"The Shedding" a poem by Jess Coffman

Tough little skin,
Tough little smile, 

Tough little thoughts,

Tough little tears,     

Tough little heart. 

Lovely little skin,
Lovely little smile,
Lovely little thoughts, 
Lovely little tears,
Lovely little heart. 

Longing little skin, 

Longing little smile,

Longing little thoughts, 

Longing little tears,

Longing little heart. 

Lonely little skin,

Lonely little smile,

Lonely little thoughts,

Lonely little tears,

Lonely little heart. 

Shedding little skin, 

Shedding little smile,

Shedding little thoughts, 

Shedding little tears,

Shedding little heart.

 

Empty little skin,

Empty little smile,

Empty little thoughts, 

Empty little tears,               

Empty little heart.

Fragile little skin,

Fragile little Smile,

Fragile little thoughts,

Fragile little tears,

Fragile little heart.

JESS COFFMAN

I realize that these pictures may be super gross to some of you, and possibly super interesting to the rest of you. I have never given much thought to the idea that certain animals moult, but recently I have become fascinated with it. I wrote this poem when I was in a very confused and depressed place, which I seem to be coming out of. But because I didn't want anyone to worry, I held off posting this poem until my mind was at peace. For about the past two months, I believe that I have been moulting. Yes, I did just say that, but just stay with me for a few more minutes. I think it is a perfectly natural phenomenon experienced by humans emotionally and animals physiologically. 

I had my 29th birthday about 2 months ago, which I wasn't particularly nervous or excited about. My sweet boyfriend celebrated with me before he went out of town for a five week gig, and I threw myself a small birthday dinner on my actual birthday. And then, like some crazy stereotypical clockwork, I began to wig out. I blamed it on switching my birth control, on my boyfriend being out of town, on my boyfriend not being the right guy for me, on catering to "the living rich" while being "the living poor" and on hating New York. But none of those worries previously had conjured up the intense emotional shift I suddenly began experiencing. Overnight, I was unsatisfied with my life. I was sick of my boyish clothes, of being a starving artist and I became obsessed with the fear that I was not a part of an actual "adult" relationship. I could feel myself outgrowing my current life, and it felt as though I did not have any control over the change I was experiencing.

On a desperate Tuesday morning, I began to write this poem at my favorite place in New York, The Heather Garden. It is located in Fort Tryon Park, a place so beautiful and inspiring to me, it has become a place of refuge and sanctuary. It is never crowded, it is always peaceful, and my spot overlooking the Hudson and G.W. bridge is always open for me. Upon finishing "The Shedding," and rereading the rather emo words, I randomly began to think of a snake and how a snake sheds its former self quite naturally, so it can grow. And with much relief, I realized that that was exactly what I was feeling emotionally. I was shedding my "girlhood" and mourning the loss of it. At the same time, I was feeling scared about my future, and the realization that the time had come for me to really become a woman. 

What I learned about moulting, was so important to me because it made me feel as though what I was experiencing was completely natural. For humans, it's called a mid-life crisis. For spiders, snakes,  lizards and hermit crabs, its called moulting. And because I am not quite mid-life, nor do I want the negative connotation, I'm likening myself to a maturing female spider instead. Just so you know, I am writing this with a smile on my face, because I know it sounds kind-of ridiculous, even though it is a perfect explanation for how I feel. 

This whole change began with me becoming very anti-social. I convinced myself that I was just getting in a fare dose of "alone time," but truly I was distancing myself from the outside world. I also decided to eat a vegan, no preservatives, gluten-free diet, at this same time, which didn't seem to be connected in any way. However, when I looked up moulting, I saw that in arachnids, they often become reclusive and fast for a long period of time before a moult. Once the old self is shed, the spider's new body is vulnerable and fragile for a short time, so it can grow to it's new potential. When all of the possible growth has occurred for this stage of the spider's life, then the new exoskeleton will harden. The other fascinating fact to me was that male spiders tend to mature quickly and have less moults in the course of its life time, whereas female spiders moult more and consequently grow larger than male spiders before she reaches full maturity.

This experience has reminded me that I am connected  to every living thing on this planet, and sometimes the answers to life's questions are found when looking to our ancestors in nature. Now that I feel kindred and absolutely empathic with female spiders, I just might live a bit more happily alongside them in my house. But as for fruit flies, I will murder those bitches any day.

