It was the finale to the, This is My City Festival. Three weeks of arts and theatre celebrating the creative souls of those engaged, involved or living the homeless condition. Last night 4 women shared their stories, and afterwards, 10 of us took to the stage to share our words through poetry and song.

What a blast!

For me, it was a first. Three of my poem were being read. Two by others and one by me.

Now reading my poetry in public is not a common occurrence for me. In fact, this would be the first time I’ve done it.

I like firsts. They suggest, nexts. And, they take me outside my comfort zone. They move me beyond that place where I think I know all I need to know about what I am capable of into that place where all that I know is nothing compared to all that is possible when I let go of setting limits on myself.

Like being in my first art show in two weeks, I never imagined I would be writing poetry, and performing it in public. Yet, there I was last night, standing on stage, listening to my poetry being read, and then, standing up and reading one of my poems myself.

Yup. Definitely a blast!

In my teens and into my twenties I wrote a lot of poetry. Angst riddled verses of love lost, heart’s broken, dreams forsaken. And then I quit. Maybe I didn’t think my words mattered. Maybe I didn’t think I had anything to say, or worth hearing, or sharing. Maybe I told myself, I’m not a poet. I can’t remember. All I know is I quit. Stopped the flow of words and let myself fall into the trap of believing — I don’t do that.

It wasn’t until I connected into a circle of poets here online a few years ago that I started to stretch my writer’s muscles, started to delve into writing in verse that I remembered how much I love expressing myself through the poetic form. It was connecting with people like Maureen Doallas at Writing without Paper, and Glynn Young at Faith. Fiction. Friends and Diane Walker at Contemporary Photography that I reconnected my spirit to the soul of my creative core — poetry. And in that connection, I awoke to all that I am capable of when I quit telling myself — I can’t/don’t/won’t do that.

Last night I stood on a stage and read a poem I wrote about homelessness, Can You See Me?. Kirk Miles of Midnight Yoga for Alcoholics read a poem I wrote this year for my brother who passed away with his wife on March 17, 1997, And Now You’re Gone, and the irrepressible Shannon Jones (who inspired me to get up and read myself) read a ballad I wrote when I took a song-writing course a couple of years ago with Eric Bibb, Fear Lived In Her Belly.Kirk, who was also the ‘poet-maestro’ of the event, set the ballad to a blues guitar played by John Harris with Sally Truss providing percussion and back-up vocals. It gave me shivers.

I had a blast last night and in the process, I cast off limitations and stepped into the pure joy of being present and alive to the moment.

It was inspiring. Fun. Enlivening. And…. to make it even more exciting my friends GC and CY arrived in from New York just in time to share in the evening!

Here is the poem I read:

Can You See Me?