Divorce, Single Parenting, Dating, Sex, & Self-Recovery

poetry

receding moon

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

she is the receding moon in a clear blue sky
influences like tides
there is light with no heat
and the whole world is opened up
with potential and promise
beauty in hope and romantic reach
waves out from my heart
heavenward and hopeful

10-24-13

blue sky moon

 

image: blue sky moon used under creative commons usage


the beat and beat and pause

they are flowers, they are pens

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

perhaps all this fire just beneath the surface
presents me as a dangerous poet
a romantic with ocd
i can’t seem to stop the words
when i’m happy
or high
an intoxicating sheen
i try to infuse
even when i speak
i listen to the cadence
the beat and beat and pause
the heart of the words
i am trying to connect to her heart
linking us
to pull her closer
all with pause
and patience
and silence enforced
while the words pour on
i give her a rest
because
obsession is not pretty
rich romantic notions
can be unhealthy
overwhelm the fragile stability
i know
i am aware
of my own raging fires
i have learned
this venting process

10-20-13


What Is A Love Poem?

Screen Shot 2013-10-20 at 10.10.14 AM

Why does love elude accurate descriptions? Why is love perhaps the most sought after ghost and the song most sung by those of us who feel?

And the love letter too. So sad that such delicate work is not more widely shared. Often the masterpiece of passion and longing is shared by only two. Is it the privacy that makes it special. Is it the voyeurism that makes them so tasty to read?

Putting love, or our fleeting attempts to capture love, is a grand tradition. I am doing nothing unique or especially different. Of course, my word stream for it will be different from yours. Do you let yours out? If you gave expression to a love poem, right now, what would that sound that ringing of letters tell about your feelings.

Each love poem is a measure of the heart. Often those measurements and mappings are colored by the day’s events. Occasionally they are triggered by a smell, a memory, a glimpse of a photograph that held a tiny sliver of magic.

If we open up our own hearts, opening the veins a little, and let the expressions tumble out, even just for ourselves, we become more familiar with the soundings of our hearts. And as we get more comfortable with the process an amazing thing begins to happen. There is more love.

As we pay attention to certain things they become more important in our lives. And what is more important than love?

Word by word I try to get down something of my longing, quickly, unedited, and with the full force of my feelings. As best I can. But there are many things in the way of a love poem. Chores. Money requirements and thus work. Sadness. (Though finding a voice for the sadness is a way to release what might be underneath, longing for love.)

And poetry is not for everyone. Perhaps a clearly written love letter would be more to the point.

However for me, there is great freedom in allowing my heart and linguistic brain to try to hook up for a moment. Bypassing the editorial board for a minute, I occasionally achieve a satisfying result. But even the bad poems have a purpose. Even writing a poor love letter is better than not expressing that love at all.

Something about letting the expression out of your heart, through your words and sounds and letters on a page, that gives room for more. Each love poem inspires the next. And if you can nurture that “lover’s voice” wouldn’t you rather be speaking in tongues, than writing up another to-do list?

Each. Poem. Has. Value.

And if you write love poems or love letters, focusing on LOVE is a powerful medicine. And the transformation takes place without any effort once you let the flow start. Your heart and language begin to connect more frequently. You see things as LOVE again. You observe love or lack of love in the world, but rather than squelch it off you give voice to your feelings on the subject. It’s a process of opening yourself again to love and loving.

And of course, love is dangerous. If I let myself fall into a poetic trance and forget to pick up my child from school, there are consequences. If I muse for the entire afternoon without getting my work for money done, I’m not serving my life very well.

So love poems have to be tucked into our lives where ever and when ever we can find the impulse. There are so many distractions and requirements that would rather us not pay attention to our hearts, our impulses towards beauty. But with each turning back towards the heart, with each sounding out of a poem of desire, we strengthen that voice in our lives.

