Every May, AWA workshop leaders across the globe bring writers together. Leaders help AWA raise funds by offering donation-based writing groups. Proceeds from each session support AWA and its mission. New writers experience the AWA method and celebrate the unique creativity in each other’s voices.
Write Around The World 2024 is nearly here! Check out this year’s event calendar and sign up for your chance to produce some great writing, engage with a supportive community and experience the magic of AWA. We’re offering groups nearly every day!
This writing was done during Clare Bolton’s Finding Poetry Workshops for last year’s WAW.
Untitled by Amanda Beanblossom
smaller though she becomes
always heavier by far
then pounds or measures
lighter on my back
my heart, my mind, lifted
soaring maybe never
strange, sad, new
distance gifted
Scents Matter by Les Kerr
Fresh air through the open window
Sweet with the delicate lilac scent
carries me to the fairy tale lands
with sunny skies and billowy clouds
I’m a child again or am I still here?
That breath of air is both here and reminder of then.
There’s more air to be savored
I’m alive
Wiggling my nose, air brushes tickly hair protruding
where it wasn’t a few years ago
Smiling I plan trimmer time soon.
Stand up, sit down
Lift your legs, my Phys Ed teacher shouts.
The gym-smell air is moving in and out too fast
as my muscles yell out for fresh air please.
Now that memory has passed
replaced by the acrid sulphur smell of my hometown.
Smiling I hear mom saying
I don’t smell anything.
You kids keep forgetting that the mill puts food on the table.
The wind changes direction and the air freshens.
What a blessing
as the overflowing trunk of air memories spills open
filling my senses.
Returning to this room
Where the delicate lilac scent caresses me, blesses me.
Take a deep breath now
Dear Inner Critic by Sue Reynolds
I’m writing to give you permission
to take the next couple of hours off,
to make yourself a steaming cup of
chamomile lemongrass Zen green tea.
Why not sit in the warmth of
this soft summer day and listen to
the bumblebees’ hum and
the sudden droning arrival and departure
of the hummingbirds at the feeder?
This should be a relief. You work so hard
—all the time—to keep me
from embarrassing myself
or maybe from embarrassing you
or maybe all of us.
The whole committee
crowded in this head:
judge and jury,
child and adult,
wounded and warrior,
You keep us all safe, egos intact.
There you are, finger to lips, shushing,
or wringing your hands, wailing,
“You idiot! How could you
think of writing that! People will know you are
stupid
ruthless
childish
needy
narcissistic
uncaring
mean” —
you know all the ways we’re not allowed to be.
I appreciate your care and concern.
Now I am here, pen poised.
Your hovering is hampering, not helping.
I thank you for your service
Feel free now to buzz off somewhere else,
drink the nectar of this sweet day,
while I write this
and so much more.
Untitled by Clare Bolton
I watch the chickadee and cardinal at the feeder
red and yellow brilliance
as intense as a Rothko painting
life may be full of sorrow in the shadows
but joy is not far behind trying to give
sadness a small break – a reprieve.
Even at the hospital the night before my mother died
She spoke to family and friends on the phone
ate the tangerine I brought her with gratitude
Not knowing it would be her last
I was with her in those moments
And heard from my father that later that evening
He watched a Seinfeld episode from home
And she watched from her hospital bed –
they shared a laugh together
before she died peacefully in her sleep.
How joyful is that?