An Open Letter

An Open letter:

To my “hula hoop” with love (sorry for the “hula hoop” part)::
Dear JaMocha,
I want to write about you for class.  I’m getting my MFA in Writing Creative Nonfiction and I’ve have tried for days to write about you, tried to find the balance of language, but isn’t balance just so easy it’s hard because balance needs simply balance. You taught me that. You taught me lessons in rhythm, lessons in flow, in time, in femininity, and of course I’m not talking about you, and you know that.  I’m talking about your power, but I’m not talking about power because you are not powerful. You are just a toy, just a Wham-O trademarked “hula hoop,” though you are not the Wham-O Hula Hoop, and you are not the hula. I do suppose you could be some distant cousin to the hula-kahiko, somehow related to the dance that early Polynesians used to perform for their king because sometimes, you are my king. You are my sacred chief, and you are my morning ritual. I bring you o
ut to my driveway, I drag you out and spin you around, and sometimes, I’m only doing it because you look so good when you spin, and I am honored to honor you, and isn’t that power?

artBut sometimes, I have not been honored, sometimes, I have not been oh, so delighted to spin you around. Some days I curse you because you don’t understand death or ends. I scream at you, let my voice get raw, scream that there is an end, and I’ll figure out an end to your lack of beginnings and endings, but I never do, and I never will, and you’ll flip my force and bring force back to me, make the circle bigger and stronger, and let me throw myself in. 

I was in you when I prayed to the universe, to the gods, to Jesus, to anyone who would care. I prayed to you and you prayed with me and we prayed together, and we cried together and we came unhitched together, and I threw you into the air where you would spin and spin, but always come back to me and scoop me into your vortex, and I know I gave you power. You are nothing but irrigation tubing connected with a plastic insert, wrapped in pretty tape. I have made you, dear hoop, but you have made me. You made me with the force I put in you. I fling you, push you and it’s you who pushes back, back at my hips, my hands, my shins, pushing back on my back. Everything bruised with repetition and time, and I feel a since of pride because I think for a second there is no end, and I do get it, but just as quickly as it comes it fades. Open and close.

I couldn’t fit your robust 42’ inch diameter into the overhead. I couldn’t bring you to my brother’s funeral, couldn’t bring you to the church or the cemetery, but you didn’t need to go.  You were already there. You are my father and his grandson. You are the circle, and you are unbroken.

I will write about you dear hoop.


Ten Minutes.


Ten minutes that’s all, just let go and play.
Ten minutes no more, ten minutes a day.

“How do you do that?” all the kids ask.
“Practice,” I say, but they only laugh.

“No, really,” women will ask,
“What’s the secret? What’s the trick?
How can I keep it going around my hips?”

“Keep trying,” I say, “and don’t give up.
If you think that you can, then that’s almost enough.

“Go ahead,” I tell them,
“and give that hoop a spin, with your mind,
with her heart, with your inner grin.
Ask that circle to go left, or go right.
If you think that you can do it,
well then, you might be right!”

Ten minutes that’s all, just let go and play.
Ten minutes no more, ten minutes a day.

Everybody Wants to Rule the World.

Everybody wants to rule the world,
or so I’m told.
But I know, I will rule the world,
with every rotation, every open turn.
I’m playing in a field of thoughts,
that I will determine,
because I will rule the world, my world.

Will you rule your world?
What will it take for you to give yourself time to flow,
to move pass the things we say we must,
and open up a box of goodies just for you.

I am the ruler of my world.
The author of my story,
the singer of my song,
and I’ve just begun to unwrap the glory in my future.

i’m a hooper my ratty old t-shirt says,
and i’m here to rule the world.

Just Need to Hoop

Just Need to Hoop

There are things to say and blogs to update, phone calls to make,
business awaits. So much to get through, so much to do –
make my list, get over being sick and get on with it.
Write out receipts, make contacts with peeps,
plan events, post on facebook and don’t forget to volunteer
and find a second job because rent is due,
and I’ve got to clean my room and laundry to get to.
I’m not feeling strong, barely hanging on, feeling small
and slightly insane. And sometimes I fight my demons
and they almost win,
but then, I remember and I start to spin.
Suddenly, I’m back to being centered.
Back here to remember to put me on the list.
And I know there are many who don’t get it –
or who are tired of it. But this passion of mine is seeping
and I take any opportunity to let my flow burst out of me.
because I’ve got hooping. And every time I feel crazy,
It brings me back to me. Time and time again.
When it seems too much and I think I might bust,
my stress grips my skull and squeezes more and more –
I Hoop. and my flow envelopes me and brings me back
to a stronger person entirely.
So when I loose my muse,
when my spirit is feeling abused I know it’s time that I just need
to hoop.

First collection

Beautiful Hoops.

Day 5. So Good.

Today’s Hooping workout was really amazing and I will have more to share with you at a future date, but today I was inspired  to write piece of amazing writing. (Please say amazing with your mouth very open so it’s like Ahhh- MaYYYY- Z-I-N-G, and maybe add a British accent to it. That will help.)

The Process.
New Life. New routine. Yoo-hoo’s. Moons. New tattoos. Catching waves. Hot tubs. Cigars. Bourbon. Bikes. Dancing. Day Dreaming. Hula Hooping. Phone Crying. Compulsive cleaning. More hula hooping. Stressed-out over eating. Anorexic non-eating. Definitely late night heavy drinking. Black-outs. Fade outs. Time outs. Cried out. Pizza in bed. Too much internet. Facebook. Pills took. The Up. The Down. The middle ground. Break up. Gave up. Fucked Up. Future. Believing. Remembering. Hooping. Moving. Proving. More. Here. True. Tall. Loud. More. Dancing. Singing. Being. Stopping. Calming. Knowing. Hooping. Strong. and A Yoo-Hoo for the Road.

QL Poetry



It has become more of me
I wish I could help you understand.
It makes me better, complete and true.
What I can be, what I can become.
You snub your nose and laugh at my childish games,
but I have become more of a woman than ever before.

I am. Stronger. Sexier. Truer. Better.
I take this life by the horns
and throw it around as I have never feared
anything before. You laugh at these whirls and turns
but I am a woman for sure.

I can Write about Love

The Hula Hoop and Dr. Carson

You have awakened me from a darker place.
The revolution leaves me dumbfounded,
amazed how you so innocently changed my life.
I think back to what I was before I met you.
I stumbled with a lack of knowing,
with a slight stench of self-doubt.
But you set me straight by circling around me,
pushing me to challenge my entire being.
The bigness swallows me up.
and it’s because of you
that I can write about love.


Dr. Carson was a poetry teacher of mine at the University of Evansville. I wanted to be able to a write a poem I was proud of before I graduated. I wrote a terrible poem about a boyfriend.  I remember Dr. Carson saying, “I can’t tell if you love this person.” He was kind of angry. Frustrated I think. I thought about what he said and I wondered when I would be able to write about something I loved. Almost six years later, I started hooping and I understand now.