>> Explore more writing ideas here: The Writer’s Notebook >>

Sincerely,

The Off Parent

image via creative commons use – beauty in death

Resources:


i am wrapping pillows

i am wrapping pillows - the off parent

[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

this is the morning of love and hope and possibilities
when the cold is an offer of snuggles and warm drinks
where the fog seems to be lifting
even when there is no shore in sight
waking up with pets rather than lovers
or children to feed and hug

this is the hope i will never give up
and the longing i will always answer
and the chill i hope to rub red
and the song of my heart i continue to sing

the world is waking up
and so am i
somewhere
in this soupy and mysterious morning
she is waking up too
maybe she has the warmth
or maybe she has given up seeking
for light beyond the love of her children
maybe she’s on opposite weekends
well snuggled while i am wrapping pillows

no worry
this hope burns away the covering clouds
revealing hope again
and sun
joy in the chill
and the opportunity it brings
to love
and love again
fully
warmed again
from within this time

there is no need for her for me
we are autonomous and solid
there is not a repair that needs a man’s strength
she has found that alone again
becoming her whole parent
there is nothing missing
but me
and she may not believe
yet
she may not speak my name
yet

the chill is lifted today
and the fog is blown to the edges of our vision
if the hope remains
that is enough
and the memory
of what a joyful touch felt like
touch
and
joy
together
amazing

10-20-13


afternoon here

afternoon-here-s

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

it is afternoon here
and i still don’t know
where you are
poems measure
mappings of desire
still
the nets remain empty
laying out letters
and stones
in formations
arranging flowers
within the grass
giving you signals
directions
openings
i will continue
until
a blush
smile
and
reply

10-19-13


against beauty

mermaid series - jesse sublett - aug 2009

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

the nuance is lost
when i hunger
with such intensity
i wear myself out
i cannot imagine
her
my heart bursting
wouldn’t
run

anytime there is a glimmer
i jump with both feet
as into a fresh rain puddle
without care or map
i am reckless
and abandoned
i thrash slightly
with romantic epiphanies

there she is
beauty personified
wings folded
smile alight
there she is
hovering
dipping
smelling of salt

an easy death will not come
not little deaths
but large ones
i do not haunt or hunt
i craft and scheme
and write missives
hoping she will
receive

here she is
listening
within reach
still fluttering
amazed
both of us
at the closeness
and heat
and risk
of flame

i have the patience of a surgeon
and the passion of a teenage boy
i do not fumble
but ready my arrow
and give voice to flying instructions
asking for her assistance
a little lift
is required
but we pause

the is nothing simple about falling
nothing casual
about what I am craving
i fall well
i love even more intentionally
at least…
at least i imagine i will

given the chance, the shot, the siren
i will gladly crash into her
burning all maps
forgiving all plans and transgressions
as we explode
but there is no exploding
today i am only dreaming
today i am doing
my romantic poet

i can tuck this craving under a stone
and go on about my business
today has many turns left
while rubbing up against beauty
ever familiar
ever distant
inspiring yet again
without tangible evidence
that i am getting any closer
to her

10-18-13

image used by permission: mermaid series by jesse sublett


fall and falling and me

burning leaves - poetry

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

tonight the burning leaves
bring mysterious memories to mind
of women, rough blankets, hard kisses
in this cold turning of dark
i am alone
and walking
remembering

is this exquisite longing
this curating of desire
an escape for jumping back in
into the pile of leaves
and dirt and chaos
and scraped knees
am i enjoying my musing
more than i would a good kissing

or something rarer perhaps
at play
at rest with myself
i am not longing with my soul
i am longing with my heart
refinding center
at peace
as me

i love the falling
i would love to fall
i have a fear of falling
an error could set me back 11 years

i miss falling
i won’t settle for hopping
or hoping
i need full flight
breathless abandon

without that
the fall is scented with imaginings
again of who or where she might be

i don’t want all right
i don’t crave steady, or solid, or sure
i don’t fall for youth or red lips
i see them, i see potentials everywhere
but they can’t hear me
there is not much to see at the moment
i am reforming
recalculating
calibrating
re
me