"Little Smiling Poem" A poem by Jess Coffman

If I smile at you, will you smile back,
Without any strings attached?
Except that two souls saw a moment in time
To empathize, care and relax?

In a city with personal barriers gone,
A stranger, is not a friend unknown.
Surrounded by millions of people today,
I'll still feel starkly alone. 

A woman won't smile, while passing a man,
Without fear that she'll be inviting,
His gifts of empty, unwanted praise,
So her good will go into hiding.

Eyes downcast, headphones in,
We ride the train in a daze. 
Protecting ourselves from each other,
Disengaging from our days.

If I'm lucky, a small child hops on the train,
With endless questions to a weary mother.
Quickly, the dreariness disappears,
And life again is in color.

My neighbor sighs and I softly chuckle,
And smiles can't help but appear.
Two souls share a moment of pure delight,
Relieving all fears of despair. 

I took this picture on Halloween of this tiny kid wearing his 3 Train costume, because I thought it was hilarious and so adorable. The Dad told me that I could take the picture, and I promised that I was only taking it to send to my Mom. I think I actually used the words "this is not going to go online or anything, I just want to send it to my Mom." But now here I am going back on my word. This kid and his Dad were totally strangers to me, so I have absolutely no permission to put this up. But you can't see the kid's face, so I feel like I'm fine. I will however give a big shout out to his Dad who handcrafted this amazing costume.

Anyway, I never thought I would actually use this picture, so I never thought about breaking my promise. But as I was looking for images online first of smiles, then children in strollers, then Mexican babies, I remembered this picture. It really provides a perfect image for this poem. It has all of the elements: strangers, trains, a cute child and my big smile on the other side of the camera.

Smile at strangers today, you never know who really needs it!

My Merciful Muse a poem by Jess Coffman

Eyes closed,
Folded hands to forehead,
I use to believe that my prayers were received.
That you were positively tickled to send through me,
The warm and glittering good news of the day.

But shortly after the coldest winter in a century
Killed the green,
Your calming melodies quieted.
This ferociously loud city out sung you, my Muse,
And I became a skeptic.

You renewed me with words of deliverance,
You called me to my calling,
Yet I stopped believing in your existence. 

One desperate day, I pleaded to hear you.
But after months of refusing your help,
I had forgotten how to listen to you.

I panicked. 

A convoluted symphony blasted in my brain.
The violins screaming and the timpani pounding,
Relentlessly and ominously.
Though I heard your faint, unobtrusive calling,
I didn't listen to you.

I made the wrong choice.
I chose the path to pride over the path to transcendence.

Humiliated by my lack of sacrifice and trust in you,
And like a suffering child,
I pressed my trembling hands over disobedient ears,
And again, tried to ignore you.

But, your calm overwhelmed me.

I open my tightly shut eyes to find that
I was not smited, injured or damned.
I had closed a door that I was not meant to,

Though I would have to learn how to listen again,
And I would have to endure the earthly consequences,
I would not suffer the divine consequences.
For you are more than fair my Muse,
You are merciful.

JESS COFFMAN

I still feel mad at myself for not choosing to see The Birth of Venus at the Uffizi Museum when I was in Florence. I was 21 at the time, and had done a terrible job of budgeting out my money during my 3 week trip to Europe. My day in Florence was only halfway through my trip and I was destitute. But, even though I had run out of money, that day was one of my favorite days of the trip. It was raining and rather gloomy, but that made it all the more romantic to me. I had borrowed a few Euro from another American girl to go to a museum, but The Birth of Venus by Botticelli and Michelangelo's statue of The David were at two different museums. I didn't have enough money for both, so I chose the naked man instead. I know the The David is supposed to be super impressive because of the shear size of the piece among other things. But honestly, the only thing that really impressed me about it, was the beautifully coiffed pubic hair.

Another let down, was the fact that director Roberto Benigni, was scheduled to speak at an outdoor amphitheater in Florence that day. I don't think that it ended up happening because of the rain, and I was too poor to go anyway, but I wanted to hear him speak so badly. Life is Beautiful was such an important film to me.

