Black History Month at Phoenix House with Beverly M. Collins

Beverly M. Collins, Maja Trochimczyk and Akilah Templeton at 

Phoenix House Venice with Beverly's book Mud in Magic

On February 24, 2016, residents of Phoenix House Venice celebrated the Black History Month with poetry. The evening, hosted by Program Director Akilah Templeton, featured poetry readings by residents, dealing with issues of recovery, solidarity, personal relationships, and life advice. At the end two guest poets read their work: I was joined by Beverly M. Collins , an accomplished African-American poet of wit and wisdom, who presented selections from her recently published book Mud in Magic (Moonrise Press, 2015).  Ms. Collins donated a copy of her book to the Phoenix House growing poetry library. 

Ms. Templeton encouraged clients to write poetry during the entire month of February, or to read poetry books in search of a poem that moves them or expresses some of their personal feelings. Some residents decided to read verse by famous author like Langston Hughes or Maya Angelou. Others wrote their own verse, using a free verse format or various rhyme scheme.  

Beverly Collins read two poems selected from her book, Mud in Magic, "Next" and "Up for Air"  - both with topical advice suitable for individuals in recovery, struggling with the dead weight of their past. 

Beverly M. Collins

 It is important, said Ms. Collins, to always look forward, to give ourselves a break and not be too hard on ourselves for past mistakes. There is always hope, always time to fix things, to start anew, to say...

Next

From the tip-top of January
to the bottom of every December,
life is a continuum.
May we remember to remember.

There are no platforms on which we
halt. No arrivals at which we are landing. 
There is only continuous movement.
Blend motion into all planning.

Next is a good four letter word that dances
on the tongue and illuminates the playgrounds
of our minds. Next can call loudly or soft
and subtle when it chimes.

Within the cold of winter remember next are
the fragrant flowers of spring. Next reminds us 
there is no be-all or end-all to anything.

When riding a high tide or if a low tide 
has you feeling sadness or perplexed, 
know true muscle can be found
in how well we just say... Next!

(C) 2015 by Beverly M. Collins

Up for Air

Cuddled at midnight, with my pillow of dread,

I and apprehension lay like spoons in my bed.

My suffocating “To Do” list, too long for one person.

Its tedious tasks make my aching head worsen.

My stubborn impatience has landed me here.

I want it all now. I want it last year.

I hold anger so big over things that are small,

like my neighbor’s loud laughter while

bouncing a ball.

I can choose to narrow my focus singly on a plan,

long enough to get myself fully in hand.

Wrapped warm in my blankets, my emotions are bare

as I promise myself, to pull me up for air.

 (c) 2015 by Beverly M. Collins

After Beverly, I read a new poem written especially for this occasion and starting from a line that connected the word "Slav" (for my ethnic identity) to its Latin root "Sclave" ("slave" - the Romans used to invade the lands of Slavs to kidnap them and make them into slaves) and the English word derived from "sclave" - "Slave."

No More

Slav, Sclave, Slave  

We are all one – under  

That thumb of powers that be  

Of powers that do not want us to be,   

To become free, creative, enlightened

Slav, Sclave, Slave  

We are all one, united  

In the will to connect, all one  

In compassion, in awareness  

Of the ground under our feet,  

The warm soil with trees growing roots,   

With sparkling clean water  

Flowing to fill us.

Made of water and stardust,   

We are all one under the sun
Rays reaching down to touch  

Our skin, nourish our muscles.

No, we are not slaves  

We claim our freedom  

To be wise – To be kind  

To carry each other’s burdens  

To stand tall, walk forward,  

Together –

(C) 2016 by Maja Trochimczyk

At the end, I read the group participation poem that I wrote especially for Venice several months ago, with a new ending, trying out if it works better than the old one... After the introduction and explanation, the audience repeats every phrase read by the poet.

Repeat After Me

                     After Prayer for Fukushima Waters  by  Dr. Masaru Emoto.

