Tumi Johnson

the poemdances

September 29 2017

It Happened - a poemdance for healing from trauma

Summer 2017

 

It Happened 

It happened. 

When it was happening, 

everything I knew to be true became

a question mark. And it marked

me into a misstep so that my footing

tripped, tumbled, stopped. There was 

a monster crunch in my mind, a dizzying

whir, a deafening spin, a loud long crushing

dread.  My heart skipped many beats. 

I lost my breath. I forgot how to be

human or perhaps I became 

something beyond it. 

It happened. 

Afterwards, my clarity was cold crystal.

I wanted only the company of trees. 

I startled. My dreams took on new

shapes. I re-lived moments unexpectedly in 

the shower, on a bus, making a meal. 

I sometimes misplaced a whole hour and never

found it again.  It happened. I won't ask why. 

I am shaking it off and it happened. 

My heart is strong. 

                                       -Tumí Johnson

September 29 2017
I Am the Sane

I Am the Sane

Spring 2017

September 29 2017
Renaissance

Renaissance

Winter 2017

September 29 2017
California

California

Fall 2016

 

California

 

coast retreat solar painted

mountains and a raw desert

cactus integrating a...  

September 3 2016

Darkness is a beginning

Summer 2016

 

Darkness is a beginning

 

Are you feeling a storm within? 

May 24 2016

Resting Pulses

 

The Rooftop

 

Sometimes in all the movement, I am stung

by a calling to stillness. Above the fray,

May 24 2016

Weed Song

 

Weed Song

 

I do not have a straight up and down-ess,

I do not blush in hues of pink. I come not in

May 24 2016

I Am Home

 

I am Home

 

What space can hold us today?

 

There is laughter in all the rooms.

Crying in some, at...  

May 24 2016

Irrevocable

 

Irrevocable

 

When you fall for yourself, make it a colossus of a

fall. Let your comeuppance be...  

May 24 2016

Rehearsal excerpt from "L

 

To Spite

 

Despite all obvious signs.

Despite certain aging

and endless ballads of seasons ending

May 24 2016

Shed the head

 

Shed the Head

 

Is love our vestige? We walk with the shrunken

remains of it, trying to hide it