Saturday, 25 March 2017

Ottis Blades (Blad3s)

Ottis Blades (Blad3s) is a poet who allows his complete thoughts to be expressed to fruition through his work. I tend to relish stream of consciousness writing because as a reader one piece can take you into a myriad of different directions while tying loose ends up nicely to create one kick ass tapestry steeped in versification.  Please feel free to follow Ottis on social media via Instagram.

I'm one of those who falls in love
with a woman's tone of voice, with
the volume of her excitement, the
altitude and texture, the accent
they're unaware of.  the attitude
ringing soundly in their talk,
the personality of her charm, the
sly smile that might run across
any given time.  Yeah, I'm one of
those rare ones that catches the
exact moment when their voices
break during a specific line of
conversation, it's how my heart
knows love is blooming. Because
the way a woman speaks distills
their aura and boast her essence,
in a way that screams you just
need to shut her up with a kiss,
to try and taste her voice if you
could, before it breaks you,
because it will.

The tone of voice on an individual is as unique as one's fingerprint. Nevertheless there is something to be said about romantic whispers and how they can move an individual beyond compare -- when they least expect it.  It's quite remarkable the way one's inflection could be the catalyst to a final kiss in order to silence the other party -- who's been captivated by a tender vox.  In secondary school during my writer's craft course our teacher brought in a recording of Ron Pearlman reading poetry.  Now, this was before Hellboy he had been cast as Vincent from Beauty and the Beast – I mention this because it helps me relate to how I feel when I have specific auditory experience that renders me completely speechless.  And, the best part of this poem – I would have to admit is the potential of gently silencing a woman with a passionate kiss that can be felt in your toes.

And the reason why I love Writers is because
we're all a little bit crazy, a wee bit off kilter and
what have you, and our ability to not give a flying
fuck is a gift that keeps on giving.  We're always in
tune with our inner child when adulting come to
play, we're immune to worldly plagues, we often
come down with cases of the “I don't give a shit”
variety when the fan's deflecting feces, we shrug
things off rather easier than most, because we
don't adhere to society's misguided standards of
what a “normal” human being should be like,
alas, we redefine logic, we're the definition of
alternative facts”, we embrace our humanity like
a badge of dishonor, we carry our unrepentant
lunacy like the whackiest Looney Tunes episode,
our winks and wrinkles that need ironing, the
pieces beyond repair, walking amongst mortals
with a confident smirk because we're the ones
that get to live forever, because a Writer always
knows better and this is why I love my brethren,
my extended family from coast to coast, the very
best of friends and genuine lovers that life has to
offer.

I've been sitting here or an hour deleting and rewriting a lot of my thoughts on this poem. I'm conflicted because I seriously agree with everything.  I can unequivocally say that Ottis' words are indeed quite correct.  Which makes me feel as though I have no profound contributions to this piece above.  It is indeed perfection in my opinion.   Writers are built differently – although written words are organized inside of various categories --  writers on a whole tend to feel the same way.  We can be extremely silly or serious on the turn of a dime.  For the most part there are images in our brains dying to get out that could at times be rendered as crazy as the “unrepentant lunacy like the whackiest Looney Tunes episode,” most of the time that is how I feel when I am alone in my imaginarium.

 Another aspect to this poem that I quite enjoyed was when Ottis said:

 we're immune to worldly plagues, we often
come down with cases of the “I don't give a shit”
variety when the fan's deflecting feces, we shrug
things off rather easier than most, because we
don't adhere to society's misguided standards of
what a “normal” human being should be like,

I think that pretty much says everything in the section above.  As writers we are forced to let things roll off our backs with ease when negative tones are echoed inside of our minds.  But we keep going – little to no money earned – but we keep going – people are intensely critical of our work – but we keep going....  That is the point – we as writers do not get angry we get even through our words. Mark Twain once said “ Never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel.”  For all of you who ever want to cross a writer remember we may be like cute little geese who let things roll of their backs or like elephants who simply remember EVERYTHING!

