Yayy, I made it through the first week of the May Challenge! Is anyone else playing? Because I feel like the only one lol. I rest on Saturdays so unfortunately I will not participate in this challenge on Saturdays so I will see you all Sunday. I plan to incorporate some flash fiction and poetry into Week Two, time permitting. In the meantime, below is your EC Quote Friday:
Today I’m using one of my own quotes for Colleen and Ronovans weekly Writer’s Quote Wednesday Challenge. Today’s theme is Art or Artist:
The wings are symbolic of freedom. To me writing is the most important kind of art because words live. To me, ink meets paper to create something spiritual. Not only can we see the beauty of words, but we can feel it. I would define my style of writing, poetry or otherwise, as poetic justice because I am always seeking to free people, to include myself, from the limited ways we tend to think and to feel. This is not always an easy task and so as I write, the keystrokes are heavy with the responsibility my purpose carries. The weight of the kinds of things that I write always looms in the background of the page as if daring me to go on. And this is always the moment when I know that I must.
*******
Dear Ink Pen,
No, just listen.
I want your lips
nestled
against the collar bone
Of this page
I don’t care that people do not hand-write anymore
I need you
nibbling at history
and touching passions
I desire your soul
pressed hard against my fingers
I need you
touching minds
and resurrecting souls
In private places
Let your hands roam their computer screens
Kissing the interior of their hearts
Freeing the thoughts of men
Leave us naked with hope
Vulnerable
And open with the desire
For your nose against the nape of our necks
Let us drink of the truth dripping from your mouth
The taste of light lingering on your breath
But first I need you
Your lips
Nestled
Ball pointed
Against the collar bone
Of this page.
Yes, that’s it.
Now
touch them.
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.
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
Visit Justin Online at:
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”.
“Knowledge speaks, but wisdom listens”
― Jimi Hendrix
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
************
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
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…
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