Tag: poetry

Indie Shine – Yecheilyah Ysrayl

I am on Lisa’s Blog today. Come on over! Thank you Lisa for having me.

Lisa W Tetting's avatarLisa W. Tetting

indie-shine

In this edition of Indie Shine, a place for rebirthoflisa to “Shine” the spotlight on indie artists, we welcome author Yecheilyah Ysrayl.

EC 1 ©Yecheilyah Ysrayl used with permission

Bio:

Yecheilyah Ysrayl is the author of Young Adult, Black American Literature, and Poetry. The author of eight books (most notably, The Stella Trilogy), Yecheilyah is currently working on her next book series “The Nora White Story”. Renaissance: The Nora White Story Book One is due for release July 15, 2017. Revelation: The Nora White Story Book Two is due for release December of this year. Yecheilyah is also a Blogger and Book Reviewer. Originally from Chicago, IL, she now resides in Shreveport, LA with her husband where she writes full time.

Q & A

What do you do and Why do you do it?
Thank you, Lisa, for having me. I am an Independent Author of Black American Literature, a Poet, Book…

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No Punctuation

Dear Love,

your voice is the sound of pages

I’ve been waiting to read my entire life

like run on sentences

in a book too perfect to end

tell me

how do you shackle power to punctuation

If I could

I would end this poem with a period

or place a comma in the places I need

to catch my breath

but you

will only rush to the tips of my fingers

you see love

will only leak

from the pores in my skin

like the sounds of many waters

flooding its way from Noah’s Ark

you shelter me

like an infant

carefully encased in its mother’s womb

before language existed

before there was ever a need of capital letters

dear captain

you chose us

before there was a thing called history

sucking at its mother’s breast

we are nurtured by the past

to understand the future

Dear Love,

you are the answer to every question

and the sound of your mercy

is the only thing worth setting my alarm clock to

so I’ve chosen to reverence you this way

with outstretched pieces of paper

and ink pens

and a medley of words

all purposed to form the letters of your name

all destined to sing your praise

with no punctuation

no commas

or periods

or apostrophes

just run on sentences

limitless

like sign language I don’t remember learning in Public School

and while my tongue clings to the roof of my mouth

while my heart waits

I’ll write you poems

in the form of prayers

on the palms of my hands

and I’ll leave them running

like fountains of compassion

overflowing the levees of thought

I’ll leave them open

unedited

unrevised

and grammatically incorrect

so you’ll read me

like you always do

and never forget what my heart looks like

with no punctuation

because all the world has ever needed

was love.

Endurance

Black woman sitting with eyes closed outdoors

Endurance, the prominence, comes like a splashing dose of faith. Like scars praising the scarlet letters on my skin. As if strength poured forth from the sky and left its prophecies etched on the calcium of my bones. It’s courage far braver than purple hearts or bleeding pens on the white paper of a soldier’s goodbye. Like a car accident that knocks me off my feet but does not kill me, I get it. Nineteen years later the irony of life and death finds itself a home in this house of poetry.

Convicted

think-backward-to-write-meaningful-metaphors

His beauty was biblical. Much more than a body, he was diary. He was journal. A standing column of poetry. From the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, this was prophecy. Thought the teacher was a waitress asked her if I could have another round of him. Let’s be realistic, this thing was futuristic like foresight. Every time he opened his mouth I took road trips into his memories. For my blood racing, I could not hide the joy. Trying to catch my breath after falling into his smile we were connected. Too young to understand this love-at-first-sight thing, I could have been dreaming. Maybe this was just my imagination. I was dancing. Moon-walking into complete relaxation. His last name should have been Jackson cause he was a hit. I couldn’t lie. Ran home every day just to go to bed so I can wake up to the sunrise because it reminded me of him. He didn’t know it but my nose was so open I took notes. I was singing. A sucka to every sound of the harmonious humility that escaped like convicts from his lips I was convicted, because I loved him too early.