I somehow lost track of time in my romantically poor state, and I experienced a stressful sprint up to the Piazzele Michelangelo just as my tour bus was pulling away. There were two other times that I was almost was left in romantic foreign cities because I missed the tour bus. The first time was in Verona when I was mesmerized by all of the letters left at Juliet's balcony. As in Romeo and Juliet people. Strangers from around the world, wrote love notes to true or star-crossed lovers and posted them with bubble gum on a stone archway. It was the greatest thing I had ever seen, and I was temporarily left in Verona, Italy because of it. The second time I missed the tour bus,  was when I got stung by a bee while in the gardens of Versailles, France. I did not speak a word of French and because I could not explain that I was not allergic to bees, the Versailles EMTs were called. I was slightly annoyed, until the hunkiest French EMT pulled out a huge syringe and sucked out the bee stinger. He could not speak English and his green eyes were beautiful. It was a super uncomfortable turned hot experience.

I say all of this only to explain, that when I picture my Merciful Muse, she looks a lot like the way Botticelli painted Venus. I love that she is the pearl of the shell. I love that Botticelli painted her hair so long, so that she could gracefully cover herself. It is a stunning picture, but I know the real thing will inspire a beautiful moment in me one day that I must experience. So if you could, say a little prayer that my current $60 dollar "Travel Fund" will increase to a heap of money so I could finally have my moment.

Peace, Love and Ice Cream,

Jess

"When My Dad Goes" a poem by Jess Coffman

When My Dad Goes


When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who ever asked to brush my hair. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who let me sleep in his armpit.

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who woke me up before the sun. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who made a maple bar taste like love.

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
I ever hugged on a motorcycle. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who sacrificed, so I could dance. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who really wanted to put me first. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man
to look at me with overwhelming love.

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
to tip me 100 percent on his lunch bill.

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
to sing Christmas Carols on my answering machine. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who told me I could do or be anything.

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
I tell I love, but rarely see. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man I love,
with the courage to live differently. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man I love, 
despite our differing points of view.  

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who loves me for my strength. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man I love, 
who told me he was proud of me. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man I knew, 
who cried at the National Anthem.

When my Dad goes, he'll the only man I knew,  
who lived for the fight. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man I knew 
who didn't give a shit, what others thought.

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man I knew, 
who made baby-back ribs taste like love. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who "bad-danced" better than me. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man 
who showed me God in nature.

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man I knew, 
who ever offered to protect me. 

When my Dad goes, he'll be the only man I've loved my whole life. 

Jess Coffman

Hello Friends!

"When My Dad Goes," is a poem that is inspired by the expertly crafted and tremendously evocative film, "Everybody's Fine." Robert De Niro steals your heart as he plays the calm and calculated widower "Frank Goode" who sets out on a journey across the country to visit with his children. I pretty much cried for the entire 2 hours that it took me to watch and recover from the movie. I completely identified with this story, in the sense that I have a strong, hard-working, proud, sometimes lonely, father trying to connect with his children who are spread out across the country. "Frank Goode" has many set-backs emotionally and physically in the film, but eventually he acquires a rather sad and honest connection with his children. 

I called my Dad at one point when I took an emotional break from the film, to tell him how much I loved him. After our brief and lovely conversation, where my Dad reassured me that he missed me and he was proud of me, I began to write this poem. I don't believe that there are any perfect children or any perfect parents, and though my childhood was complicated, I am so blessed to have the parents that I do. This poem is a celebration of a few wonderful details explaining why I love and appreciate my Dad so much. I hope it inspires you to call a relative today, and tell them how important they are to you. 

Have a blessed day!

Jess 

P.S. Check out this youtube video of my Dad "bad-dancing" called "Zumba Dad Killin It!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZjbUMfpuBE

"Winter in New York" a poem by Jess Coffman

Expectation has captured me like a fish on a hook.
Choking on what feeds me, I can't wriggle myself free.
Bound by the Guilt of not becoming what everyone wants 
me to Be. 

I've felt the Sun Shine in my chest,
And I chase that feeling like a child,  
An eager child,
Who flips and sings so you won't forget she's special.
The Warmth is real, but slowly dying out with the fading light.
The Cold is creeping, clawing in, and I haven't been feeling alright.

Like a stressful game of "Hot Potato,"
Where I'm the single player,
I'm running in circles, 
Trying to keep my dreams up, off the floor.
Struggling to give them life, 
As they begin to fall. 
Praying that the music won't stop, 
Not knowing sometimes why I do it at all. 

I've worked so hard to convince myself
That I have something to believe in. 
But no one cares to hear my voice, 
I'm unsuccessful not by choice.

But, I'm no longer jealous of those at the top,
Whose lives are what I once wanted.
I just want the sunshine back in my heart,
I just want to love my days and not fall apart.

