Felicia, this feels like a dance between worlds—between myth and memory, between seeking and returning. The pull of Jupiter, the vastness of space, and yet, Earth still calls. That wooden boat, that curious heart—they carry so much weight. This is movement as discovery, poetry as orbit, every step both an escape and a homecoming. Absolutely mesmerizing.
Wow, thank you! Your words REALLY mean a lot to me. Your comment is poetry too. THE JIG OF JUPITER will be published in my next book after being inspired by this exercise 😍
Felicia, that’s incredible! I’m so excited to hear that The Jig of Jupiter will be part of your next book—it truly deserves to be. Your words carry such movement and depth, and I can’t wait to see them in print. Keep weaving your magic! 😍✨
This is so real. In these times I have found creativity to be the healthiest outlet. I’m creating and documenting my life at the same time. It feels…I’m not sure. Somehow it feels right.
Yes, for me it’s a reminder that I am still in control and I have beauty to share. But it’s getting to that space of wanting to be creative that I struggle with.
I feel this. And when I want to be creative but procrastination gets in the way I feel bad. It’s difficult to create when you feel like there is nothing there. At least for me.
Katie, this feels like both a release and a reckoning. That book—heavy with expectation, history, rules not written for us—slipping from your head is such a powerful image. Not failure, but freedom. Not compromise, but relief. And now, with rest behind you and creativity ahead, the question isn’t if you’ll move, but where. Wherever it is, may it be yours.
This was tough! Wooo 😮💨 you came with it. I love this line “unforgettable memories — yet, like discarded closed chapters of senior high calculus” that resonated with me a lot. I often reflect how empty and unimaginative our options are as “consumers” …
I noticed how the images of “undulating” waves and treading water really made me feel your insecurity, Even your insecurity is insecure. The use of “steel” was powerful here - this was my favorite stanza because it felt like the beginning of hope taking over, that our job is to tame their waves. So timely and inspiring. Thank you.
THE JIG OF JUPITER
Let space answer for us because
We want to walk across the orbiting
Rings. We will not drown even if
There is a mindless crack in the
Hull of our mahogany boat.
Feathers and filthy flowers crown
The unruly round heads of the mirror
Humans. A kiss on the forehead
And a cut of a piece of hair from
My lineage. We became fake friends.
I would never take the King’s
Name in vain, but I also do
Not know his name or which part of
This unforgettable vermilion planet he reigns over.
At this point in my life–a new chapter–
I only remember the faces with bright eyes
And a deep soul behind them. I can
Always find them in the crowd.
Let me feel what sets the hearts
Of the mirror humans on fire.
Taking my hand, they lead me
To a desert land with a view of Mars.
In a circle, we twirl and jig around, we
Swing and hop, we samba and
Foxtrot into the heart of Jupiter
And the end of amour.
We want to grow into the flowing
seas before they evaporate. We will not climb,
Even if the mountains tell the senior King
The meaning of our translucent wings.
During the daytime, we float in the
Vast subsurface oceans of Europa.
From the land of gas, to the spheres
Of frozen years, we trespass on
The sacred moons and make music.
Yet, alas, I look back on Earth,
And for what it is worth, I feel
A pull to this familiar place
Where I was birthed.
Cobalt skin and tattered olive clothing,
I learn my constitutional rights and I
Make a name for myself amongst
The beings who reflect back pure truth.
If it was not for my curious
Heart and that wooden boat,
I might have never explored
This place or discovered this terrain.
In a circle, we twirl and jig around, we
Swing and hop, we samba and
Foxtrot into the heart of Jupiter
And the end of amour!
#artstackpoets
Felicia, this feels like a dance between worlds—between myth and memory, between seeking and returning. The pull of Jupiter, the vastness of space, and yet, Earth still calls. That wooden boat, that curious heart—they carry so much weight. This is movement as discovery, poetry as orbit, every step both an escape and a homecoming. Absolutely mesmerizing.
Wow, thank you! Your words REALLY mean a lot to me. Your comment is poetry too. THE JIG OF JUPITER will be published in my next book after being inspired by this exercise 😍
Felicia, that’s incredible! I’m so excited to hear that The Jig of Jupiter will be part of your next book—it truly deserves to be. Your words carry such movement and depth, and I can’t wait to see them in print. Keep weaving your magic! 😍✨
My body awakens from a heart-healing hibernation, warm and anticipating, ready to become addicted
to the medicinal properties
of music, of movement
and the remedy of creativity.
Now that divine rest has relinquished me free to excercise unalienable, human rights,
And as frequently as I like,
where will I go?
What possibilities will bring me peace?
In my silo, I listened to myself cry, and it was not enough,
so I wept for truth.
An old, giant book balanced on the top of my head as I tried to cat-walk through artificial flames.