10-17-13

image used via creative commons: heat


accidental angels

accidental angels - the off parent

 [from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

accidental angels have landed in my life
only a few times
each had a message
usually about sex
sometimes about hope

imagine my surprise at 21 years-old
to find an angel in my car with me
taking her clothes off as we speed towards the lake
it’s too cold to get out of the car or swim
she is naked
says she’s a virgin, but I can’t believe that
and i remember the music
and kissing and
driving her back to her cousin’s house
she was visiting
i guess angels have cousins too

the second angel came with flower tattoo on her shoulder
and a smile that lit up the selfie network
unlike any before or since
and she spoke of rain and cure songs
as the chorus of mutually assured flight was determined
she liked tequila and sappy love songs
on her second return flight she hit a dense fog
and never arrived
though her smiling selfies and empty coffee cups
still flutter by occasionally

the most recent flyby was more dangerous
she was still encumbered in the process
in the leaving
and i must’ve seemed like a perch of pause
but i became a leaping off point
and she has since flown away
though her whispers are also still echoing
across the cellular airways

i’m not ready for another angel
i’d prefer a woman
and even then, i’m not sure i’m ready
but perhaps you never are
they are all angels
after all

10-17-13

image is used courtesy of ricardo acevedo and model sera


sera sera sera

devastating beauty - sera - a poem

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

devastating beauty
of dark and quixotic myth
an endless stream of black night, all stars
deep scent and dampness
any whispers or words
are lost in the soundless awe
words no match for the image
the eye
the lip
a soft and sharp neck
uncovered yet colorless
unmasked
she penetrates my
my
she takes my
my
she is
i’ve lost all
she
cannot imagine
who i think she might be
she is a distant shimmer of light
a dark vortex of mysterious imagination
she is mine
and nothing
and beautiful
and elsewhere
she calls forth a greatness
a striving and chivalrous heart
she
is
not
what she appears to be
beauty caught for a second
in a moment of magic
some distant fires
must warm her gaze
and bring redness and smiles
imagining her laugh
but she is not
she cannot be
she mustn’t ever
this isn’t about her
of course
it is about her hair
her magic
and the fear it conjures
if one so beautiful
exists
by digital frame
is it
conceivable that her inner light
could also radiate with
this
beauty

is the pain from a knowing or unknowing
the tearing of lost hopes
memories and victories
of battles and mountains of youth

there is a chasm between, below, and ahead
i am not seeking
but praying
to a god i don’t pretend to understand
a god who delights in this raw
unfiltered potency
and perhaps in my faint song
of praise

i am praying
and searching for letters
to weave a tapestry or net
of such strength and brilliance
but i pause now
knowing the light is an illusion
the trick
my own

she
my she
is nothing like her

what i have lost
is not returning
what i have yet to discover
still a siren’s song of sorts
still a calling to the rocks
to the old gods
to sacrifices
and
shields of gold
fires
blood
heroes and honor and
and this
image calls an entire fleet
in my heart
this older, slower heart
still red with desire
simmering with incantations
aspirations
to

love

love fully

love unlimited by age or time or reality

love

just

love

god
she is god
i am an acolyte
and i sing

10-16-13

image from: The Tale of Sera Leigh


magnetic joy

[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

my sly grin and magnetic joy
what i am perfecting, in this loneliness
i have not grown tired of the pursuit
only the futility of my demands

9-12-13

Bladerunner's Beauty


eyes to the bottom of the pool

a poem of missing someone before we even met

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

i’m not waiting for her to make the first move
kiss first
ask for the 2nd date
but I am anticipating that she will provide
some sign
an indication
that will fuel or foul my flames
and she did
and it was a no
and now I can move on
i may never know what why or how
and she will most likely not offer
so we drift
back to our lanes
eyes to the bottom of the pool
and swim on

10-13-13

image: hockney inspired photo


in the coils

in the coils of her dark wet hair

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

in the coils of her dark wet hair
i could lose a lifetime
willingly
slipping into something more comfortable
i would give up oxygen
if it meant i could stay safe
in the fresh deep smell
of a woman
so clean
so completely
open

