SIDEWAYS EIGHT PROJECTS

Part I

Awake to the dimming of your doubt,

shout praises skyward as the thunderclap shortens in the storm,

trusting lightening could not possibly strike you twice.

Bow your head while lifting your arms

in defiance of wickedness,

resistance to force or subjugation,

wholehearted surrender

to the manifest goodness of joy unbound.

Sit back-to-back with me

on the edge of the stone wall overlooking the river,

eyes closed,

listing things however small or large

that make us happy,

bring us peace

or give us hope.

Keep going until one of us is tapped out,

and then pretend to laugh

from the bottom of the barrel until we really do.

Keep laughing until it hurts,

that is how we best learn 

to find purpose in the pain somehow,

for wounds are inevitable 

yet so are music and dancing.

Walking in the rain can feel like a baptismal

filled with fireflies and happy tears.

We are not meant to remain in grief,

it must run its proper course of recognition 

and then be enshrined in a place of honor

to commemorate its existence,

giving that love somewhere to go when needed.

Remember that shaking hands can be moved into shaping and service

by steady hearts,

and that shaking hearts

can be calmed into peaceful balance

by determined souls.

Awake to the shining of your light,

sing hymns of brokenness glorified

and abandonment healed.

Meet neglect with tenacity and 

harsh winters with warm embraces.

I wish I could listen to you forever,

hands open on each others backs,

easing burdens by the power of touch,

alleviating spoiled cargo

with each breath

in a joined holding of communal space.

I see you crying in the darkness,

I feel you on the precipice of enlightenment 

not knowing which edge to step from

for the signs marked “abyss” and “paradise”

cannot be read or understood without a proper light.

Stillness can only be maintained for so long.

The very act of continuing to live

is worship of something.

Relief comes soonest to those who welcome the truth.

There are things which cannot die,

there are things which cannot be bought or sold,

things which cannot be coerced or controlled.

There are sacred things.

There are things worth living for

and things worth dying for.

There are things which bring both happiness and peace, 

but the only thing on each of these lists

is love.

Part II

And love cannot be completely contained,

fully accommodated or recklessly restrained.

It isn’t entirely encapsulated by pithy aphorisms,

Disney film plot lines, after school specials

or terse verse in Hallmark cards,

although it is grand enough to exist in all of these spaces.

Love is in the staying late and the getting up early,

the holding of hands bedside in the hospital,

the embracing of an ex on their wedding day,

and continuing the conversation after the lights go out.

Love is pulling weeds from the garden together,

and going out for breakfast on a whim.

It is laughing together in thrift stores picking out the evening’s attire for a fancy date night. 

It exists in genuine connections on blind dates,

and kindred spirits not being bothered by age differences.

Love is in keeping the program from the show that moved you,

permanently rippled on the cover from catching your tears in both acts.

Love is horse riding bareback and barefoot on the beach

and sitting silently together staring at the stars.

It is the genuine smile and warm greeting,

beyond awkward social pleasantries, 

when turning to your neighbor

between the worship songs 

and the needed message.

It is the removal of your shoes and your coat at the door,

knowing you’re going to stay a while.

Love is helping your friend take out the garbage

even when it isn’t your chore that week,

and letting everyone know it’s starting to rain,

in case they left their windows cracked,

or in case they’d wish to open them all the way. 

Love is biker buddies riding up on the curb,

just to give strangers a high five, 

completely unaware they were just coming from an epic poetry and music gathering,

on a Monday in the Biggest Little City,

rapidly becoming the perfect way to punctuate the evening,

and a funny story to tell for the rest of our lives. 

Love is making snow angels before the last run of the day,

climbing trees with our children,

swimming in lakes with our dogs,

and bonfires near the ocean with our chosen families.

Love is wanting to pick the other person up and swing them in the air, 

eyes gently closed

holding onto each other for dear life,

never wanting to let go.

Live music at the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings,

and at the local coffee shop on Thursday afternoons.

Love is you and I getting along the way we do, 

in spite of our differences,

sometimes because of them.

