Saturday, February 25, 2012

Loving loving

love pours out, breaks through my skin
I have porous places seeping/leaking
into your life
because you called me here
and, like rain finds
cracked ground to water
and fill with hope,
I am running to you/
filling spaces you've
left for me/carved
my name, said, "this crevice will do"

I am in love in all the right
ways and reasons/
shaking my fear free from
yesterday's chains,
refusing to hold you accountable
for someone else's inflicted pain

I am no longer running
from the possibility
that love is healing
even in the face of missteps/
mistakes and failed opportunities
to grow, to stretch
to be in tune with the
rushing waters
of my own heart

I am wide-open flayed
bleeding love back
to you

© Valerie Bridgeman
August 4, 2011

Hand on Belly

She always knew
how to soothe me sleep
after nightmares
and stomach aches

often with catnip tea
or some other
honey-coated concoction
easy on the throat

she knew the worth
of a hand on belly
easing the pain
heightened by fear

she knew the gift
of a well-placed palm
skin and memory
easy, caressed
belly in hand


© Valerie Bridgeman
August 6, 2011

In the Spirit

There are times
I find myself
Swaying from side to side,
Moving in rhythm to
A song in my mind,
A song only I can hear,
A song that’s reverberating:
I’m smiling, dancing, daydreaming.
I find myself keeping the beat
With genuine joy,
Even with hell flying
All over my head,
Bills piling high,
And work I don’t want to do.
Moving and keeping time,
Keeping faith,
A celebration is going on
In my soul.

I turn my ear and heart upward,
Get the sway and swagger
Going on from side to side:
Life just needs to be dance to
Sometimes.

In the spirit of hope.

A hope that things
May be down,
But I’m not out;
Life comes in cycles,
Tides, ups, downs,
However you fathom
The way things work.
The song changes
From time to time,
The swing and mood of life
Can be whimsical.
Tides do turn.
Fortunes do reverse.
But if you’re always underneath
The rough reverb,
You’ll miss the beat of hope
In the music,
Even when it’s loud,
Full of love,
And people are actually
Speaking to you on the streets,
Waving hellos
As if they know you.

Those are the times
You’ve just got to stop yourself
From whining,
So you can hear the baseline,
The undercurrent of jokester joy,
That playful melody that says
You’re taking yourself
And life way too seriously.
Smile! Dance! Daydream!

Turn your ear and heart upward,
Get the sway and swagger
Going on from side to side:
Life just needs to be dances to
Sometimes.

In the spirit of love!

A love so rich, so electric
I have to step back
And watch the fireworks!
It’s basic stuff: you get burned
If you get too close.
If you find the right distance,
It’ll warm you thru and thru;
People will know you’re in love.
The spirit of living
Will be your guide.

Pain, it’s a part of the equation,
But, honey,
It ain’t all the equation;
It ain’t even the biggest or lowest
Common denominator:
It’s just a small factor
In the loving.

You have to trust
The steps to the dance,
Swing your partner,
Change only when the pain
Is not teaching the love
Or the divine
Is not leading the orchestra.
You’ll know!  You’ll know!
Smile! Dance! Daydream!

Turn your ear and heart upward,
Get the sway and swagger
Going on from side to side:
Life just needs to be danced to
Sometimes

In the spirit of celebration!

© Valerie Bridgeman
circa May 1999

Friday, February 24, 2012

On Discovery

For a dear friend; your love feeds me

You said, “You’re beautiful”
And my body opened toward your words
Like morning glories toward the sun
Your words pulled me away
From the campfire where ugliness
Had begun to reflect on me, leave me
Shriveled and stunted in life and in love

On discovery: I am freefalling like skydiving
Into love’s gravity, the beauty of it
Pulling me closer, farther
‘In love, in place, in season, in here”
Changing the very nature of
Space because I share it with Love

On discovery: I know how large the human heart can be—
What capacity for hate, for envy, for fear, for hubris
And for love, for joy, for hope, for strength
I am learning what it takes to feed the inner
Self so as to lessen the power of the first list
In order for the second list to increase

I know how capable the heart is
Of massive love strokes
How willing to share—if invited;
When healed, how generous
the heart can be

On discovery: you were expected, long awaited
Like the sure return of Halley’s Comet
You have entered my atmosphere
Leaving a trailing witness of
Cosmic fire across this sky
A blaze that landed
Burned a hole in the stratospheric
Graces of my heart, leaving it
Gaping, enlarged


© Valerie Bridgeman
October 1, 2011

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Unfinished Poem

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Unfinished Poem


Today, I am the poem I finally have the courage to finish/each line more interesting than the next. (Joe Brundidge)

(this 2nd poem is a re-write/edit of the first one inspired by the lines (above) off the post on Joe Brundidge’s page, December 8, 2011, and uses the lines as a prompt into the poem)

Courage has finally found me
On mark/get set/ready on the line
Stretching to finish a poem
I am becoming
Each line more interesting than the next
None more important than the last
In this rhythmic moment
I am verse/ink-filled method
And madness/water tumbling
Over rough places
Sounds thundering over
Smoothed out similes
I am metaphor

