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benthos

beyond the shallows

where your waves steep

extracting the flavors of the sea

in the rush of darkness,

i bloom most silently

into this garden of benthos, a blushing bride i become

where you in most ardent steps nakedly roam

clutching the tapestry of emeralds woven about my hair

draping upon the coral of my cheeks lending glitter to the foam

 

cradling the brine that blankets the secrets that i keep

where empty forests speak the language of me

and you, with lips of atlantis, unearth the diamonds of my deep

 

Surfing the Ether-Peter Pearson

This piece was inspired by a daily writing prompt I participate in where the word given was benthos. I’d no idea what it meant. Even in asking a friend, she was clueless too. Upon looking it up naturally said friend was jubilant at the fact she could now use newly discovered word in a game of Words With Friends.

I include this editorial here to express my adoration and appreciation for writing prompts. Not only do they expand my vocabulary, they push me out of my comfort zone in my writing. They have become a powerful ally in strengthening my writing and I encourage the participation with one.

As always, thank you for reading.

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mirror

lace puddles

weave between the weeds of the sea

lapping slowly

gingerly

resting upon the shallows in she

barefoot in silt paths she roams

collecting pieces

from the liquid mirror shored

——for the sea remembers

captured these images from a day on the beach and was enraptured at how I was able to capture the cerulean in the waves. i’m thankful that in living on the coast, the ocean is in my backyard. like for most, the music of the waves is medicinal, replenishing ones soul. For more of my photography you can visit my gallery here.

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scars

 

the scars we wear, the scars we bear

ever present, no matter how faint they become, remembering the birth, the growth of every one

years of adapting, learning to heal, hiding the souvenirs you bear that keep them real

often, late at night, when the world is still, you let them slip out, perhaps a masochist’s way to heal

the slope though slippery, in freeing their voice, for darkness bids its welcome, giving you a choice

either walk its path and give in, or learn from those moments before a courage could begin

they are, after all, a part of you, so it is with strength to embrace the journey they took you through

Dream a Little Dream of MeElla Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

I am still on the adventure of listening to beloved love songs from a different perspective. To love one self is the best love affair after all so I found it fitting to pair scars with the lyrical and soulful beauty that is Ella Fitzgerald.

 

-just breathe-

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fly

this air we breathe

it carries me

beyond the clutter

of unspoken dreams

to this forest overgrowing in me

lending thread from thatch and moss

sewing wings

from leaves of most archaic of trees

-just breathe-

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maya

that bird upon my sill

o what silly one is he

so much he sings in that trumpet voice

in morning’s glory when all is still

o what silly one is he

for nobody hears his revelry

that song with no answers he sings

o but wait, the sun, there is she

rising there, quietly

yet not one glance he gives

in his confident rise

This week has been a difficult yet I hope, eye opening one for us all. A few days ago a fellow writer triggered my thoughts in asking “who was your first black teacher?” This piece was inspired by a poet I was introduced to in the fourth grade by my very first black teacher, Mrs. Baker.

It is always my English teachers that stand out to me during my school years and she is no exception. She introduced us to the works of Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson and the poet from which this piece is inspired, Maya Angelou. Inspired from her piece, And Still I Rise, I wrote maya reflecting upon that silly yet wise bird in us all with that small, seemingly insignificant voice, yet finding the courage to keep singing, even when you are pretty certain no one is listening.

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Getting Over You- Being A Teen, Interracial and Gay

I am so pleased and honored to share the debut collection of poems by someone I have watched grow in to the young adult he is today. Coming into my family’s life by way of my daughter, I have known Louis (his pen name) since the age of eight and have watched him grow into the college bound, goal oriented young man he is today.

It is with a great pleasure and honor that I can share his debut book of poetry just as he is headed off to college. Getting Over You, is a collection of poems inspired by the trials and tribulations, first loves, losses and growing up interracial and gay. The courage he has endured and the strength and solace he has found in writing offers us a glimpse through his tender yet resilient eyes of youth which can perhaps lend courage and strength to another teen struggling.

The link to Amazon is below where you can purchase Getting Over You in both Kindle and paperback.

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defining poetry

I’ve been reading different thoughts towards the various styles of poetry here recently and even more recently a certain opinion about the definition of a poet, down to even the choice and repetition of words used. This has sparked a nerve in me that I simply needed to express my frustration about. What better an outlet than here, where like minded writers, poets, photographers, simply artists as a collective, live.

Poetry is defined as a type of literature that conveys a thought, describes a scene or tells a story in a concentrated, lyrical arrangement of words. For starters, can we truly put a label on poetry? Sometimes they rhyme. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they are short, sometimes long. Okay yes sure, one can write in a certain structure such as sonnets or haiku’s. But even still, there is no “wrong” way to write poetry.

For myself, I’m a free verse lover. Just like my fictional writing, I’m a panster. I plan NOTHING. I just write and just as when I was a child with coloring, almost always outside of the lines. I once read somewhere, a good writer is one that doesn’t feel the need to edit their words written in the middle of the night. Can’t help but think that’s where the true heart of a writer lives.

I’m personally a huge fan of this tagged title now of “micro” poetry, which brings me to the largest debate. It would seem those of us that write “short and sweet” are being shamed for our lack of true length of what poetry should be.  (I invite you to reread the definition of poetry as I cited up there with emphasis on that lovely word straight out of the dictionary, concentrated.)  I mean please, tell me, is their a guidebook out there somewhere that recites a word count to the true definition of what equates to a poem? Anyone? Anyone? Yeah. thought so. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge lover of the classics. My God Edgar Allan is a rockstar and that Keats and Thoreau…more please. But does that mean the “micro” writer like myself is any less phenomenal? I don’t think so. If anything I think it becomes even more a talent, an art, to be able to move someone in such a way in as few words as possible.  Just today a coworker came up to me, after having read my latest poetry book which contains poems of only ten words, and said to me how do you manage to pack such a punch in so few words! Of course I was beaming. Any writer would react the same at such praise. I often think of this piece by Ernest Hemingway when I adapt to this logic:

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or a slightly longer piece:

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Secondly, shame on those that even judge and ridicule another writer in the first place. Perhaps they themselves are feeling slightly insecure within their own writing (news flash we all feel this way about our writing) that they feel the need to lash out at another. Or maybe they are just that old fart sitting in the corner bemoaning how us young folks got it all wrong. (Sorry to all you old farts I do love the ones in the corner rooting us young folks on)

Speaking of young folks. I’ve recently taken to utilizing my Instagram site for more than just a gallery of my photography, as I discovered quite the community of poets and writers alike over there. I have been in awe over and over and over again at the words I’m reading, passionately so by the likes of teens and twenty somethings.  This is where I must admit to eating crow upon talking one night to a fellow writer of my discovery and pegging Instagram as the “young crowd” and seemingly “angsty”. I ate my own words not long after that upon discovering these talented young souls that write both in quick snippets and long passages.

Lastly, I think it is imperative for us to embrace one another within whatever writing community we find ourselves in. We are a unique lot. We strive to be our own voice. Whether that’s in short waves or long cruise ship journeys, it makes no difference. As long as we continue to be true to ourselves, even if that puts us out there by ourselves amongst the Emily’s and Poe’s of the world. Don’t be afraid to be a Hemingway. Do you. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re simply writing in a “trend” If so, it’s the longest damn trend I’ve seen still going strong.

I’d love to hear your opinions or if you want to share that you’ve experienced this. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Be kind to each other.

 

j

 

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