We search for love wherever there's a shot of
finding it, under the blankets, inside the fridge
next to a bottle of the next poison aiming to kill
you, we look in books we wish to read in braille
wearing an exited smile, because the cliché talking
of a blind kinda loving speak to emotions we wish
to find within pages foreign to us; its exciting, it's
unprecedented, it's pure, because Writer's are
meant to fail at every turn except for doing what
they love, even if it fails to pay a single bill. And
so we search, we travel, we make plans even if it
means thwarting God's in the process because
it's what spirits free of constraints do, despite of
conventional wisdom telling us such love is not
meant to be, because it doesn't exist in any virgin
corner of the world nor does it has legs to stand
up after a while, because it's extinct like the Dodo
bird and its wings are chopped off.  It doesn't
matter tho, we often wait for the wind to blow in
our favor to set sail, for we're the optimistic kind,
the fervent kind, the loony ones and fear can't
defeat us nor undermine us because the only
battles we're willing to fight are the ones we don't
have a chance at winning, but the trying makes us
happy.

I've had to read and re-read this piece over a dozen times not for lack of comprehension but out of pure love.  I must admit although the writing style is different this piece reminds me of the work of one of my favourite poets ever Khalil Gibran. On a philosophical level  this piece is indeed quite magnificent – you don't have to look far for solid imagery either.   We do indeed:

We search for love wherever there's a shot of
finding it, under the blankets, inside the fridge
next to a bottle of the next poison aiming to kill
you, we look in books we wish to read in braille
wearing an exited smile, because the cliché talking
of a blind kinda loving speak to emotions we wish
to find within pages foreign to us; its exciting, it's
unprecedented, it's pure, because Writer's are
meant to fail at every turn except for doing what
they love, even if it fails to pay a single bill.

Love is the one thing everyone wants but lack the patience to genuinely discover it at times. I specifically relished the imagery of “ we look in books we wish to read in braille
wearing an exited smile” I thought this was lovely because of the profound weight of a sense that is completely lost and how it compensates others like for example with touch.  I especially liked the last sentence – as writers people automatically expect us to fail – “why would anyone want to read a specific piece of writing by me” I say to myself all the time but quickly realised that although there is little to money involved with writing as a career we strive to do it because really it's all we know how to do.

In Ottis' words...

A few things about me; I been writing since I was a little kid, my influences range from Pablo Neruda, to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Charles Bukowski and Hunter S. Thompson. I've borrowed from each of them to create a style of my own. I can go from poetic and imaginative to crude and raw. Often writing about love and it's many faces. I write in a long form style called stream of consciousness, I mostly use commas to separate my thoughts and tell a story. I currently live in Las Vegas, Nevada But, I'm from Jersey

Wednesday, 22 March 2017

Interview with Cristina Munoz


Tenacity and inspiration – those are two words that come to mind when I think of my interview with Cristina Munoz. I've never seen such a sense of determination emanating from one person. Wait until you read her backstory? It's a delicious tale of endurance and overcoming painful adversity. Without further adieu I present to you my dialogue with the lovely and talented Cristina Munoz. Please once you've read this interview if it has inspired you in any way you're more than welcome to follow Cristina via Twitter & Instagram.


RMMW: What was the catalyst that started your writing journey?  

CM: Great question. When it comes to catalysts I've had two.  


The first happened when I was nineteen. I was a young gothic/punk girl obsessively into alternative music and one afternoon I was at home writing in my diary listening to Triple J which is an Australia Wide alternative radio station here in Australia when they announced their first 'WORD UP' Poetry Competition for young adults aged from 18-26. 


At the time I had won a few short story competitions though I had never written a poem. I was intimidated by poetry until a friend introduced me to ee cummings which made me feel like maybe i could write poetry only it took hearing about the competition to inspire me to actually give writing poetry a go.


I made an immature pact with myself, deciding I would enter the poems in secret and if Triple J didn't accept them I'll never write another poem again and stick with writing short stories. 


Writing those first batch of poems was an extremely emotional experience unlike what I felt when writing anything else. It felt like they were all already there waiting for me to let them out as they literally flooded out of me. These were not at all like the poetry I was used to reading at school so I seriously thought Triple J wouldn't like them but I entered them in anyway and promptly forgot about them until months later I got the call that my poetry was selected. 