10-9-13

image: untitled used by creative commons license


the slivered moon

the off parent - slivered moon

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

there they go again
those coyotes
reminding me of your absence
i walk
i look
i better myself
and nothing

the slivered moon sees you
but i don’t

the howls remind me
the bed reminds me
the feeling beneath my chest
knows something is missing

a dark moment
full of promise
maybe they are talking to me
to her

i am not ready
i am not ready
i am not finished
completing myself

this perfecting loneliness
is honest work
if you can stomach the hours

perhaps the howling
is felt
by many

10-8-13


seeking each moment

cold clear stars

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

kissing this night
and the crickets singing
in harmony with the clear cold stars
holding this image of fascination
with just where you are
how the light of this darkness
strikes your heart
your fancy
and are you longing too

10-6-13


girl on fire

My Girl On Fire - The Off Parent

[from a coffee love letter – poetry]

is writing poetry in a notebook
with a cup of coffee and an open laptop
i know she is writing poetry
she must be
she is

not mine
a figment of my visual and verbal imagination
in a coffee shop
alone
perfect

it’s becoming a thing between us
not this girl
but women in general
i call them girls because
i call myself an excitable boy

she is aware
she does that thing with her mouth
when she knows i am checking her out
we will never exchange more than a glance
she is much too young
too much she needs to learn
before I get
beside her

but this moment is for me
this song is mine alone
i sometimes imagine giving her the poem
giving her a nudge in my direction
but what would be the magic in that?

she, my she, will find me
she, my she, will discover and read and swoon
then we will meet
over wine, not coffee
over smiles and witty repartee

my she eludes me to for the moment
but the moment is ripe
the cooler temperature is bringing her closer
with the smell of burning leaves
and nights that are best shared
under heavy blankets

my girl on fire

10-6-13


what can i tell you from here?

[from a coffee love letter – poetry]

if i told you… wait, what can i tell you from here?
these are not coded messages for anyone else but you
if you are listening you will hear my voice
and feel the pull of my incantations
i have laid down arms
i am lighting fires
i dance alone
hoping
for
u

9-26-13

poem of desire - the off parent


Moving Forward and Reassessing In The Moment After a Breakup

No time to slay the dragon - the off parent

san juan and de vaca drive

So, how am I doing? (The photo represents my current location on the path of life. Each day we have an opportunity to travel down the path of GOOD (San Juan = Saint John) or the path of MAD (De Vaca = Cow Path). Each day I make a conscious choice to find the good side is a day that I am happier, my kids are happier, and by extension, even my ex-wife is happier.

I wanted to take a moment of pause to look back over three years of processing my divorce through The Off Parent and see what I can learn about myself, about the changes I’ve made, and the growth I still need to keep aspiring towards. Self-observation has been the most powerful tool I’ve had in my healing and recovery. This blog is a reflection of that process, and thus a good opportunity for illumination.

Intention: I am not here to make you feel better. I am here to get it out. I am here to share my journey. To make me feel better. But mostly to FEEL THROUGH this bitter, enlightening, transformative experience. (from my about statement)

Major Topics Content Mix:

Anger – 44
Dating – 92
Depression – 39
Divorce – 115
Kids – 41
Love – 43
Marriage – 35
Money – 26
Poetry – 41
Self-care – 34
Single Parenting – 30

Stepping back the progression and change seems clear. I can see how this blog afforded me a sort of Divorce Recovery Roadmap.

Divorce Recovery Roadmap

As I began to ascend from the darkness of depression and anger, the energy also opened up and allowed more hopeful ideas to enter my daily activities. My recovery and my kids’ health became priorities in my life by year two, and more recently, in this last year, I have found myself ever more arching towards a next relationship and the imagining of what that might look like.

So, according to me, I’ve moved from the darker parts of divorce toward the hopefulness of dating again and aspiring towards simpler and healthier relationships with my ex-wife. I don’t think I will leave any of the elements along this path behind. There will be days when I’m angry or sad. But as I can direct my life and thoughts more towards the aspirational parts of the process, the happier I will become.