Love is far too big,

too filled with wonder,

too all encompassing 

and too mysterious

to be contained or held 

within a single attempt,

but that is also why

so many of us try.

“here is your gentle reminder that there are dandelions growing through cracks in the sidewalk. there is a fence lizard on the porch who is growing a new tail. there are trees growing through an abandoned house, branches tearing through the ceiling, ferns carpeting the floor. there is life pushing forward, pushing through.”

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“Because I carry it well doesn’t mean it’s not heavy.”

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“You lived

two decades

with nothing but your spine holding you up. the way light does not care if shadows follow you do not have to be wanted

—to prove you are real.”

– natalie wee, never been kissed

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“The south is so amazing. Just talked to an old man by the river about micro plastics and he said “There’s glitter in our veins that will long outlast our bones” then he just walked away from me.”

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A three-year-old brought me a bit of

black paper. “Look”, she said, “I found a

piece of night!”

We’re all born poets, but slowly we

forget.

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“Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again”

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“if no art makes you feel anything, make your own art and feel something”

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“Why do you people feel profound thought has to come from high places? The gutter looks at the stars too”

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“They fall from the sky sometimes, looking for a place to grow”

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“How liberating it is to pursue wholeness instead of perfection”

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“of course i feel too much, im a universe of exploding stars.”

– S. ajna

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“In Simberg’s garden the humble Death-like figures struggle against harsh conditions; the landscape around the garden has burnt yellow, it is dry and barren. The cherished flowers grow in exotic shapes, slowly, requiring constant care. The black-clad figures love their nurslings.

The garden is a place where Death is allowed to realize its feelings of affection. The Garden of Death can be seen depicting the impossibility of this love; maybe the flowers are tender and fragile because they can not handle the love of Death. Love has two faces: one of them is the face of devastation.”

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“Wasn’t that the definition of home?

Not where you are from, but where you are wanted.”

Abraham Verghese

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“if it was good, it would have stayed”

“and do you cry over that which has passed? i swear to you, if there was any good in it, it would have stayed.”

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“i am not brave but sometimes i am made brave by my friends which is to say i am made brave by love”

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“It’s a fitting punishment for a monster. To want something so much— to hold it in your arms and know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it.”

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“HEALING INVOLVES

DISCOMFORT, BUT SO DOES REFUSING TO HEAL.

ANU, OVER TIME REFUSING TO HEAL IS

ALWAYS MORE PAINFUL.”

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“And when you no longer explain yourself, not out of pride but exhaustion

is that strength, or quiet surrender?”

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“And when the mirror no longer reflects who you were

is it growth, or are you simply gone?”

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Haiku:

yes bacon makes the

world darker so the cat needs

more light to see by

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art never comes first.

first came the blood, the nights, the fever,

the lonely walk in the park.

-vesmir

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“They’re going to bury you three feet deep, because you’ve only ever been half a man” sounds like a raw ass line from Shakespeare or something buts actually from me yelling at my cat for stealing my sandwich while I was getting a drink.

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Dela TorreDani Putney

BOW

Epigraph: “The dancer Ginger Rogers did everything that her partner Fred Astaire did, but ‘backwards and in high heels’”

— Frank and Ernest Cartoonist Bob Thaves 

I could’ve written a piece about the fierceness of the fire breathing divine feminine. I could’ve easily scrawled some lines about the sacred sanctity of sisterhood or the goodness of goddesses across the globe. I could’ve focused on the individual testimonies I hear constantly that have taught me with terrifically tantalizing tributes and terrifyingly terrible tellings at places like Sierra Arts Foundation with the Sierra Arts Literary Community, Artech with the Nevada Poetry Society, Our Center with True Colors Poetry, Shim’s with Monday Night Poetry, Black Rabbit Mead Co with Poetry and Jazz and Sexy Grown Folks Poetry and The Laughing Planet for UNR/Brushfire.

There I go mentioning fire again.