The next thing I knew I was in the ABC Studios recording the pieces I had sent in which was then played on air all over Australia along with having one of those pieces 'Longing For Danger' included in their 'WORD UP' Anthology as part of the competition as well.


Having Triple J think I had some talent as a poet was the first catalyst for me which got me writing poetry. For a couple of years i was living the life of a young struggling poet, doing poetry readings and was starting to get my work published elsewhere until I started getting insecure about not having truly lived yet, then needing to make a living took over completely. 


From the time I was twenty two until my early thirties I still kept getting down poetry and short stories only instead of submitting them I would file every piece away. When I was thirty four I stopped writing as I lost my job after seriously injuring my back so started my own online home business. All of my creative energy went into building my online business. I kept meaning to do something with my writing though my desire to build a comfortable life took priority as my partner and I wanted to start a family. 


I loved running my own business which involved lots of writing so convinced myself I was still writing even though I had folders filled with my work gathering dust in my study. Eventually I had reached a point in my business where I could have done both only I was scared of what people would say about my work if I did start putting it out there so it was easier to put it on the back burner to deal with in the future.


Two events happened which changed everything. The first was having a spinal fusion surgery in 2014. It was the third surgery I've needed for my back and this third one took away my ability to use my laptop comfortably which meant after trying everything possible I could no longer run my online business and I was devastated.


For the first almost two years I was in excruciating pain, on high dosages of pain management medications and my self shattered as my life as I knew it was over. I'm no stranger to chronic pain though in the past I was always able to bounce back. Not this time. 


Being mainly bedridden, having to accept this disability was permanent, far worse than in the past I started believing my family would be better off without me. I went through almost two of the darkest years of my life. It was like being under water and I remember thinking about my work in my study and if I get through this I'll start doing something about them as I felt this overwhelming grief for having stopped writing in the first place. 


My family never gave up on me, they have always been my anchor so eventually I started to come back to myself early last year and then started the process of putting myself back together again. Just in time for my forty-eighth birthday in May, which was the second catalyst which got me writing again as I had reached the age my mother was when she died. She was my biggest fan and before she died she had told me to never stop writing. 


I had been able to work down to half dosages of the pain management drugs, lost enough weight where my back could cope with me being in my feet for a five minutes and I knew focusing my time writing would be a perfect way to distract myself from the pain. I didn't have a business to run anymore so I had no more excuses. I could use my iPad lying flat on my back in bed to write so I asked my partner to bring me all the folders out of my study and then I began taking those first steps to write again.


I have to admit after I updated my Twitter and Facebook accounts and decided to get onto Instagram to begin sharing my work, most of which I got down in my twenties I thought I was in for the greatest embarrassment of my life, only this hasn't been the case at all and I couldn't be more grateful. 


It blows me away every time I get an acceptance email and each time I do it makes me feel like I'm finally doing again what I was born to do and I know no matter what happens I'll never stop writing again. 


Sometimes the worst things to happen to you can then lead to the best things to happen to you and that's certainly been the case for me multiple times throughout my life. 


RMMW: What frightens you the most about being a writer? 

CM: My most frightening fear used to be no one wanting to read my work because I have zero talent and everybody hates it. After finally having let that fear go what most frightens me is losing inspiration. By this I mean where the words won't come anymore beyond simply being blocked. The thought of the words disappearing completely is terrifying as there would be nothing to share at all without the words coming.


I feel the same anxiety about it I used to feel when I played softball professionally as a teenager. I was centre field and I used to have anxiety dreams about the ball being hit to me, only after I would pick it up I couldn't throw it. It would just fall out of my hand.


The idea of not being able to throw my words fills me with the same horrible anxious feeling.

RMMW:  Have you ever been creatively blocked?  If yes, how did you manage your way out of the doldrums? 

CM: Oh God yes. There have been on and off times in my life, because of big events in my life which needed all of my focus and creative energy to get through where I didn't write anything creative at all until it was over and I could process it through writing, like the death of my mother when i was almost twenty-six. 


When it comes to normal writers block that's when I do panic a bit it means my words have dried up which thankfully isn't ever the case. Usually I first try working on some thing else, another piece not yet at final draft to see if that gets the process going. If not the next thing I do is write about songs, albums and artists I resonate with as they inspire me.