Without this blog, I don’t know that I would’ve had the outlet for the anger. And for me, that’s one of the issues I struggled with during my marriage. I was “too nice” most of the time. And I sublimated my own needs and desire in the name of being a loving husband and good father. But the anger is power, in some circumstances. And even pushing it somewhere else (overeating, acting out, rage) doesn’t really get rid of it.

There’s a great phrase from Reshad Feild that often helps me remember to deal and open up to the anger.

“There is no time to slay the dragon. The dragon is your friend.”

In fact, during a highly creative and emotional time, about six months ago I went through a “tattoo desire” phase. I was certain that some ink would help establish my new creative promise, and my own promise to myself, never to sublimate my joy, sadness, or any other emotion. Ultimately I purchased a package of temporary tattoos of the design I created from a drawing off the web. Here’s what it would’ve looked like.

No time to slay the dragon - the off parent

The beautiful part is, I can have the tattoo anytime I want. To make the statement. But on days when I’m no longer in that mode, I am just fine with the fade and loss of the tattoo dragon.

To summarize: I have moved from anger and bitter darkness towards dreams of doing it all again. Better, smarter, and with more self-awareness, but getting back out there and giving my heart another chance to connect and soar. That’s what most of the poetry is about. Imagining poetry on the left side of the recovery path would yield a very different voice. I prefer aspirational love poems. And with that, The Off Parent has been transformed into the Poet of #Desire.

So yes, I’d say, this has been an amazing journey. Goal setting for Year 4 is next.

Sincerely,

The Off Parent

Reference: Steps to Freedom  by Reshad Feild

Resources:


a glow

woman on fire

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

across the room i noticed her
glowing
the one next to me
not glowing
i was tethered
but my eyes were alight
i knew
in that moment
i could never settle
again
for
not glowing

9-23-13


word after word seeking another

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

ensnaring her in my imagination
she stumbles across my words
rapt and tingling from the assumptions
she is young and old
and finding new pleasures
where the previous ones have gone missing
i meet her in my projections
lover, romantic, singer, dancer
i too am shutting down old wings
unproductive castings
lost kisses
in this very word
and this one
she is taken
mine

9-23-13

word after word seeking another


fall arriving

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

and the weather changed and changed everything
i smile, imagining your smile
as the leaves swished down and past
rain smell and damp earth hunger
and memories, hopes, and dreams
of you

and
you called

9-21-13

fall arriving


safety is not the issue

poem - safety is not the issue[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

safety is an illusion
a crutch
and excuse
for not feeling what you feel
for not saying what you mean
for not giving everything you have
for not…
stop
let’s forget being safe
or trying to define safety
let’s throw caution to the dogs
and make hay where the sun don’t shine
there’s today
and then what

9-10-13


Separating Stories and Seeking Purpose After Divorce with Kids

getting through divorce one step at a time

getting through divorce one step at a time

It’s time to sort this story and pull apart the tasty bits, throw away the vitriol, and find the pure “off parent” story. Like pulling apart the colorful threads that are bound together in a rope, if you begin to separate the various issues you can focus and perhaps solve them independently. As a whole, the strength of the problem is overwhelming and seemingly unsolvable. But taken as smaller parts, with diligence, you can find your way into a solution, or at least resolution.

In looking back at the three years since my divorce, I see how this writing journey became an important part of my recovery of self. As I was able to articulate the pain/joy/struggle of finding myself alone again I gave voice to my own recovery. What started in anger and confusion, has risen through many ups and downs into something of an anthem to self-examination and (in my humble opinion) victory.

And all the parts of this expression have formed who I have become, as I walked, crawled, cried, and sang through my journey back to wholeness. As I reflect on the content now, I see some very distinct threads.