Such a piece would’ve written itself. It could’ve held butterflies, rainbows, angel’s wings and pristine sunrises somewhere in its body. It could’ve held heads high, connected authentically in a completely safe and predictable way focusing on the bountiful bevy of beauties I personally know who are intentionally bound to light the stage on fire (that’s three) in their chosen crafts. All of it would’ve been true. All of it could’ve touched you on the surface and beneath. But I felt lead to write a piece more from my gut with some teeth. So please, if I say something that offends and you’re unwilling to make amends don’t take it out on the queens. Take it out on the court jester JJZ. With this, I’m not speaking for the city or all women. I’m just speaking for me. We came here to warm up, so let’s let the fire breathe.

Men,

Demand more of yourselves

Raise the bar on beckoning and behavior

Be better

The women of our lives are carrying

the brunt of the load, while we stand aside and gawk.

Read those books gathering dust on the shelves 

We need to be saved, we’re not the savior

take care with each spoken word

and written letter

I’ll see y’all on down the road, if you have the courage to walk the walk.

In the ancient time honored game of chess my favorite piece has always been the black queen. Because, although her side is made to go second according to instructions, she’ll always remain the most powerful piece on the board. Too many queens have been forced to go second or not at all. We’re going to address more than a few of those here and now.

In the game of life we must each play the cards we were dealt. And that’s if we can even get a seat at the table. 

Amelia Earhart was the first woman to solo the Atlantic, and the first human of any gender to cross the Atlantic in an airplane twice.  For her effort, she won the Distinguished Flying Cross, the French Legion of Honor, and the Gold Medal from the National Geographic Society.

Queen of Spades.

At the age of only six, Ruby Bridges was the first student to integrate William Frantz Elementary in NOLA. One of the dangerously pale onlookers caught a glimpse of her whispering to herself while walking the red target to enter the school and later asked her about it. “I was praying for the people who were cursing me and threatening me.” An angel capable of blessing the demonic attacks with words of praise. 

Queen of Diamonds.

Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Notorious RBG, had the incredible privilege of being named among a list of women who “show up, speak up, and get things done” in whatever personal and professional spaces they choose to occupy. A most excellent jurist who had a lifelong battle with injustice.

Queen of Clubs.

Ashlee Haze wrote the poem “Hymn” which tore my heart open and sewed it back together better than ever. 

Queen of Hearts.

Dolly Parton is believed to have written “I will always love you” and “Jolene” in the same day.

Frida Kahlo learned to love even in the midst of pain and helped human beings everywhere regain their sense of wonder through her art and the life she was bold enough to live.

Maya Angelou voluntarily gave up speaking for five whole years to prove a point, after a tremendously traumatic experience believing her own voice powerful enough to have killed the man who attacked her and still managed to polish off gems like “if you are always trying to be normal you will never know how amazing you can be.”

Hedy Lamarr, An actress and inventor, she co-invented a technology that is the precursor to modern Wi-Fi

Indira Gandhi, daughter to India’s first Prime Minister, later became Prime Minister herself of one of the most misogynistic populated countries in the world.

Sasha Colby, an American beauty pageant competitor won the Miss Continental competition in 2012 and she was crowned the winner of Season 15 of RuPaul’s Drag Race in 2023. I’ve heard she’s more than a queen. She’s a Goddess. 

Before the world blessed us with Venus and Serena Williams, it gave us Althea Gibson who won 11 Grand Slam titles including five in singles and six in doubles, reaching an astounding 8 Grand Slam event Finals in the year 1957 alone.

Marie Curie, The first woman to win a Nobel Prize, and the first person to win the Nobel Prize in two different scientific fields.

Joan of Arc, born into the thick of the Hundred Years War, was utterly fearless mentally and verbally, an astounding warrior physically, superior to her male counterparts emotionally and on a mission from God spiritually.

At the age of sweet 16, Zinaida Portnova poisoned the food of over 100 Germans, killing them. She was apprehended by the Gestapo, and while being questioned, she disarmed the detective and shot him in the head. In her haste to flee, she killed two more soldiers. As a single teenager, she did more to defeat the Nazi party than the entire MAGA movement has done in its lifetime. Bad Ass.

