School Is Off Today

A little wandering on a rainy day...

School is off today.
The roads look empty—
straight white lines stretching on,
as if they’ll never end.
They blend and blur,
waiting for a car to pass,
welcoming, wide,
but held by two quiet lines,
there to keep things in order.

School is off today,
but order is not
how my brain moves.

My mind wants a shape
in the mess.
It feels messy—yes—
and yet,
there is perfect order
in the messy.

School is off today.
The streets are quiet.
Gem—my dog—sniffs the edge of the road,
her little nose alert
to things I cannot see.
She loves this walk.
So do I.

The tulips feel it—
the spring.
They know the children won’t pass today.
I think they do.
Some stretch a little higher—
as if to see,
as if to wonder,
as I do:
Will someone pass by?

Well—
my dog passed by.
And I passed by.
And that is enough.

School is off today.
And something inside me—
also
is off.

Off from the bells,
off from the desks,
off from the stiff syllables
of curriculum.

Schooling has never fit my soul.
It trained my hand,
but not my heart.
It taught me to answer,
but not to ask
the beautiful, aching questions.
It made me neat—
but poetry is not neat.
Poets are rarely made in schools.
They unmake what school makes.
They slip between the lines,
spill into the margins,
and learn by listening
to violets
and morning birds.

School is off today.
And I breathe freer.

The senses begin to wake.
Not with fanfare—
but gently.
With the scent of damp grass.
With Gem’s soft breath beside me.
With the light nudging open
the violets in the courtyard.

This is the invitation—
not to search,
but to live.

Not to look for meaning,
but to let meaning arrive
in the act of living.

Because I’m not out here to find something—
not really.
I walk
because I want to live.
And in the living,
there is the finding.

You cannot chase insight.
It comes
when the senses are awake.
When the breath is unmeasured.
When you forget to search
and simply look.
School is for searching. 

And, School is off today.
And so is the part of me
that tries to be correct.
So is the part
that waits for permission.

More than anything,
I think I’m a poet.
I always knew it.
Not because school told me so,
but because the red cardinal does.
Because Gem does.
Because the bleeding heart plant
warms my chest
as no textbook ever did.

And poetry—
from poiesis,
the ancient act of creating—
not just verse,
but world.
To be a poet
is to shape the living
into meaning.
To let the ordinary
blossom
into being.

School is off today.
I am here.
And I am living.

Off the path, off the map,
becoming something softer,
something more alive, wilder—
the way a poet does,
by listening, not searching.

School is off today,
and maybe that’s when real learning begins.

🌿 Leadership Apothecary Practice: “Lead Like a Poet (A Practice of Poiesis)”

A ritual for making space, not just decisions. For leading through presence, not pressure.

Essence

This practice draws on poiesis—the ancient, generative act of “bringing-forth.” To lead like a poet is to listen for what wants to emerge. To shape meaning. To create conditions, not just outcomes.

“Poiesis is not about force. It is the slow art of becoming.” “To lead poetically is to ask: what is trying to be born through us?”

---

INGREDIENTS

• 10–15 minutes of quiet before a leadership moment (meeting, conversation, visioning, facilitation)

• A journal or open document

• An object from nature (a leaf, stone, twig—used as a touchstone for “becoming”)

• Your breath + your attention

---

🌱 The Poetic Leadership Ritual

1. Begin With Silence (2–3 mins)

Sit quietly. Let the noise settle. No need to fix, plan, or problem-solve. Simply arrive. Feel your breath. Touch the natural object gently, as if it’s holding the texture of the moment.

Say silently or aloud:

“I am not here to solve. I am here to listen, to notice, to midwife what wants to become.”

---

2. Tune Into What Wants to Emerge (5 mins)

Open your journal and respond to one or more of these prompts:

• What is already unfolding here?

• What deeper truth is asking for space?

• What is my role as a maker—not a manager—in this moment?

• If this were a poem, what would its mood or metaphor be?

Let the answers be nonlinear. Sketch them. Use fragments. Trust your poetic intelligence.

---

3. Choose a Poetic Intention (1 min)

Out of what you've written, choose one word, image, or phrase to carry into your leadership moment. This is your poetic compass.

Examples:

• “Hold the soil.”

• “Name what’s unspoken.”

• “Move at the pace of petals.”

Write this at the top of your notes, or repeat it like a soft inner vow.

---

4. Lead Lightly, Listen Deeply

As you move into the leadership space, hold your poetic intention close. You are not here to dominate or direct—you are here to invite, reveal, shape.

Ask:

“What wants to be spoken?” “What wants to be seen?” “What wants to be made?”

Leadership, in this way, becomes an act of poiesis—a shared making.

---

After: The Reflection (5 mins)

Once the leadership moment has passed, return to your journal:

• What surprised me?

• What shifted when I led from poiesis instead of pressure?

• What did I make space for that might have gone unnoticed?

Optional: write a single-line poem to mark the moment. Example:

“The pause was the real offering.” “We circled around the truth until it spoke.” “The garden of insight opened quietly.”

---

Use This Practice When:

• You’re entering a space where clarity is unclear

• You want to lead with presence, not performance

• You’re visioning, navigating change, or holding emotional space

• You feel dry and want to reconnect with the living source of your leadership