Though no one talks of lifelong dreams that should be given up.
There's too much shame, too much blame and precious time wasted. 
We're convinced we're Nothing without them, 
And we can't bare to face it.   
Like an abused lover we hold ourselves, 
Making excuses for our pain.
We take the punches, 
Remembering better days, 
Praying for them again.

But if you cry more than you bellow with laughter, 
If you give your love and they never take,
If your smile is relentlessly forced and fake,
Without shame,
With Belief,
It's time for a new dream. 

Jess Coffman 

Happy President's Day! I am taking the Founding Fathers lead and finding myself today. I'm ready to establish a new nation, I'm throwing away rules that I once had for myself that haven't worked up to this point. I am working on not feeling guilty for past dreams that have not come to fruition. Instead, I am seeking out some old and some new activities, and only those people who help to spark my inner light. I know that I am responsible for keeping that light shining, and I have let it go out for the last time! If this means my pursuits in life have to change completely, then so be it! "This Light of Mine, I'm Gonna Let it Shine!" Who's With Me?!

"Smuggled Love" a poem by Jess Coffman

Our toes sunk in the sand,

As sailboats drifted on the sea.

Paint dripped from my hand,

Admiring you carefully.

But I couldn't hold your hand in peace,

Without whispers hot with hate,

So I paint the insides of our hearts 

With the colors we create.

            Honorable love in hiding,

            A love distinctive from the others.

With the passion of artists, 

And the loyalty of brothers.

           

            With you my life makes sense.

            Each day it's you, I choose.

            With an absolute devotion,

            That I will never lose.

It has all been worth the struggle,

The most painful and beautiful test,

Though I wish I never would have smuggled.

Our life and love past the rest.            

           

I’ll paint you each day before I die,

I’ll ache to love you tenderly.

and in Heaven, I'll ask God why,

He created homosexuality.

JESS COFFMAN

 I woke up at 4 am this morning with no idea of why I had woken up, and decided it was time to post a new poem! 

I actually wrote the first draft of this poem originally in a lyric writing class that I took at UCLA, taught by the hilarious and talented, Mr. Marty Panzer. He is Barry Manilow's life long writing partner. One of my favorite things about that class were his wild stories, and the fact that he would buy us pizza every week. I actually think that that was when I fell in love with sausage on my pizza. 

One of the other wonderful things that I loved about his class, was the fact that his life-long partner Greg, would come to class too. Greg was pretty quiet, but every once in a while he add in a little quip to one of the stories and we all loved it. I remember Marty reading us a set of lyrics that he wrote, with the title, "I'll love you back to life," and I had to imagine it was inspired by their relationship, which I found to be beautiful. 

Isn't that an amazing lyric? I would be so relieved, overwhelmed and grateful to hear someone say that they would "love me back to life." That seems like a lot of effort, that this impatient world just doesn't have time for.

So this song was actually an assignment that we had been given. Unfortunately I don't remember the names of the two men that we studied, but Marty gave us some reading material about a couple who was gay and a bit oddly matched due to their rather large age gap. The older man was a painter who painted countless works of his partner even up until death. 

I know for some of you this poem may make you feel uncomfortable, due to my liberal social views. But almost always seeing how the other half lives or thinks causes us to grow. I felt that way recently, when  my Dad took me to a gun range to learn how to shoot. I was pretty terrified, but I was quickly calmed by the prevailing sense of humility and reverence for the danger of the sport. Safety was first, there was no fucking around. Much to my surprise, I ended up shooting 3 different rifles that my Dad had brought that day. Though it was definitely a weird way for me to spend a Sunday afternoon, I ended up actually enjoying it and was pretty good at it. I also realized that an unloaded gun is just a piece of metal, but in the hands of the wrong person, it is extremely powerful and destructive. Did the experience completely change my political views? No. But it did give me a greater sense of understanding about the way that the people on the other side of the fence lives, and I was grateful for that. 

All the best,

Jess

"The Eyes That Turned My Tides" a poem by Jess Coffman

The Eyes That Turned My Tides

A familiar fear echos through Me

And I contemplate running away

But you hold me still with tranquil eyes

And in them, I can’t help but stay

What I thought was real love from another

Left my hopeful heart, sunken and drowned

But you’ve kept me safe with buoyant love

And in you, my new faith abounds

JESS COFFMAN

This tiny love poem is dedicated to my Billy.