i have my body softly
Writing Nicole Buzzelli Writing Nicole Buzzelli

i have my body softly

my winter:

I. somewhere, truth and silence are each other. both are empty; both are full. both are vaporous; both are sturdy. be quiet, then be honest. be honest, then be quiet.

II. poetry is a way of being and a way of being experienced. write poetry. be poetry. experience others as poems.

Read More
On Being Human (some field notes)
Writing Nicole Buzzelli Writing Nicole Buzzelli

On Being Human (some field notes)

1) I am in Georgia, in Memphis, in the Ozarks, the mountains, the city, an open field in Missouri, house under a thunderstorm, again, body under the rain, and I wonder: where am I? where am I? here? here? how do I make myself into a thing that's gathered?

Read More
prayer for existence
Writing Nicole Buzzelli Writing Nicole Buzzelli

prayer for existence

So I pray. I pray to all the gods and that is also everyone. I pray to all the people, keep your Existence close. I pray to the Ukrainian people that at the end of this long day, you are in a bed, safe, so safe. I pray to the trans kids in Texas that the expression of your Existence is as it should be, a sacred choice. I pray to the hands. To my own, work and protect. To the ones laid across my collarbone, keep your hands on my collarbone. And to the Ukrainian girl on my computer, I see you and keep your hands on that rifle. 

Read More
pecan
Writing Nicole Buzzelli Writing Nicole Buzzelli

pecan

haven't written a poem in a month. tried being one instead. sipped forgiveness with my coffee each morning. used honey on the days when the forgiveness ran out.

Read More
heal is the mountain and the climbing of it
Writing Nicole Buzzelli Writing Nicole Buzzelli

heal is the mountain and the climbing of it

Soul is a place, the fertile lands of psyche. I am a cartographer, mapping it. When I come to terrain that I've made legend, beasts in their own right, I do not hand over my power like I did when I was a child. I have consciousness now. I have tools. I have new ways to relate. Instead, I acknowledge the ways I mistakenly confused my experiences as fixed truths. I bow to these experiences, and to my child-like relations with them, as the mountains they are.

Read More