Before i had to manage a disability I used to do something physical like go for a long walk to clear my mind. These days i do something else I enjoy, like hanging out with my family, chat to a friend, read something which nourishes my soul, watch a movie or TV Show. Sometimes all it takes is a good nights sleep.


Other times as inspiration does come in waves for me and puts me on a such a high I know what goes up must come down so when those waves flatten out and I've come down I just have to ride it out if none of the above works.

RMMW: Are you on social media?  How do you feel social media benefits writers in today's society? 

CM: Absolutely, since before the spinal fusion I used to be an Internet marketer and blogger being on and using social media was critical to my online business success. 


Once I made the decision to start doing something about all the writing I had stored away I knew being on social media would be key as a writer as well though had no idea just how powerfully it would benefit me as a writer.


After I updated my social media and then started sharing examples of my work on Twitter I started getting other poets and writers liking my poetry tweets and following me, and every now and again it would be a publisher like "Spillwords Press" who would like my work.


'Spillwords Press' were the first to like my poetry tweets and to encourage me to submit my work back in August last year which was the catalyst to get me submitting my work. I keep a little file of publishers who like my work on social media to submit to as otherwise I wouldn't have a clue where would be best to submit my work.


I think Social Media, especially Twitter and Instagram are ideal for writers/poets, helping to get our work out there to find it's readers, bring writers/poets together from all over the world who would never meet otherwise like you and i as well as helping to connect writers/poets to lit mags and publishers who may like to publish there work.


Best of all with social media the feedback is instant which I've also found helps me know what pieces to focus on, what needs more work and sharing excerpts before final draft helps me get pieces to final draft faster as well. 


Lastly, since I'm kind of like Frida Kahlo only I paint with words and use an iPad in bed being a people person social media is mainly how I get to meet new people so it's so important to me on so many levels.


RMMW: What are you trying to communicate with your art?

CM: Since I've got a lot of catching up to do I'm working on my first poetry collection which is turning into a autobiography so I'm still mainly bringing the prolific amount of pieces I got down in my twenties to final draft stage.


It's strange moving back and forth through time every day, and sometimes I wonder if twenty something me knew forty something me would be writing full time one day so deliberately left me with mainly first drafts of pieces to work on so I'd have lots to do. There's no way I could get them to final draft on memory alone so I do so with the help of the diaries entries which inspired them in the first place. 


My work is like little pieces of my soul, so I guess they tell the truth as I experienced it about the people who were and who are in my life now. My past main muses who captured my imagination and heart for a time as well as writing about the love of my life who is my muse now. Most of my main muses knew I was writing poetry about them, one didn't as i was too terrified to tell her how I felt.


I'm fascinated by duality, so often write about my dark side as well as my light side. I believe a life is half lived if you don't let your dark side out to play every once in awhile as doing so myself has only enriched my life, helped me fully understand and accept myself and protected me when it counted as well.


I write about life, the beautiful like falling in love and how love can heal, the ugly like domestic violence, including how I was violent myself, managing PTSD, the embarrassing like fighting love for so long, not having the guts to say what I felt for so long, the terrifying like being abused when you're too young to fight back, believing there is something horribly wrong with you because you're not like the other girls, the joyful like coming out and finally being around other girls and boys like me, finally able to feel intense attraction and enjoy the joys of sex, sensuality and love which felt like a miracle to me, the painful like repressing who I was, struggling with understanding who I was, dealing with grief and loss and so on. 


I often love to capture moments in life like a photograph, a song, or tell a little real life story about any of the above which hopefully anyone can relate back to there own life. 

RMMW: Do you care whether or not your words mean something to anyone or do you write for yourself?

CM: Oh I care deeply. My words don't have to mean something to everyone, it's those few I'm wanting to connect with who get it as they see their own selves in my work, feel the same strong emotions, have similar demons, similar struggles, fears and challenges in what I write about now and what I've written in the past, the same way I saw myself in Anais Nin's work which inspired me. 