Yecheilyah Ysrayl is the YA, Historical Fiction author of The Stella Trilogy, Blogger, and Poet. She is currently working on her next book series “The Nora White Story” about a young black woman who dreams of being a writer in The Harlem Renaissance movement and her parent’s struggle to accept their traumatic past in the Jim Crow south. “Renaissance: The Nora White Story (Book One)” is due for release spring, 2017. For updates on this project, sneak peeks of chapters, the pending book cover release, and full blurb for this series, be sure to subscribe to Yecheilyah’s email list HERE.

Poetry Contest: Emily Dickinson First Book Award, $10,000

Wow. Poets check it out! $10,000 Award Poetry contest. Being I’m not even 30, I can’t participate lol. Post Quote: “The award seeks to recognize an American poet who is at least 40 years old and who has never published a book-length collection of poetry.”

*Comments disabled here*

Kristen Twardowski's avatarKristen Twardowski

The Poetry Foundation recently announced that it will once again be holding its Emily Dickinson First Book Award. Though the contest is held infrequently, it is a wonderful opportunity for poets. It also has several unusual restrictions. The award seeks to recognize an American poet who is at least 40 years old and who has never published a book-length collection of poetry.

The prize for this award is extraordinary. The winner will receive $10,000 as well as the publication and promotion of a book of poetry by Graywolf Press. In addition to having a stellar name, Graywolf Press has published some amazing works including Max Porter’s Grief is the Thing with Feathers, Elizabeth Alexander’s American Sublime, and Kevin Barry’s Dark Lies the Island. (The Press has an extensive list of award winning books.)

In order to be considered, contest entrants must submit a poetry manuscript between…

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These Good People

I will tell you of these good people

A scroll of courtesy on their tongues

Neatly wrapped in rainbows

And angel’s wings

The finest hello

And thank you

And good morning, please

We are telecommunicators

In front of computer screens

With scripts

And sayings

And clichés

That ring sunshine

Like a glass of sweet summer breeze

Trapped in cold winter bottles

Set free

But hurricanes do happen

And thunderstorms will sometimes fall into your lap

You may one day trip over someone’s mistake

Find typos in their smile

Cracks in their armor

Leaks in their wine-skins

And I promise you that these people

Will backspace their lines

Tighten up their scripts

2nd draft their good mornings

Because the sun didn’t shine on you today

One mistake

One mishap

One earthquake

And I promise you

That they will pick out their courtesy from your face

Peel back the savior

Their “how are you?” left in your smile

Pull back the Hero once carved into their chest

That moment they cared more about you

Than they cared about self

But one mistake

And they’ll drop their cape

At the foot of your tragedy

I promise you

That the levees of trust

Will break

And Crack

And leak with suspicion

From the pores of their skins

You’ll smell the stench

Of give up

On their breaths

The sour taste of newborn behind their ears

The fabricated persona

Tattooed on top their tongues

I warn you

Whilst bathing in the wake of your passion

Whilst being kissed by white paper

Do not forget

That these people are not your friends

And will turn their backs

When you need them most

Because in the age of technology

Most people’s thoughts are not theirs

And their courtesies are pre-written

Hearts plagiarized

A routine kindness

From so called good people

Who forgot to mention that angels

Are not always good

So paper wings will just have to do

A standard hello

Like the signature on an email

And they have convinced themselves

That this

Is

Love

Why I Write Truth

TextSwag-1465939350231

Because the world is a violent one

and screaming death a song

so routine is its lyrics

crooked notes twisted

and then dropped

like  lifeless bodies

a glass vase

shattering

crackling

like fire on the mountain

and no one seems to be

on the run

I write truth

because its better to spill ink

than blood

Last night

I heard angels mourn

their tears fell like hailstones

from the sky

they told me

another person died

I write truth

because light chose not to shine today

the sun looked down

and vowed that it was too dangerous

on the ground

I write truth

because the world is crying out

cause it ain’t safe no more

not like a piece of paper

and black ink

not safe like blue lines

and poetry

I write truth because

Maya ain’t here no more

and somebody’s got to tell that woman

she’s phenomenal

somebody’s got to sing that man

a song

that ain’t full of lyrics

that bleed

I write truth

because Langston told us

to bring him our heart melodies

that he may wrap them in a blue cloud cloth

away from the two ruff fingers

of the world

dear Langston

here is mine