in that moment, Billy and Beer. 

Spruce Me Up Ben Franklin!

Our History tell a Kisstory,

Of complete and utter Blisstory.

Which was never a Remisstory,

It was quick with love and trust.

Though the future is a Mystery,

I am certain of Thisstory:

We will not be a Dismisstory,

Our love is timeless and robust. 

Cheers! 

Here are the websites for Yards and City Tavern.

http://www.yardsbrewing.com/

http://www.citytavern.com/