Ideally i hope my work helps people feel less alone, especially young people struggling right now with the issues I faced when their age. I hope my work inspires people to not leave things unsaid, to say the things you're to scared to say out loud, to take risks, to be themselves, to accept themselves, think for themselves, to be compassionate, empathetic with others and to be willing to change, grow, and evolve. Find the courage to deal with their demons, face their own fears and to allow the magical dynamics of love, sex and sensuality into their lives far sooner than I did.

RMMW: What's the genesis story of Cristina's Sound of Woman In Alternative Rock & Pop? 

CM: I've always enjoyed sharing on Face Book the songs which capture my imagination only I found after I decided to start writing seriously again I was suddenly sharing a crazy amount of songs every day.


When I'm writing I always listen to mainly alternative music so I knew this compulsion I have to write about and share the songs, albums, artists who inspire me wasn't going to stop as when I was young along with seeing 3-4 bands play every week I used to write album reviews for 'Beat Magazine' in Melbourne while helping host a Sunday night graveyard shift show on 3RRR an alternative radio station in Melbourne.


My love of listening to and writing about music goes way way back, so that's why the idea to start a Facebook fan page so I could share as many songs as I like without it annoying anyone came to me.


I decided to focus solely on the women in alternative rock and pop as I believe they are still not given as much media attention as the men in the music industry, plus I know I resonate more with female singer-songwriters. I was going to call it 'Women Of Sound' only that was taken so I settled on 'Sound Of Women' instead which I've grown to prefer more. 


@soundofwomen is a labour of love which i started purely for myself and for fans only then I started noticing the actual artists and bands I was writing about starting to like my posts about there music. Some leave comments to thank me, retweet my tweets, and a few even began sharing my song reviews about them on their Facebook pages. 


That's when I decided to take 'Sound Of Women' more seriously, so in the New Year along with 'Sound Of Women' being on Face Book, @soundofwomen now has it's own account on Twitter and Instagram as before other than Facebook I was using my personal accounts. 

RMMW: What female Singer/Songwriters/Musicians do you enjoy and why? 

CM: Oh my I'd be here all day if I listed everyone I enjoy like from early on ABBA, Joan Jett, Stevie Nicks, Madonna, Prince, Sinead O'Connor, Bjork, Johnette Napolitano & Concrete Blonde, The Cure, The Pixies, PJ Harvey, Nick Cave, Garbage, The Kills, The Cranberries, Missy Higgins, Sarah McLachlan to in this generation Adele, Meg Myers, Adna, Lisa Mitchell, Fire To The Stars, Brenda Xu, LP, DARK, Whissell, seriously the list is literally endless as I literally do have a soundtrack to my life. I pretty much like anything as long as it's good so my taste is eclectic. lol  


If I could only pick one it would have to be Sinead O'Connor as she's the musical love of my life. Her voice and music is in my DNA and psyche. I first heard her voice when I was seventeen late one night while I was studying and to this day 'Troy' is my all time favourite song. I love her intensity, bravery, passion, intelligence, her willingness to be herself and say what she feels regardless of what anyone thinks. I saw myself in her being androgynous myself. Plus I share some of the personal challenges she has had to face and still faces so resonate with her music on a personal level and intimate level as her songs are like pages out of a diary. 

RMMW: All artists have to contend with an inner critic -- how do you deal with yours? 

CM: Mine is a tyrant and his voice is my father's voice so I often have to punch it in the face. Every rejection email I get brings out my inner critic though what helps is having decades of direct sales experience as I had to learn how to handle the no's, so my past business experience, along with rereading positive feedback helps me make sure my inner critic doesn't stop me.

RMMW: If you had a superpower what would it be?


CM: The power to heal. Not only myself but other people in every way physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally. If I had a healing super power I'd get rid of my mother's cancer before it killed her, I'd return my lower back to the state it was before I first injured it, and heal myself every other way as well which I believe both love and my writing has and continues to help me do and hopefully not just for myself. 

Tuesday, 21 March 2017

peak-a-boo words are there too...

darkness
comes for me
in the solitude
of luna's
presence
i advise
another
path
to hell
my cars
already full
and there's
no possibility
for more words
to fit – i even
have some concealed
in the glove box

Is it ok to re-post work without credit? Hell no!!!