Sunshine bright/sharp light
Breaking into dark spaces
Pushing myself to see
This world for all its worth
I am an uneven line of rhythm
No rhyme—an underscore
And exclamation point
Syncopated beauty, chaotic
Italicized truth
Life turns on a dime and still I see your face in every cloud—

I am an emphatic mess of an ode
a range of meanings
a double entendre
triple indemnity/your best bet
strong verb modified intensity
a ‘what did she say’ glance backward
question mark in the middle
of a sentence not yet written
worth reading more than once
words worth rolling over tongue
spoken out loud in the rain
screamed in delight in every season
and I am the poem I finally have the courage
to finish—on mark/get set/ready…

© Valerie Bridgeman

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Taking Back My Yesterdays

One of the best ways to remember you're a poet and to provoke the muse within, is to read those initial pieces that made other people say, "hey! You're a POET!!!" This piece is one of those for me and 15 years later, I feel provoked. These thoughts were provoked by Jaha Zainabu, one of my FAVORITE poets.

Taking Back My Yesterdays

I am no longer innocent
But I am not guilty of the wrong
You’ve done to me
The sacred shadows of yesterday
Rise like specters of injustice

Like Banshee, they sound an alarm
Meant to cower me,
But I will not.
Cower as others may,
I am not captive to your forever-sins,
Nor victim of your momentary whims

I am colorizing my memories,
Sanctifying them for my future.
Stubbornness has taken hold of me
And I am staring down the sorrow,
Factoring in the pain,
And becoming Today and Tomorrow Strong.

The non-memories I have blocked,
I am filling with faith in a God
Who moves forward and leads

I want to take my medicine bag—
Those healing stones
That helped me survive your cruelty
I will need them
In the not-too-far successes
I will encounter

You may not keep them.
And my tears are reserved
In a heavenly bottle numbered by Wisdom.
They belong to me again,
And are on account
Testifying against you.
You may no longer name yourself
My judge or my destiny.

All you stole, I now reclaim with force.
The violence you used against me—
That whirlwind that wrecked my life—
Well, I’ve learned to harness winds and thunder.

The violence, I have turned to my own power.
And yes, I am here to take everything you kept:
Pieces of my soul,
Parts of my heart,
And my destiny.

The future is ahead, and I need them.
I am taking back my yesterdays

© Valerie J. Bridgeman [Davis]
1997
Written at the request of my friend Linda H. Hollies, who used it as the title of her book
Taking Back My Yesterdays 



Monday, February 6, 2012

Beauty Deeper than Scar

(Follow the link over Dr. Weems' name to learn about this incredible scholar-wise-woman-survivor-thriver)

For Dr. Renita Weems

Camouflaged by quick wit and wise sayings
Clothed in tears powered by anger—
You were never supposed to suffer
Smart as you are…

You lead with your mind—
Do not confuse this reality with the knowledge
That we who love you know:
Your nimble genius works in Amazon body/
Sharpshooter skilled tongue
Made sharper through the years

Woman/warrior, battles carved signs
On limbs/torso/organs that have borne wounds more ragged
Than some/you have knife-lined consequences
That scar—harbinger of wounds so much
More than cancer/cut deep/run more ragged
Than blunt-edged knife

And yet the years have folded over on to weary bones/
Marking the way the body betrays even the most
Brilliant among us/your breasts, too, weeping
From the folly of it all

Everyone who has ever had to come
By way of razor’s edge needs a witness/
Offer the scapel-lined path to lover’s eyes/
Needs beloved friend’s fingers to run tenderly along
keloid ridges of war theaters/
the body beautiful its staging area

No one fights nonstop
You get to pause/remember your mind
Just as beautiful needs your body/
Battled scarred as it is

You have a beauty deeper than any scar
In skin/bone/soul/a beauty that shines
Through cracks/strains/breaches—
And this scar that invades your body
Will ease its way
Into a beautiful place

© Valerie Bridgeman 
September 17, 2011
FINAL

Sunday, February 5, 2012

My Nearest Companion

(An Ode to LOVE)


"You sound like you're in love! Who is it!? Spill, friend!!!" ~ someone trying to figure out why Love is my nearest companion these days

Too many days slipped away
into mourning that left me weak, closed off and small
wilted and withered into a woman I did not want to be
unable, unwilling to Love
unable, unwilling to Hurt

Too many ways to avoid risk and miss the reward
of touch, a kind smile, a tender kiss on cheek, on lip
or to close off from admiring eyes and hands
and to miss the magic and mojo
of conjurers skilled in bringing out the best in me

Love kept knocking, seeking, asking me
to come out to play, to live in full view
to trust that if I were ever hurt/betrayed/wounded again
I would survive--again--and Love would meet me
at the door, hold my hand/hug me close
apply what poultice my soul needed to try--again

This memory is why Love is my nearest companion
these days, a comfortable wrap/cool glass of water
a sip of sunshine on College Avenue
sand sliding through beach-worn fingers on Cape Cod
Laughter on the other end of a phone call
Poetry at Ruta Maya late into the night
mics hot from the breath of poets
a walk in Long Park/a cuddle with a zen Yorkie
who knows nothing except I am the one who opens
the bag with food in it

I have not forgotten that Love
cries for little 3-year-old girls found dead
or thousands of stomach-bloated starving Somali children
or that Love aches for justice/righteousness
or that Love is not simply simple pleasures
but ferocious She-bear protective
of those who cannot protect themselves
That, too, is what has returned in me...

