Tag: poems

Consequence of a Lonely Heart

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The thought arose midnight

somewhere between

the witching hours of deception

and the sparkling thighs

that rubbed away

what was left

of her common sense.

Ignoring the blanket stretch of solitude

reaching for the sweat

dripping from the threads of her hands

the thirst of her shadow

descending from the heavens like an angel

waiting for her to open herself up

so that the incarceration of her heart

can be weighed against the gold of her patience

she could not have been less wise

than to let deception

play its numbers on her skin

like melting pearls

sliding down the creases of a well-worn backbone

that she traded in for a brief moment

of Black Orchard or Issey Miyake cologne

though neither could wash away the shame

to which lust had gifted her thoughts

and the rose petals aligning the secret bath

to which she has mixed in her cup of distorted priorities

only smelled of death

in becoming another

she failed

to become herself

#Book #Review – “We Could Be Heroes” by Justin T. McCain

 

I don’t usually review poetry. There is something unique about an individual’s voice and how it comes out on the page. For this reason, I find it unsettling to critique someone’s feelings, someone’s voice, someone’s experiences and thought processes in the form of poetry. Each is so very unique. So again, I do not typically review poetry.

I met Justin through Twitter maybe about a year ago when I started re-tweeting a lot of his posts, which I found inspiring. When I saw the promotion of his new book, “We Could Be Heroes” the title intrigued me. I thought to myself, “Yea we could”. Then I went on about my business. It wasn’t until later that I noticed that it was a mixture of short fiction and poetry, which was different. Different in a good way. Different in that it’s something I have not seen much of. Different in that I’ve never read a combination of poetry and short fiction before.  After mentioning how I’d love to get my hands on this book, I was excited to see a private message from Justin that he’d love it if I can review the book for him. Below is the review I posted to his amazon page:

Title: We Could Be Heroes

Author: Justin T. McCain

Paperback: 167 pages

Publisher: M3 Publishing Company LLC

Edition: First Edition

Published: February 27, 2016

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0692564160

ISBN-13: 978-0692564165

**I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review**

We Could Be Heroes is the inspiring work of Justin T. McCain and includes both poetry as well as short fiction. Let me start with the fiction. The story is about a young man named Bard and the legend of a Money Tree considered to be an object of good fortune to those who believe in such superstitions. Bard is preparing for graduation at the University when the sky darkens and he sees the legendary money tree. Shortly afterwards, he is witness to an accident in which he miraculously saves a young woman’s life. The woman’s name is Spirit and she and Bard begin a romantic relationship. However, when Bard finds the opportunity to possess some of the money from the money tree, although it makes him a rich man, things start to fall apart in his personal life. The financial value of the money didn’t make Bard’s life any easier than he’d anticipated. For a short story this book has a really good message.

“If you could heal the world, or have the world, which would you choose?”

Justin’s poetry is most excellent. I love how the poems were relatable to the title of the book and correlates well also with the story line. Speaking of the story, I anticipated short miniature stories to be sprinkled throughout the book and intermingled with poetry. What I got is something much more organized. Instead of having too much going on, Justin stuck to one story and divided this story into three parts and sprinkled the poems in-between. I loved this layout because the book came out to be very organized. The inspiration and the passion of Justin’s poetry is evident. My favorite poem has to be the books namesake “We Could Be Heroes”. The work is beautiful.

Rating: 5/5 Stars

We Could Be Heroes is Available now Online

in Paperback and Amazon Kindle

Click The Book Cover to Purchase

51ZfL3AhcrL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_Visit Justin Online at:

http://www.justintmccain.com/

Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge – The Light

For this weeks episode of Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge, as hosted by Ronovan of Ronovan Writes and Colleen of Silver Threading, I am inspired by the wisdom of Jimi Hendricks. I have decided (obviously) to use today’s theme “Wisdom” and have written also a poem to accompany today’s quote titled, “The Light”.

