Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

Melinda Coppola

twenty four may | from the inside out

About My Blog

I started this blog to quiet the voices in my head and heart that have been whispering and cajoling and sometimes yelling at me to write more.

This is a space where all the parts of me—mother, poet, wife, lover of beach stones and furry creatures and frequent toe-dipper in the river of song, Yoga practitioner, and teacher and she-who-cooks and she-who-makes-art and she-who-loves-silence, where all the parts of me can come out to play.

I started this blog to keep myself engaged in dialogue with my soul. If what I write interests you, educates you, moves you, …well, that’s a beautiful bonus.

Most Recent Blog Post

A 2022 Story, Part 5

A 2022 Story  

You can read part four here: htts://


Part 5

Little Stream wasn’t sure Lily Pond had heard her question, so she asked again. “Wee Lily Pond, do you think there is a way out of this raging river? I really miss my quiet life.”

Wee Lily Pond was silent for several long moments. When she spoke, her words were soft, with spaces between them. “I don’t know, Little Stream. I haven’t really thought about it. I mean, I’m a pond, and a wee one at that. I’ve never had any say over where I lived, and I’ve never traveled before. It’s all kind of exciting. At least for me.”

Little  Stream pondered this. Exciting?? All this roaring and hurtling along? She could barely keep track of the suns and the moons. Her experience since she’d accidentally flowed into Big River seemed like one long blur of rush and tumble. No, she couldn’t possibly see herself living in this madness and being OK with it.

“I need to find a way out,” she told Lily. “I’m just a small, quiet trickle. This is no life for me. Will you join me? Together we might be able to break free.”

Little felt Lily Pond ‘s deep sigh like a small shudder beneath her. “Well,” Lily swished slowly, “Maybe. I suppose we could try.

Little’s waters brightened with hope now. ”Oh, I’m so glad! Big River doesn’t need us, there are plenty of other waters here.” Her words came quickly, almost rolling over each other. “We’ll find a way to leave. Then we can go back to the way we used to be!”

Wee Lily Pond’s edges darkened as she considered this, but Little Stream didn’t seem to notice.”

To Be Continued…



Read More Blog Posts

In praise of song

              SONG STORIES You open your mouth and out pours a river carrying the rhythms of fluids— blood and lymph, tears, synovial. It is current, and source, keeper of memories and the stories of your ancestors, and mine. Song is the lilting thing passed

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Receiving the darkness

The word solstice was born from the Latin sol ( sun) and sistere ( to stand still).    Solstice, winter This darker interlude could be a meditation, a reckoning with the deceptive nature of time. The exacting practice of being present is to show up for each round moment as if

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Morning is mostly a prayer

It’s been over a month since I last posted here. The reasons are many, but I guess it all whittles down to this: not blogging begets not blogging. I’m here now, though, offering this poem I wrote last month. It was a rainy November, indeed. Undone Honestly, it was the

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I’m posting this a day before my daughter’s 26th birthday. I’ve always felt, with certainty, that we were meant to incarnate this way, as mother and daughter, at this particular time in the life of this planet. I don’t need to know why, because I know it’s true.  Happy birthday,

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The Meaning of Compassion

The Kuan Yin She keeps watch in the warm corner of my bedroom, her bearing almost more regal for the rivers of cracks and generous chips that mark her faded turquoise. Her right hand, the deliverer of action, folds into Gyan Mudra, the gesture of consciousness. Preparing to take her

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Little Things

It was, in my home, an ordinary weekend morning. I rose before him, he before her, the felines were fed. I made three different kinds of tea, two prepared with stevia and soymilk, one with honey. It was the latter that sparked it. She who has such challenges, she who’s

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The Sings

Someone posed the question: What is it that brings you untethered delight, especially when nobody is watching? I’ve a bouquet of such things in my heart, but the biggest flower right now would have to be the sings. May I explain? There are some tells. She needn’t speak. Autism tends

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Natura Illustratio

Nature is a picture book of wisdom and example, an illustrated guide to how we could arrive, and live, and die. Take, for example, a leaf in spring. It draws from mother tree the energy it needs and not a drop more, grows to the edges of its vibrant green

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Fat on Silence

  I need to write it down. I should do this before true memory fades and is replaced, as it so often is, by a recall that looks like The way I wanted it to be, or The way I think it should have been. This is what we do,

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