You keep prying into my heart/wondering
how I got this happy/why letting go and falling into Love's
wide-open arms cracked me open/why I am not
bitter/withdrawn/afraid--still
how I come again to the possibility of betrayal
with utter faith that Love lives

You keep wondering the name of my Beloved
who is priming the pump/drawing the
redemption out of my center
who holds the map to my interior country
who knows my name that no one else knows

How Love has pushed/prodded her way
into my imprisoned soul/flipped the locks
and waved me free

You keep asking "Who do you LOVE!!!????"
Love, please....
Look in the nearest mirror
point at the woman/the man you see there--
and say your name.

© Valerie Bridgeman
August 17, 2011

I Am Not Juggling

I'm testing my ability to do vocals... videos are next....Click on the title below to hear the poem...

I Am Not Juggling


I am not juggling
I put down the balls/plates/the knives
To feed and drink from a well of my longing
To let my soul soak in a river of words
And be renewed
To remind myself that I am nothing and everything
That the earth does not need me to be in motion
In order for the world to turn

But while I’m on the planet it matters….

I have decided to say no
But not in a theoretical way
I am offering my “no” as a sacrifice to love
On the altar of my survival

My mother once told me that if I died tonight
You would figure out how to live without me

You ask me if I’m sad
And the truth is, I am just human
Holding on in the early dark of night
Between wake and sleep
And dreams that bid me explain myself
While I wait on daybreak,
And my eyes squint tightly to resist
The pain of sunshine

I have known hurt—this much is true
But I also have wrapped myself so tightly
Around a lover that my arms ached
And that embrace became a prayer
Into the universe, begging
Juggling between want and need
Longing to be in control
Of what has never been controllable

Explain this:
Why do we insist on the grind,
The treadmill of time and the taste of frantic
When we could be still and soak in
The sweet grace of breath
Feel our face touched by the hand
Of a grandmother who loves us so much
That teacakes are a natural progression?

Today I swore to myself that my life
is scripture enough
To love me is to love god
And after years of trying to coordinate
The rhythm of three plates for two hands
I have reminded myself that my mother
Was a prophet:

If I died tonight, you would find a way
To go on without me

And I would have missed the opportunity
To enjoy the words of poets
Who like me wonder how much
Of life had been sliced by a knife
Of success into nothingness
And whether they have sold
Their lives for balls and chains
When they could have been writing poetry

So today,
I will not wait to take a break
Next week or the following Sunday
Or come Christmas season
To be still and know
That while I’m on this planet,
It matters that I’m here
And that I am a poet


© Valerie Bridgeman
November 2009

When I Don't Know What to Do

Once, while sitting in Ego's waiting on the slam to start, I did what most poets do: I people watched and wrote poetry. This poem came up in my pen and just spilled over onto the page. It came so fast, I felt as if I were channeling the heart of some young man in the room. I read it during open mic. And, as you imagine, a young man came up to me with tears in his eyes and asked me, "how did you know my story?"


When I Don’t Know What to Do, I Pray for You

When I don’t know what to do, I pray for you,
A voice ascending to a distant and present throne,
The sound of a crone professing faith in you
And the divine impress imprinted on your soul

You cry into the hollow of my hands,
Confess your night terrors
And the times your mother caressed your manhood
Like a woman in need

You tell me how confusing it all was
And that the first time, you sneaked into the liquor
Searching for the elixir that would guarantee
You would forget—
You never did

And, though you loved her madly,
You could never look upon her breasts and be comforted
The way only a mother’s bosom can comfort a son

You explain to me the sacred math of reason,
How you went for seasons after women 20 years your age,
How you found yourself wanting a mother,
And yielded to this Oedipal urge that drove you
All the while you abandoned her—your own Jocasta
Who troubled you with her demons

You cry into the hollow of my hands,
Lean a heavy burden on my shoulders,
Sigh your curses into my hair

When I don’t know what to say, I hold you
Gently against my body and pray for you,
A silent petition for the healing
Of that first and fractured bond
Between a mother and her son


You tell me how confusing it all was
And how you found a toke and dipped it
In formaldehyde and stroked yourself
To sleep, crying softly and whimpering “Mama”—
How she tried to take it back the second
That she touched you, begged you
To forgive her, told you she was sorry—and drunk

You shrunk from her pleading
And told her to go to hell

Your words break and swell
In telling me as you cry your pain
Into the hollow of my hands
And I pray for you and hold you
To keep you from drowning
In your own confusion

When I don’t know what to do, I pray for you,
A voice ascending
A silent petition
A holy struggle
To deliver you from the fires
That scorch you still

© Valerie Bridgeman [Davis]
September 2002