  1. Divorce Process, Mechanics, and Resolution
  2. Kids, Parenting, Single-parenting, Fathering
  3. Pure Anger and Bitterness
  4. Depression, Loss, and Recovery from Depression
  5. Dating, Desire, Sex, Relationship Journey
  6. Poetry of Desire, Loss, and Aspiration

Assessing the strength of this rope, I see one “voice” that needs to go away. (Not be deleted, but not be encouraged either.) The vitriol and black anger that has come out may have felt justified and righteous at the start of my fall from the family as it previously existed, it does nothing but feeds on itself and stir up more of itself. Time to acknowledge it and move on. Turn it over to a higher power, if you’d like a platitude. There is no growth or healing from bitter focus. It is a step you must pass through. The hope is you move through it with great passion and without much damage to yourself or (more importantly) others. Even your ex does not deserve the vile that is likely to come up. But get it up and out, you must. In my case, this blog was started with that bitter voice. Titty dancers, Fuck Yous, and “You really fucked up,” all formed some of the energy that got me started.

Next on the list of “maybe this should go somewhere else” are the aspirational love poems. While they too have given me great hope and insight into my dreams and desires, AND they are part of the divorce/recovery journey, perhaps their song should be published elsewhere. As part of a divorce story, they are tinted by the rest of the rope. But pulled away from the whole, perhaps those prayers, laments, and songs will gain a lightness. I believe they belong here, but I also know that I was probably publishing them here because of the audience that has developed.

And finally, the exciting part for me, the Single-parenting content. (Here’s a prime example: Just Being Dad Is Enough: A Hot Summer and a Ghost Horse) This thread runs brightly through the narrative as it unfolded, but the energy and focus were always mixed with the other “colors” of the writing. How could I be bitching and praising their mom in the same place, much less the same post?

The first vacation (alone) to the beach with my kids was an eye-opening experience. And the joy that emerged on that first journey was one of strength and hopefulness. And the idea for The Whole Father emerged. I wasn’t ready, at that time, to really begin imagining myself as a teacher or model father; I’m still not.

But, the awareness that was so exciting to me was this. In getting divorced we have to regain skills, chores, and parts of our whole selves that we had parsed off to the other parent. My ex was really great at the beach. She loved it. She loved shepherding the kids and giving me some hours to lounge, sleep, read, whatever… But without her, there would be no downtime. I had to up my game. I had to become more whole again and recapture and rework those parts of myself that had been languishing.

This was a wonderful insight. And today, I’m going to begin expanding that concept and giving voice to The Whole Father as a new blog for all the positive and negative aspects of becoming a single-dad and having to learn all over again how to be a parent. I had to fill myself back up enough to become whole again, and while I had the vision early on, it is only now that I feel competent enough to expand on that gift and road to discovery.

So I’m not leaving The Off Parent behind. But I do think there are other places for me to find joy and focus, and perhaps the weight of the “off-ness” is heavier than it needs to be for poetry or joyful single-parenting. That’s where I’m headed.

Here’s the first post: A Return to Wholeness After Divorce | The Whole Parent

Sincerely,

The Off Parent

Resources:


ready

desire

[from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

let me test theories of tenderness across your toes
and give flight to dalliances within walled and secret spaces
let me pry opening thoughts into your aches
and see if there is available lighting inside
i will stroke and stoke each ember
i will whisper them awake at night
and again at the sunrise
shelter and protect and build to a burning blaze
and collapse along side
without hurry or chore
blameless and alight and at rest
ready

9-6-13


as i imagine

[from Making Love To Other Women – poetry]

this is the place I pour out all the things i hope to give
i have lost the receiver
my words and hopes and dreams are vapors
and my own enjoyment is the lonely result

and if she came
and if she awakened
as i imagine

these songs and rhymes would trace a new angle
like the curve of a hip
the redness of a lip, or a smile, or a touch

this is the place i sing to the future
to the moment that must come
with all this chanting and praying
and beating around the bush
surely a quarry will be flushed into the open

and i will be surprised
and she will leap away
and I will pursue

for now this will have to suffice
she is not here
she has not yet arrived
in my field
of vision
but i see her
as clearly as if my life depended
or her life depended on a magical kiss
to tear away the slumber and sadness

this is the place i pause and seek and dance
i await the receiver
to bring flesh to these letters
heart to these imaginings
touch to these fingers

and if she came
and if she awakened
as i imagine

9-5-13

as i imagine