In a nutshell, Stolen Focus shows us what's happening to, not just our world, but THE world, and then shows us how and why we must create more humane technology.
Thoughts on Writing in 2022 https://www.britannica.com/topic/American-frontier/The-third-period The world of writing has changed. As an observation, that might sound banal and even warrant a "well duh" under the breath. But I want to talk about how the world of writing has changed from the perspective of someone who began her writing career in the early… Continue reading Stones
Yes. Find more of this poet’s work here:
A mother has a soul.
A soul needs
to walk uninterrupted down the train
and through each car,
emerging alone at the balcony
of the last car, steel shrieking,
black night opening
suddenly like a blade
or black parachute, sucking loose hats, change,
dust, into it,
divulging nothing. A soul
It practices death and rebirth. Its hair
then sheds; its love fills, then empties;
it dies absolutely
to the ground, but a root persists; or,
even roots wither
in drought, but a seed-case
dropping one seed.
A door slides open. White bones
turn, lightened & expressionless,
to re-enter the last car.
Anna Laura Reeve is a poet living in East Tennessee with her husband, daughter, and heirloom vegetable & native plant gardens. She’s working on her first poetry collection. Previous work of hers has appeared or is…
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Stunning work by a local poet and educator, Kevin Blankinship. Enjoy~
A flash somewhere, then suddenly
ponds that sprout starflower and shrub,
jasmine and beard lichen, spreading white fingers.
Rustling—here comes a net of curved horns
criss-crossing against each other, sturdy,
brown scythes moving slow.
The herd stops and looks. Now the world
is calm. See—no steps. Only the wind
pushing a branch caught on another branch.
And then soft screams. They rise from
little mouths wet with mucus and tears.
The wild goats weep like a drone of hornets.
There—on the ground between grasses
and hooves, there spreads another pond.
Crimson, carmine, precious. Red sulphur
painting the dull rocks till they shine
like gold. Skinny legs set at hard
right angles, piled up unnaturally still.
Tan yellow fur ripped from skin
by a canine tooth and jaw—it dusts
the stone like fresh fallen snow.
Then, up the plain comes
the howling of hounds…
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I admit, I had to go back and read the last two lines of the book.
Yeah… they’re hilarious. #IfIdosaysomyself
Shout out to The Gnome Appreciation Society! MWAH!
What Da Cover Says: No Secrets is the second volume of Carter-Winward’s genre defying writing that is part poetry, part fiction, part memoir and all told with a clarity that does not allow secrets. These short pieces tell us the stories many of us hide, even from ourselves.
What I Says: Another fine collection by the amazing Queen Mother cunt. (QMC)
The last book I read by the QMC was “No Apologies” a very angry collection, no holds barred, it was really in your face. No Secrets is calmer, it reads like you have sat down for a coffee with her and she is telling you stories from her life, from abusive husbands, sexual conquests, children and religion to some very moving poems about her mum. I don’t think there is a single weak poem in the lot, every single one gets a response from the reader.
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