Tag: poetry

Ink Pen

Writing-freelancer

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.

#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”.

jimihendrix

 

“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

57c58bd85a99545cb86853eb4fe652a7

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…

Love Poem

love-couple

Wanted to jump into memory
and photograph pieces
of your smile
the only cracks worth seeing
on someone’s face
Didn’t know dimples ran deeper than wells
but every time you chuckled
my nerves melted underneath my skin
Is this
Is it real?
Could the pull of the wind
be the yearning for your laughter?
That always fell like diamonds at the base of my feet
Could someone tell me how a poor woman
becomes rich again?
For I knelt before history
and shackled your existence to my future
and when you laughed
The moon was missing that night
cuz I held it in your gaze
And the sun dripped hot from the gaps in my fingers
Cupped your chin gently against my palms
And when we kissed
Heaven cracked open its skies
and thunder praised our union

Murder She Wrote

silhouette_of_a_girl

No, it wasn’t suicide
the freedom in her chest
the genuine in her throat
and the explosion of awareness
she didn’t try to hide
packing a strap
never hesitating to open fire
leaving trails of Earthquakes lingering at your side
pen to paper
creating a new world of gun smoke
white dope
and fienes who didn’t mind dropping the dime
even if sudden truth made em choke
you see she killed ignorance with her words
dropping bombs
and cracking open minds
that refused to otherwise
oblige
she ate books with the speed of speech
and digested their integrity for breakfast each morning
but she wasn’t a good girl
or rather
a good woman
for she would spit tsunamis later that night
a raging storm
were her words when she blessed the mic
a collection of seas
to wash away the broken
and a ringing silence afterwards
like screaming death was her audience
jaws scattering somewhere across the floor
tongues unfolded
like red carpets
and eyes found a home in her face
it was clear
she’d destroyed the room
overturned tables
and left bodies in a state of ruin
for they all sat unmoved
like statues
feared her voice like blank pages
and empty books
silence dragging their minds to ponder
a new birth place for their thoughts
and no this wasn’t suicide
for she killed ignorance with her words
and the detectives concluded that yes
indeed
it was murder she wrote