                    Water, we are sorry / Water, please forgive us

                    Water, we thank you / Water, we love you

Yes, you can find it. /your way out./
It is so simple. /First you say:/

I AM SORRY / – WE ARE SO SORRY./
We are the guilty ones,/ we are all at fault!
What happens next? /The door opens./
We stop at the threshold and say:/

PLEASE FORGIVE ME, / I FORGIVE YOU./
Forgiveness erases all your guilt,/
all my fears, all our sorrows /– the burden
of dead thoughts is lifted./ See?/
We float up into brightness./ We are 
sparks of starlight, /a constellation
dancing in the sky/ as we say:/

THANK YOU,/ THANK YOU VERY MUCH./
Filled with gratitude /

for every cloud, leaf and petal, /

every breath we take,/ every heartbeat, /

/we are ready, at last,/

to say what’s the most important:/

I LOVE YOU, MY LOVE, /
I give you all the love /
of my tired, aching heart /

I LOVE YOU, MY LOVE, /
I give you all the love /
of my tranquil, grateful heart!

                                                                          © 2015 by Maja Trochimczyk

Christmas Wishes with Roses and Ivy

It is that time of the year again. Christmas. The stack of cards waits for my pen and a moment of stillness. Maybe an afternoon on the sunny patio would allow me to reconnect with friends and family? There is so much to do, so many parties to go to. I have to remember not to start thinking of holiday-ing as a chore, one more thing to do when there is no time, no time at all. It is nice to send cards, at least to sign them, if not write something original for every addressee. We are all interconnected through a network of thoughts and affection, but tend to forget about its importance in days filled with the daily business of busy-ness.

I was asked to read some poems at a party and realized that I have not written my annual Christmas poem yet. It came to me in the rain, when I could barely see the road ahead and the sky was heavy with darkness.



Did you know?

Some Christmases are rainy
Tears fall from overcast sky
On lonely crowds in hospitals
And prison yards

Sometimes Christmas is icy
Frozen under the pale moon
Changing faces into lifeless
Shadows at night

Some Christmases are scarlet
And green like fir garlands and hearts
Warmed by barszcz and hot chocolate,
Evenings by the fire

Sometimes Christmas is white
Snowflakes melt on my gloves
The thin wafer of opłatek we break
Shelters us in good wishes

Some Christmases are sparkly
With the tinsel of laughter
Giggling children unwrap gifts
Magic in the morning

My Christmas is golden
Like that first star of Wigilia,
Warm kisses with kompot and kutia
Blessings under the tree

© 2011 by Maja Trochimczyk

I paired this poem with a photo I took this October at the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. I liked the open window, looking out through the multitude of shapes and colors onto a simpler, luminous world.



The picture became the cover of my Christmas card, and I paired it with the collage for the poem of "Rosa Mystica" - already posted here, but included below in the image pages. I also reprinted my last year's holiday poem, "Rules for Happy Holy Days" as a reminder about the importance of holidays. This poem was written for my last year's Christmas wishes. These Rules are timeless.



Rules for Happy Holy Days

Don’t play Christmas carols
at the airport. Amidst the roar
of jet engines, they will spread
a blanket of loneliness
over the weary, huddled masses,
trying not to cry out for home.

Don’t put Christmas light on a poplar.
With branches swathed in white
galaxies, under yellow leaves, the tree
will become foreign, like the skeleton
of an electric fish, deep in the ocean.

Clean the windows from the ashes
of last year’s fires. Glue the wings
of a torn paper angel. Brighten
your home with the fresh scent
of pine needles and rosemary.

Take a break from chopping almonds
to brush the cheek of your beloved
with the back of your hand,
just once, gently. Smile and say:
“You look so nice, dear,
you look so nice.”

© 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk



Since the year 2012 is supposed to be the last year of this Earth in existence in its present form, I figured I'll reprint, as a farewell of sorts, the "Apocalypsis" poem written for Easter, as well as some lovely poems that I enjoyed writing and reading this year: "A Jewel Box Sunrise" and "On Mushrooms." Below is the complete card with all the poems I selected to share for the holidays this year.














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Poetry, photos and design (c) 2011 by Maja Trochimczyk

You can print out a little booklet from the .jpg images of the poems, each stretched to a full page 81/2 by 11 in., sideways.