Maybe if I tiptoed along the exact right path, my body and my book would survive.
It finally slid off, my shoulders slumped, my posture compromised.
“This is what democracy looks like” feels like an understatement, in a world where the weary need so much rest.
(I tried to use @artstack in my post, and it didn’t come up?) Thank you for this space and this weekly exercise!
This is so real. In these times I have found creativity to be the healthiest outlet. I’m creating and documenting my life at the same time. It feels…I’m not sure. Somehow it feels right.
Yes, for me it’s a reminder that I am still in control and I have beauty to share. But it’s getting to that space of wanting to be creative that I struggle with.
I feel this. And when I want to be creative but procrastination gets in the way I feel bad. It’s difficult to create when you feel like there is nothing there. At least for me.
Katie, this feels like both a release and a reckoning. That book—heavy with expectation, history, rules not written for us—slipping from your head is such a powerful image. Not failure, but freedom. Not compromise, but relief. And now, with rest behind you and creativity ahead, the question isn’t if you’ll move, but where. Wherever it is, may it be yours.
Thank you for such a positive perspective!
Week 4 Words: mindless, fake, unforgettable, constitutional, senior, unruly, evaporate, space, around, chapt
Authorship
Excuse me, what is this?
Says who?
The patriarchs wrote a mindless script,
a fake authority passed hand to hand,
each unforgettable lie inked in holy reverence.
A constitutional right to rule, they claimed,
as if power were ordained,
as if voices could evaporate
if ignored long enough.
But the unruly ones never forgot.
We carve our names in the margins,
widen the space between the lines,
turn the page, and claim the next chapter
as our own.
The senior keepers of the old world
circle around, clutching their tattered pages,
desperate to keep their story intact.
But the ink has faded.
And we are writing something new.
This flowed so naturally, I forgot that there were even ten words that needed to be incorporated. “The senior keepers of the old world
circle around, clutching their tattered pages,” such reverence in the imagery, perfect for the ending. Wisdom lives on!
Week 4 challenge
mindless chatters,
unruly, unconstitutional matters,
fake brands, fake jewellery,
real stupor, real laughters,
real break-ups, and
innocent delusion —
thought to last as
unforgettable memories — yet,
like discarded closed chapters
of senior high calculus,
evaporate
in space-time, and
in a turn-around,
replaced with
mindless matters,
ruled by questionable
constitutional charters,
fake faces, fake identities,
real tragedies, real ennui,
shattered shards of realities,
delusional superiority
of seniority and
invulnerability,
entrenched in
stench of torpor’s morbidity.
This was tough! Wooo 😮💨 you came with it. I love this line “unforgettable memories — yet, like discarded closed chapters of senior high calculus” that resonated with me a lot. I often reflect how empty and unimaginative our options are as “consumers” …
It was difficult. But also fun. Thank you for liking it.
Clare Goldsmith
GETTING TO CHAPTER ONE
We ate at the French place
Fake flowers
On the tables
that unforgettable night
Falling in love
In an instant
Across from you
closer
my chair screeching
on the tile floor
my arm around
your shoulder
You folded into me
Now there is so much space
Between us
Something has been lost
My urge to touch you
Being thrilled by the smell
of your perfume
Returned to the netherworld
From which it came
Life goes on
Something deadens
inside you
You can’t face it
So, you exist
Mindless and without passion
Until one day
The aches
The heartbreaks
The sobbing
All evaporate
Poof
And you have the space
To search for yourself
As a whole
Not the half of something
You thought you’d
Always be
You write your own story
Chapter One
Fork
288 hours ago a voyage began
A holiday from sanity
Unruly, uncomfortable, unforgettable.
To be affected is to be human
Unclear what to do, uncertain of the future
Unable to ignore the relentless waves.
The undulating, churning swells
The crashing and spraying of words
Attacking everyone and no one.
Beliefs, values, vocation, self
Breathlessly treading water
Desperately clinging to each other.
To reason seems unreasonable
Explanations implausible
It is just diabolical.
We steel rather than change
Turn empathy to outrage
Peace to action.
Ours is a choice
To remain silent, compliant
Or to crash the shore and engage.
Save ourselves
Preserve what is good
Bring sense and keep hope.
The waves will keep coming
That is their task
To tame them is our right.
#ARTSTACK
I noticed how the images of “undulating” waves and treading water really made me feel your insecurity, Even your insecurity is insecure. The use of “steel” was powerful here - this was my favorite stanza because it felt like the beginning of hope taking over, that our job is to tame their waves. So timely and inspiring. Thank you.
I’ve posted this poem as “restack with a note” , but posting here as comment too
The screeching of the chair sounds so abrupt in my mind. I think it really highlights how quickly things changed in this relationship. Perfect ending.