When I first started CCIQ, well at least the review portion I had an important decision to make -- do I simply post poems on my site and give proper credit or ask each individual poet for their permission to post directly on my site. I chose the latter and this is why, when it comes to posting someone's work especially another poets I literally have instant insight into their soul via what they write; which deserves proper respect.

The first thing that I was taught as early as elementary school was how to gather the necessary information in order to ensure a properly credited bibliography. There are so many modern day tales of plagiarism which frankly makes me sick to my stomach. When a poet shares their words with the public -- they do not expect them to be stolen without proper acknowledgement. Even something as simple as a tag could bring attention to the poet you are quoting. I feel sorrow filled when I ask poets to showcase their work and they say to me “can you please ensure to give me proper credit?” Now, in my heart there is no way in hell that I would quote or re-post someone's work without the necessary approvals. But, there is no way the poet could possibly know that – all they know is that someone loves their work and wants to review it for a poetry blog. God knows how many times they've been burnt with someone else's embezzlement of their words. This is the kind of behaviour that drives poets away from sharing their work – the tragedy here is that we the public readers will suffer with lack of sharing original works.

I guess, what I am trying to say in my messed up way is if you can't figure out the words for yourself please don't steal someone else's. Please when you are re-posting work acknowledge the writer.


Happy Worlds Poets Day!!! 

Monday, 20 March 2017

Thom Young

And more from Thom Young....

Surf


the surf
isn't what
it use to be
now
it
washes up
lives
and dirty needles
and once they found
a lady
in a green dress
face down on the beach
she said her
name was Amber
which seemed like a good enough
name
but the tourists
were too distracted
by a school
of Bluefish
to know
they were
already eaten
alive.

Have you ever read a piece of literature, more specifically poetry that allowed you to linger on a number of images? Surf reminds me of many different things at once, the first thought was with regards to the dead body found on the shore. I started to contemplate of a show from the 90's which met its demise after two seasons called Twin Peaks. It had that creepy undertone to it just like the feel of this poem.  Another image that comes to mind is the after effects of the tsunami from 2004. You know there were a number of items that washed up on the shores of British Columbia. It's quite tragic indeed. I must admit I guffawed at the sarcastic tone of the last few sentences with regards to the tourists – really reminds us to keep vigilant with regards to the knowledge -- that our surroundings constantly change at a moment's notice.


VCR


where is her body
buried?
in the past?
in the seaside
trash?
they waited
until Brody
came
to fess up.
the Orca was attacked
by something else.
and in 1982
the VCR
lied
at the slumber
party.


Stop, pause, fast forward, rewind... If you carefully look at this piece you are able to encounter past, present and future scenarios through a simple tool such as a VCR. I'm trying to think of the best way to quantify what it is that I see with this piece. First off the movie Jaws comes to mind – the original, not any of the silly sequels that followed. And an unbelievable movie that played throughout, turned out to be a work of fiction that never seemed realistic in the first place. That is where the lie discussed in the last few sentences comes into play, in my opinion anyways.


Fries


there's
nothing
worse
than realizing
you should
have asked her
to dance
on that night
so long
ago
not knowing
she would leave
with
her future husband
who
chopped her
head off
and put
it
in a freezer
next
to the fish sticks
and Ore-Ida
fries.

Should've, could've, would've unless you're a clairvoyant you have no idea what will transpire from the decisions you make throughout the course of your life. The way that Thom casually mentions the severed head in the freezer beside fish sticks and french fries almost borders comedy if it weren't so serious. Reminds me of the show Dexter....


Thanks to Thom for sharing these wonderful pieces. 

Friday, 17 March 2017

Rebecca Weber



When Rebecca Weber's poetry found its way into my inbox I was genuinely overjoyed. I'd heard a few good things about Rebecca through a mutual friend and was completely hooked upon first read. I would say that this collection of poetry houses such luscious versification affording the reader moments to sink their teeth into something truly delectable.




AN AWKWARD CLAIRVOYANT 
 
I trip over my words in old hallways, 
misquoting bible verses to the abandoned 
that I can only hope are listening 
 
trapped in a time lapse so long and low 
the tide itself cannot reach 
a house so haunted 
that the dead will not go there. 
 
I try to levitate- 
fail 
my feet never leave the ground again. 
 
