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Moon, Light and Shadow

ART, POETRY, LOVE – THE MAGIC OF JOURNEYS

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The Warrior Poet

Young Loves

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You were last of my young loves.
The last time I would fall
in love that way:
headlong and heart-strong
limbs a-tangle with
smiles and hugs abandon.
I tumbled down that hill
willingly
needing so much
and accepting
all you could give
thinking it would make me
me. Continue reading “Young Loves”

That’s Poetry

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“I’m not surprised that your writing is going well. It’s who you are. The way you speak, the way you look at life, that’s poetry. You are, poetry.”

One of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.  🙂

Caribbean Creative Writers Workshop

In February of this year I received an email indicating that I was one of ten authors chosen to participate in Cropper Foundation’s Creative Writers Workshop in June. I was alone at home when the email came in and the feelings were completely unexpected. I felt like it was not really happening, and actually imagined that no one else had submitted poetry and so I was chosen to make up a quota. I had applied on a whim submitting six poems to compete with other Caribbean writers, never really believing that what I wrote could be seen as poetry.

I had never entered a writing competition before and had only shared my poems with one friend and anonymously on my blog. In fact, I’d never referred to them as poems and called them Scribbles instead. So, receiving that email and subsequently sending my acceptance letter was a pretty surreal experience. I felt like I was someone else, like a little kid about to steal cookies from the cookie jar, with the anticipation of something delicious and thrilling, and the fear of being caught where I wasn’t supposed to be. Was this really meant for me?

The workshop, sponsored by the Cropper Foundation, and organised in partnership with the Department of Creative and Festival Arts at The University of the West Indies (UWI), took place from June 29th to July 13th in the quiet seaside town of Balandra on the north-eastern coast of Trinidad. Over sixty applicants from across the Caribbean submitted fiction, non-fiction and poetry for a chance to spend two weeks with two incredible moderators,  novelist Dr. Merle Hodge (Crick, Crack Monkey and For the Life of Laetitia), and poet and short story writer Professor Funso Aiyejina, winner of the 2000 Commonwealth Writers Prize (Africa) for The Legend of the Rockhills and Other Stories.

I had no idea what was in store. A friend of mine had been a participant in 2008 and when sought she offered the best advice: Expect nothing. Appreciate everything.

I never imagined that my life would be forever changed.

Luna

i  am a house with many rooms.
i am a window with many sides.
i am a soul with many journeys.
i am a mystery with many turns.
do you think you already know me?
it takes more than eyes to read this book.

On Santa Ana Nights

On warm windy nights like this night
do you remember
when she told you about the Santa Anas?
When she whispered:
“Anything is possible.”
Her laugh made you laugh
and you hugged her tight.
When you danced and you said
“Oh look, I almost kissed you.”
just because you were happy
and because she was smiling
up at you.
Santa Ana nights like these.
When you thought for a moment
 that what you dreamed could be real.
And you said “My eyes have been opened.”
She made you love her didn’t she,
trusting you
with all the shadowy corners of her heart.
She made you laugh and dance and sing.
She saw you
And loved you still.
She loved your hurt and your heart.
And your pain and your fear.
All the shadowy corners of you.
She loved you still.
Happy Valentine’s Day.

I Am The Story In Between The Lines

I am the story in between the lines
old journals and snapshots
decades of words and images
poetry and imagination
strung together by feeling and circumstance
inked in joy and pain
emblazoned on a page for all time.

“I want to live in between the lines, where the depth is.”

I Only Wish You Love

There you go again,
chasing down that road.
I’ve held your hand
and watched you do this,
time and time before.
Now this time has come,
and you can walk alone.
I won’t right you when you stumble
Nor catch you when you fall.
I won’t kiss or hug away the hurt
from bumps or bruises.
This time, on my own and from afar,
 I’ll celebrate your joys
and mourn for you your losses.
Fare thee well, my friend,
as every time before,
I only wish you love.

Each Star On His Own Time

Some stars emerge in flash of brilliance
but will only burn half as long.
Some stars gather and gleam,
marking their own path as they go,
and will leave a lasting imprint on the pages of time.
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Dedicated to Book.

The Last Rainbow

As it was written so it has come to pass.
Wrapped in a hemp jacket, on a plane
bound for a destination away from his heart.
Raindrops collect tears on small oval windows,
gaining momentum and down they roll.
There’ll be no more talk of rare moonbows.
Sobs choked back and all ascend.
With a deep breath the time has come.
It’s now or never, Amber’s off the shelf.
A noonday sun casts a shadow
On the misty gray retreating clouds below:
An aircraft encircled in a spectrum halo.
A rainbow’s reminder and promise:
Thank you for being you.
To be anything else is to be so much less.
As it was written so it shall be:
Today a new story will be chosen.
It was always mine: The story of Me.

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