HeyJaredWriting from the Ashes
This is a space to experience poetry as prayer, to tend the fertile soils of our grief, and to remember the wildness that lives within us all. Subscribe to receive my poems + writing prompts straight to your inbox.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 6
- Latest publication
- Sep 16, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 7, 2026
Latest issues
Writing with the Body | POET’S CIRCLE Replay (opens the original)
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In this 90-minute POET’S CIRCLE taster workshop, we dropped in to our bodies with an intuitive movement practice, read + discussed poems by Danusha Laméris and Dorianne Laux, spent some time writing with two body-based prompts, and shared.To watch this replay and all others—and to receive access to monthly live writing circles, a subscriber chat, and these perks—join us in the POET’S CIRCLE, a poetry community bridging consciousness and craf
The Weight of a Life (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="1166" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!fAAv!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fb8f7514a-8721-46fe-b2e3-f75d6bbd3054_940x1166.png
Writing with the Body | Free Workshop (opens the original)
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Writing can often feel like it’s happening all in our heads — we’re editing, overthinking, analyzing, wondering where we’ll share it or how it will be received……and while all of these are beautiful skills to have as a writer, the meaty truth (and the joy) of the writing process lives somewhere deeper.It lives in our marrow, in our bones, in our spit and our sweat.It lives in our bellies, our wombs, at the base of our spine.It lives in our bodies.We’ve all heard, many times over, about the import
POETRY 101: An In-Depth Course for Conscious Poets (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="764" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!H1pl!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ffefaa5bd-73d1-4f85-8e4d-70557cd31227_2400x1260.pn
When Words Become Weight (opens the original)
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Buried somewhere in the deep reaches of my garage, probably wedged between my teenage journals and the unending piles of childhood artwork my mom kept over the years, is a book of poetry I wrote when I was about eight years old.I don’t remember what it was about, or anything in it, but I know it exists. I called it The Red Bird, and I remember feeling so proud when I held it in my hands for the first time. After I printed it out, pages spilling like secrets across the floor, my mom and I went to
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