Rosa Parks said “Today’s mighty oak is yesterday’s nut that held its ground.” To paraphrase, today’s Wonder Woman is yesterday’s dismissed little girl who refused to back down to the bullshit. Forming a golden lasso of truth out of tattered pigtails, Bracelets of submission from the ropes intended to bind her wrists and the Gauntlet of Atlas yielding ten fold strength from the insults of fe-Fi-fo-fum-males who would rank on the inadequate scale of one to anything.

Monte Mader and Heather Cox Richardson are daily speaking truth to perceived power in real time pointing out the countless flaws and ethical shortcomings of this would-be fascist regime.

While the other disciples fled and scattered in fear the women stayed and put in the work.

Queens. All of them.

I’m trying to become the man who might’ve saved me as a child

The best thing any man can do for a child is to love their mother

not become the helpless hapless insolent child who needs to be mothered again and again by human beings with far better things to do, who are already tired and oftentimes laboring for free without the recognition and flowers they deserve 

I was dealt a fantastic hand, trying to make the most of it. Raised by a chosen family of cocktail waitresses, older and younger sanctuary sisters, my mother’s friends, grandmothers, aunts, teachers, librarians, and other neighborhood moms who were also trying to corral the endangered species known as teenaged boys in the early nineteen nineties. 

The first place I learned about Hope was peering over my Mom’s shoulder watching that character’s namesake on Days of Our Lives. Soaps were the first operas I was exposed to and the first bars in my mouth for ever speaking disrespectfully as a kid.

Placed in childcare with Oprah, Ricki Lake, Sally Jesse Raphael, Velma from Scooby Doo, Judge Judy and The Golden Girls.

I’ve been uplifted and encouraged along the way by so many other women it makes my head spin and my heart do cartwheels. We’ll call them heartwheels which far surpass the Hot Wheels of my boyish youth. Since edified and supported by divinely feminine friends, damn fine poets, counselors, mentors, coaches, exes, cougars, silver foxes, pastors and slam queens,

oh my!

Not to mention at least three multipliers of life, I’m quite convinced were angelic beings disguised as strangers sent to me at the perfect times to keep me alive. 

And when it comes to spiritual adoption, taking people under my wing,

keeping an eye out for

and my heart with, 

I’m a proud girl Dad mostly.

There are some boys who’ve fought their way into my heart.

Unfortunately several of those have fought their own way out of this world too soon. 

Hopefully they’re waiting for me somewhere in the next so I can introduce them to their royal siblings. 

So whether B.O.W. stands for 

Beauty of women

Badassery of Women

an entity that’s elegantly curved, strong as a tree, meant for shooting arrows of truth at targets of inadequacy,

the rightful front end of an entity hearty enough to sail the seven seas,

or what you’d put atop any gift to the entire world,

we as men ought to bend the head and upper body at the waist as a sign of respect in greeting.

Check the line-up.

Buy the tickets.

Support the artists, this weekend

and all year round.

Give the flowers.

Spread the word. 

Be in awe as I am. 

In short, I’d be absolutely nothing without the women of my life. 

Queens. All of them.

And this house of cards we’re living in

isn’t a game to me.  

It’s why I stand for who (and what)I believe in,

why I stand by my friends, loved ones and chosen family

why I stand up for the beauty and badassery of women

because when faced with a queen

it’s hard to bow from a seated position 

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Written and Performed by Jesse James Ziegler

5/2/25 At Underworld Distillery

An exhibit at the Metro Gallery inside City Hall in downtown Reno, NV. Running March 17th through May 9th 2025. Poetry and photography by City of Reno Poet Laureate Jesse James Ziegler

“Hello to the power of belonging.

Hello to the power of the responsibility of belonging.”

— Padraig O’Tuama

It is written of Two Edens: Upper and Lower

at first glance a well formed riddle

In the black and white duality we are left to search out the way

Yet God in their wisdom sets us perfectly smack dab in the middle

The Resurrection provides us pathway to live in the gray

The in between. The Golden mean,

where we currently work and rest.

Though striving for utmost of two extremes

the tension of already but not yet.

The other being least we attempt to wean,

rather than subscribing to a version less

of our selves and our heart’s given dreams,

hoping the source of all to have met. 

