The Alchemists Clubhouse is a weekly newsletter of art, poetry, and coaching tips. Full members receive access to live Zoom workshops plus the entire library of recorded workshops.
Before this week’s poem, I’d like to share a free resource from yoga teacher extraordinaire and former guest Alchemist Fiona Cole: a collection of 12 short “yoga breaks.” Staying connected to our physical selves is a vital part of navigating the ongoing avalanche of information, change, confusion, bad news, good news, and everything in between. And Fiona’s yoga breaks are short and sweet and effective! You can do one anytime during your day, right from desk.
Breathe, feel, know. Then act from there.
Fiona’s currently one of many local folks waiting to return to her ash and soot-covered home in Altadena, where the Eaton fire leveled some entire neighborhoods and left others in a very mixed state of affairs. It’s especially poignant for me to witness how she continues to uplift others and find ways to share her beautiful teaching despite challenging circumstances.
The poem below is a Welsh form called a rhupunt. The morning I drafted it, it was raining in LA, which is so rare that people here talk about “the last time it rained” which can be as much as a year or more ago. When I first moved here in 2011, I wrote letters to friends called “30 days with no rain,” “90 days with no rain,” and then, incredibly, “6 months with no rain.” It’s peculiar if you’ve lived elsewhere, then you get used to it, and then when it does rain, it truly feels like the miracle it is.
The rhupunt has a very tight meter and rhyme scheme: 4 syllables per line, with the first three lines of each stanza rhyming with each other and the last line of each stanza rhyming with the last lines of all the other stanzas. I cheated a bit and created a Dickinson-like variation where the last lines have only 3 syllables instead of 4. I liked the melodic flow and how it made the last word seem a bit bolder and brighter.
Once in a year
Once in a year
dark clouds appear.
The rain sweeps near–
deep cleaning.
By night it came
to cool the flame.
We bless its name,
still dreaming.
Mornings are gray
when droplets stay
to line our way,
all gleaming.
The mist-filled air
is light with prayer.
The rinse is rare–
redeeming.
Love!