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“Knowledge speaks, but wisdom listens”

― Jimi Hendrix

 

 

The Light

Ain’t nobody got time
For the sun
Got no time to be spendin
Burning hands
And fingertips
Reaching for the light
Everybody got an opinion
Tongues itch in the dark
And unfold like ancient paper
Because everybody knows
And yet no one listens
For the language of the sun
Everyone thirsts
But no one drinks
Everyone speaks
But no one thinks
Cause ain’t nobody got time
For the sun
Got no time to be spending
Burning hands
And fingertips
And tongues
On the sun
On the truth
On the light

************

Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge

We Can Move Mountains

Huge mountains
and great hills
they tower above our heads
like father’s to sons
the intimidating weight
of experience
to our youth
like a mother’s instruction
heavy with discipline
is the carved stone
the frightening rock
but it is true
we can move mountains
if we tried
if we faith-ed
one pebble at a time
one pen to a rhyme
one stuttering syllable
and leaking ink
we scatter mustard seeds
and stumbling blocks
like children at play
except
there are no toys
no plastic dolls
or wind up cars
just similes
and metaphors
passing pebbles
and conquering mountains

She was not a poet

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No one told her she was supposed to taste the lyrics first
That her brain was supposed to decipher the intent of melody
before it escaped her mouth
That her taste buds were supposed to burst forth
before she spit them out
She had no aspiration that we should admire
Never attended a poet’s university
Or danced between the poetic techniques they said would enhance the skill
Did not feel the irony of brilliantly untalented brush upon her skin
Did not notice the personification walk away with simile and metaphor
Did not know what all these terms were for
For
She was not
A
Poet.
Did not understand Dickinson’s Train
Why it lapped the miles,
And licked the valleys up,
And stopped to feed itself at tanks
Or why frost stood still and stopped the sound of feet
No one warned her that imagination was supposed to pass on information
about the sweet, sour, salty and bitter substances of alliterations
and internal rhyme schemes
but she fell head first in love with the way the words moved around in her mouth
with the way her emotions tickled against the backdrop of her heart
with the filled something that racked against the torn cells of her tongue
with the calm that sprayed peace into the air
with the poetry that took her there
so she sang
sang poetry with all of the ignorance stomping around in her stomach
but she sang
did not care about its government name
did not worry about its image
did not care that her words were not professional enough
for she
was not
a
poet…

Why I Write Black

two generations

Because flowers grow in strange places

like tattered pieces of wood and recycled paper

 

Because history is frost bitten

and winter refuses to be comforted by the sun

bluish-white and numbed pain

cold skin

and prickling feeling

 

Because the sky don’t stay dark forever

but light ain’t taught in history class

 

Because some skirts

are too heavy

to lift without permission

Because Dust Tracks on The Road

was subtracted 3 chapters

Because some truths

are too big to sacrifice

on American alters

 

Because Zora died broke

and Nina died sad

Because their voices still sing

Because strange fruit still swings

 

Because ignorance is worth more than rubies

and diamond gems

Because no one has picked up the pieces

of truth

underneath the ruble

of bombed out churches

on 16th streets

Because little girls ain’t little girls no more

but crushed bones

and melted skin

a strike of disobedience

against premeditated sin

 

Because hope is stronger than despair

Because freedom is worth more

than all the

raisins in the sun

Brown Skin

Mississippi lips

Lousiana tongue

West African shaped nose

Skin kissed by the sun

Israelite Culture

American Captive

Egyptian Color

russet brown

seal

dark puce

blue black eastern man

blue black woman

symbols of authority over her head

natural beauty no longer dead

hair like sisal rope

braided

coiled

nappy

strong

prayer hands that crack open the sky

from the place of the rising sun

to a land that sought to shackle their tongues

run aways

slave ships

cotton fields

those days

share

croppin

jim crowing

freedom ridin

no more hidin

Mississippi lips

Lousiana tongue

West African shaped nose

Skin kissed by the sun

brown skin