As image bearers we seek, climb, dig, deep dive, and delve

In every crevice, around each corner in the overlap of this magical place

As we read in 1 Corinthians 13:12

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.”

Reflection as in the mirror of a continuous crucible by silver refinement,

Redemption as in purification through pressure like coal to diamonds.

These ancient yet childlike lands have porous borders,

Some with despair and bitter belonging,

others with lively celebration and feast.

The sacred cartography has a key for the orders,

Greatest doesn’t become by wronging,

rather by allowing ourselves to be least.

May we incline our heads toward each other fully,

that we may see the image of God more clear,

in the face of an enemy, a refugee or a stranger.

Choosing wholehearted love as greater than empty fear,

and compassionate hope greater than potential danger.

Moving precious and turbulent time with botanical interests and dreams of creation,

Tending to the garden isn’t just a novel way to pass the time, It’s an act of faith.

We sift the soil of the earth and each other’s hearts in every presented situation, 

Called to cultivate and patiently wait.

We each have unique skills to share and gifts to give,

a particular place in the choir, a special role on the team.

We sing and play better freely imparting what we’re given to live,

As the very beginning foretells the mouth of the stream.

Trusting the master gardener to bestow breath

into the seeds we have sewn,

and the deeds we have shown, 

conquering death because love’s worth it.

Using our gifts and powers, knowing light and song, 

the fervent way, and the word to disperse it.

We are but sunflowers growing in Babylon,

filtering out the curse from the earth to reverse it.

Those on the wide and crooked may try to speed through

While continuing on down this mysterious unknown road

are the straight and narrow which the world may despise 

May we live out the tales we tell of ourselves which are more than true

The gentlest horses become burdened to carry the heaviest load

Thus they must let loose and lay down the weight of the lies

We are works in process of progress seeking the next best thing to do

In all that we execute and say day by day striving for a heavenly abode

Noting when we miss the mark in spite of well intentioned tries

The ways to less are many but the ways to more are few

With gracious gratitude we praise the one able to crack the code 

For we’ll fly one day only because Jesus was first able to rise.

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Title taken from a combination of Mark 12:31 and Luke 10:37

Written for The Rock Church Easter Service 4/20/25

Become

Rising in the dark

brisk, autumnal high desert air

segues into warmest wonder,

set ablaze

by fire and imagination.

We patrol at dawn for best vantage

from which to point and see

the annual show,

glowing with anticipation,

favorite unique characters comprise 

a colorful parade,

dazzling display 

dancing in our minds from years past,

celebration of newcomers 

with old friends and chosen family,

sky endlessly vast

The drop line, fuel tanks, liftgate, and load rings are 

all checked and given the go ahead.

Green light at the intersection of flight and fancy.

Baskets become filled

Burners become hot

Balloons become bouyant

People become mesmerized 

Days become memories 

Stories become special

Lives become enriched

Snaps capture shine and excitement

written across faces and the horizon

Rising individually, each craft,

part of the greater mass ascension,

gives lift to all worry and spirit,

grateful for presence and pause,

felt in every heartbeat.

Kaleidoscope confetti tossed in the air,

hesitant in returning to earth,

defying gravity for enjoyment of view.

Each envelope signed, sealed

and specially delivered to the heavens,

celestial choreography at its finest.

Ready each and every chase crew for

hopeful happy landings elsewhere, 

until our Reno rendezvous next year,

a harvest of homecoming,

The Biggest Little gathering 

as we do it all over again.

——————————————————————KOLO TV NEWS SEGMENT ON THE CENTERS https://www.kolotv.com/2024/12/26/new-warming-center-now-open-help-provide-safe-place-those-need/?outputType=amp

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KTVN TV NEWS SEGMENT ON THE CENTERS

https://www.2news.com/news/local/good-neighbors-warming-centers-welcomes-people-to-stay-the-night/article_4b1f712c-bcf9-11ef-9b72-97c8ee6d129d.html

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R.I.S.E. WEBSITE

https://renoinitiative.org/urbanlotusproject/

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