No One Sees
Building and Rebuilding
Activists Haunted By
The Lingering Stench of Torture
Inevitable Death
Some Ask
Was It Ethical?
For Now
Situation Normal
New York Times Subtitles Saturday 1/14/2017
Month: January 2017
Poetic Night Writing
Poetry into the darkest realm of my mind
Blossoms into a creation late at night,
Where it is only me of the humankind.
excerpt from: In My Shoes, My Poetic Journey from Abuse to Victory
Quote
“Poetry as an art form combines words that have not been juxtaposed before in order to startle the senses out of their apathy and experience something as if for the first time.”~Medbh McGuckian
Poems I love by Cynthia Sharp
Taste of the Wind
How I miss
What we would have been
The ghost I finally
let go from my side
**************************
Untitled Tanka
Lips tingling citrus
in the last days of summer
your ghost vanishes
as the moon aches for the night
circling the earth to come back
Each poem discusses loss using powerful imagery to evoke about the sadness of the situation. I love how poetry gives a writer the means to share something personal without disclosing the intimate details.
Revelations
There’s tension between writing success and remaining true to one’s self as a writer..The tension can be quite useful because it’s similar to when I’m excited about what I’m doing and doubting it at the same time. Writers are all about paradoxes. The scariest thing about writing for me was being vulnerable. Writing my story in poetry felt like a unilateral disarmament because of the intimacy exposed. It took courage to put one’s self out there and knowing I could never hide my voice again. I chose not to be overly revelatory to protect my family but to still say what’s hard to say.
“Write it as you see in your own perspective, you may be right or wrong but then what, that’s how you see it”
― Bangambiki Habyarimana, Pearls Of Eternity
Letter from Kansas, poem by Robert Okaji (ME, AT 17 Poetry and Prose Series)
I enjoyed the author’s thought-provoking reminder of a monumental change in life.
Letter from Kansas
by Robert Okaji
Caro amico,
Driving the stretch to Junction City,
I look for familiar faces in the cars
we pass, but see only strange grasses
gliding by. Three weeks ago
I slept on a stone-littered hilltop
overlooking the Bay of Naples.
Now the prairie laps at our front door.
A mile from the house two corralled bison
munch dull hay thrown daily
from a truck’s flat bed, and past that
the Discount Center’s sign
spells America. What I wouldn’t give
for a deep draught of Pozzuoli’s
summer stench and the strong
yellow wine that Michele’s father
makes. We mixed it with the gardener’s
red, creating our own bouquet,
remember? And here they say
I’m too young to buy beer and wine.
Without them the food is flavorless,
like the single language spoken.
I understand it all,
and miss the difficulty. Maybe Texas
will be better. Ci…
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Quote
“A writer is never alone, he is always with himself”
― Bangambiki Habyarimana, Pearls Of Eternity
A Stranger Spoke©Lyn Crain
Your Mother asked me
to spread her ashes in a garden.
Remember how happy she was
puttering amongst the roses?
The wind sweeps
her beloved blooms before
what ifs and might haves
begin again.
Silence echoes, and awkward shifts
as the ashes float away.
A gentle flutter to
tease the blooms and
a smudge of gray
are left behind.
Loneliness
I caressed a rose in the garden today.
My heart clenched, startled by the chime .
Our lives always felt like they turned on a dime
before harsh realities pulled us astray
Melancholy times past
and those crazy places.
Never thought it would last.
I don’t want to remember our embraces
if only we
Is there you and me?
lyncrain 