I’ll have to find a different way 
to escape the chorus of ghosts 
rising from the floor, singing 
you should have found a better place 
to call home 

Are you serious right now? This:
 
trapped in a time lapse so long and low 
the tide itself cannot reach 
a house so haunted 
that the dead will not go there. 

I can clearly see the image of this house through my third eye. It's a century home that's at least seen a few deaths. Something eerie like The Bates home. A place where not even the dead would go that is a pretty powerful image -- in it's own right. We as humans could have the potential to be frightened of the dead but -- what could possibly scare the dead right? Save the fact that they are no longer living so anything related to life would be mute.
 
 SIGNS 
 
In between seasons, 
in between my breaths, 
I search for signs 
 
in the graffiti 
that bleeds in places I used to write 
 
through the drawers of old notes I received 
should have returned to sender 
there must be more to 
simply being an acquaintance 
 
sometimes my own 
Achilles heel throbbing 
is the final nail in the coffin- 
 
the ultimate warning to give up the ghost 
or become one myself 
 
I search underneath the weight of the molded blankets, 
the communion gowns, 
all of the treasures locked away in the trunk 
 
And once I find the sign I 
won’t even make the connection 
until years later watching the footage 
of my wreck 
 
there’s always something in the background 
you always have to watch it twice. 
 
I watch the Christmas lights blinking out one by one 
across the hall 
 
I’m starting to think 
its some type 
of Morse code 

The first stanza of Signs completely hooked me – I liked the way Rebecca paired the two themes of seasons and breaths on both a macro & micro level.  I imagined searching for signs during seasons for long term goals and the breaths for short.  
 
In between seasons, 
in between my breaths, 
I search for signs 

Isn't it beautiful? The concept of being in between something there is always an endless possibility where one could potentially search for signs. I must admit, I am constantly looking for signs. Similar to the voice in the poem when my imagination runs wild there is potential for quirky and inquisitive visions -- like perhaps finding morse code in something as simple as Christmas lights. I totally LOVE that!  
  
ON BEING SECURE (HOPEFULLY. SOMEDAY.) 
 
In my wildest fantasies, 
I imagine stability. 
 
Stability without sacrifice 
sacrifice without ritual 
 
I imagine having roots 
what it must feel like to be planted, 
to be a small thing, 
alive with certainty 
that there’s always next spring 
 
what it must feel like as an anchor. 
trusting of it’s own slow sinking 
to be sure 
that my job is nothing more than to live at the bottom 
 
to be sure at all 
 
I pray someday I know it 
I know someday I won’t 


I think this is my favourite piece out of the three. I've yet to meet a person on this earth who is completely 100% secure. I know from personal experience as I'm sure you do that being secure in oneself is quite the task. I've allowed my mind to wander here a little bit – “what it must feel like to be planted” I imagine myself as tree with my legs as a tree truck and my feet as the roots that must grow into the earth for stability. It's quite a beautiful photograph don't you think? Too bad we are not like Treebeard where we can be planted and mobile in case we want to change directions. The other snapshot that stays with me was the visual used to describe an anchor.  I envisioned the weight of the earth Atlas himself carries on his back. One so heavily anchored in a different fashion than a planted tree. Both of which ooze strength of spirit.  

Thank you so much to Rebecca for furnishing me with this bio: 

Rebecca Weber is a poet from Keyport, NJ and a headliner in the NJ Poetry Scene. Her debut chapbook, Beauty School Dropout, is forthcoming from Indigent Press March 2017. She is an expert at hiding from people behind garbage cans.

Thursday, 16 March 2017

betrayed

words fall
onto a linen hued
parchment

uncertainties
squiggles
transform
into beautiful
curves and clean
lines – phrases
betray their letters
each time they are devoured
by the belly of a syntax beast
so inconsequential
that it's the tiniest little
pest available

she sells sanctuary
plays on the radio
on demand for a heart
that's nearly forgotten
a warranted struggle

itemization 
of idiosyncratic 
characteristics
allude proper 
structure 
& etiquette 

Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Diana Perry

Diana Perry's writing is a lot like leather and lace. There's this unbelievable soft tender side to her pieces as well as a little bit of an edged flare. You'll find yourself on a journey of self discovery with regards to the pieces below – it's most certainly nourishment for the soul.

Diana's book Deep Blue Heart is now available for purchase on Amazon right here. And, once you've bought her book give her a follow on Instagram.

Seasons

It used to be
that I would find you
in all the soft spots of life
and in the seconds
between the cracks of
thunder and lightning
and silence.

I loved you, and I loved you
for all the wrong reasons.
Memories of memories folded,
and hidden in the creases of time.

It's hell, I told you,
it's its own kind of hell
to choose the wrong thing
on purpose and with a smile
on your lips.

And it's winter and then spring
and winter again and it's been
years, it's been years since then,
but your name remains heavy
like lead on the tip of tongue.

You are no one now,
but what you used to be
to me moves against me in the dark.

There's something beyond cathartic about time and seasons. How regardless of our exposure to the elements there resides both heartache and bliss in stolen quarterly moments -- surrounded by an infinite amount of truth that is intensely relentless. In life decisions are never easy to make especially when they are contending with issues of the heart. Can you imagine making a wrong decision with regards to something and know that you are actually making the wrong one instead of exposing yourself to the right one. That type of self-sabotage is a path that will most certainly cause pain beyond compare.

I especially enjoyed:

It used to be
that I would find you
in all the soft spots of life
and in the seconds
between the cracks of
thunder and lightning
and silence.

Sigh! Heartbreak moments of what could have been ensconced in a doubt so profound it leaves you reeling from a potential love that is snuffed out.

Rush

It's rotten
but it's become
a rushed and
red-cheeked
morning routine.

I don't love you,
And I don't read you.”

My frayed letters
sniffed and read,
kicked and stashed
under your bed.

Pretentious
and pretty,
little back
satin thongs.

Descriptive words are essential to my imagination as they allow me to linger on certain images that have made a strong impact.

My frayed letters
sniffed and read,
kicked and stashed
under your bed.

I started to imagine these fabric letters that have once been stitched to form perfectly shaped sharp edged letters. Have you ever cut an inch into a tearable fabric and ripped it the rest of the way to make strips? That is how I see these letters – even the fabric doesn't allude me – I can see it clearly all the sharp edged letters are now feathered almost softened pieces of lines that have surrendered.

Deep blue something

Why were we never together?
I could have woken up
every morning next to you,
every hurried early hour, spent
touching in the darkness, tracing
the tattoos on your chest.

I never knew you, but
I loved you -
all sea-brine and beauty,
all feather and down.
The bluest ocean between my
fingers, and your beating heart
below.

So many books and movies came to mind with this poem. I started to think about couples that had tried to make it work but never quite fit. The first movie that came to mind was the English patient – in lieu of the sea brine I thought of the heat and sand offered by an endless desert and instead of circling a tattoo the Suprasternal is the focus of fingers that want to glide and sensually explore. I also thought about Little Women – I was always of the opinion that Louis May Alcott should have wed Jo Marsh & Laurie Laurence although she found love with Professor Bear it was heartbreaking when Jo rejected poor Laurie.

Women

Some women
don't
won't
can't – let me
be.

They only wish
they could hate
me, begging
for acceptance
with scissors drawn
behind their backs.

French-tipped morons.
Doe-eye nightmares.
They stare me down
their exterior
beautiful, a poser
a painting,
the inside
uncomfortable
and twitchy,
I can feel
the dissonance
from across a room.

I am a mother,
a wife, a writer.
Aloof

and not fluent
in the language
of envy,
there's only so low
I will go.

Let's face it – as women we have the potential to be extreme bitches to one another instead of comfort each other. We should genuinely learn to support each other as we are the givers of life and must in some capacity show compassion.  I would have to admit my favourite part of the poem:

I am a mother,
a wife, a writer.
Aloof


I love this part because it shows as women how many hats we have to sport in today's society. I remember one year the Friday before mother's day some morning show listed all of the jobs mothers do on a daily basis: well there's the obvious cooking or cleaning, we've had to become counsellors at times when our children have arrived home from a horrible day at school I could go on forever with different examples. We are an infinite pool of support for our children so that they know when they age what took into raising them into decent human beings.