Voices Through Skin- A Book Review

It has taken me weeks to finish this book. That is not a bad thing. First, because I have been a bit afraid to really let the words seep in under my skin. So many things Theresa Senato Edwards speak about in this collection could be about me, or someone close to me. Will I begin to see these things folded so neatly and put away in a box? The key to its lock swallowed, maybe hidden somewhere in my heart. Where we so often hide, all things.

The cover art is great too!

Second, because it is a book that needs quiet time to take in every word, each stanza, and to digest what Theresa has taken such care to share. I also have had company for a month and wanted so badly to have that quiet time, but it never came until this past week. I suspect I will be reading this book more down the road.

What I would hope for all poets is, we wish for our work, to create inspiration when read. One of her poems, page 77, 'On Your Back' brought to light something I myself had wanted to write about. Something many women of my generation do have neatly folded and locked away- rape. In this poem Theresa is actually talking about Lupus, but the title sparked something. This book is a wonderful look through her lens of life in our skin.

Her words:

I'm reminded-
perseverance on the skin,
soft lives branded,   involuntary.

My own poem has come out of these words. I wish I could share more of her work, but frankly, you should buy your own copy. Pick one up, make some tea, maybe cut up an apple and sit back to relax. Then pick up her book and begin your own journey into some self discovery. Let some healing begin.

Voices Through Skin, by Theresa Senato Edwards, Sibling Rivalry Press, 2011

It's All Backwards, or am I

Just out of a moment, a feeling, maybe for fun...I wrote this. Partly because last night must have been a much needed cry, which for some crazy reason, at least for me, crying can bring up old pain. Past hurt we stick in a bread box, placing it in a dark corner. When we begin to feel hunger calling and start poking around for a bite, we might find things we really thought we had eaten, or thrown out.

Going backwards, before the waters rushed in, I am sharing, how as the homemaker in my house, and how I have every detail planned for the week, including meals, things can throw me off. That is when some food bandit eats something they are not suppose to eat, and I have to plan a new strategy. It throws me off, and I am a Gemini. Yes, it is written we are suppose to bounce back, resilient and all that stupid astrology crap. Normally I am up faster than I am down.

Hubby for some reason thought a huge, and I said huge container of orzo salad was his lunch when he left for work...he says because there was a single piece of chicken and gravy in there. He ate the whole thing, yes men can eat more than their share at times. I am really trying to keep him on a portion control diet, due to high cholesterol and a growing belly. Beware, I am the diet master.

He does complain his pants don't fit and has to buy a bigger size each year. Hmmm, so my solution is to help him, but if he continues to eat my predestined entree sides, four cups worth, then whose fault is it. Pasta is one of those foods that can really put on the pounds if you do not exercise regularly. I know this personally. Okay, I know, I can go on.

I had this beautiful Korean BBQ marinated and on the grill when I discovered he had eaten our side dish. What to do? Cry of course, after I blew up, but once the flood gate opened, well it all went to hell in a hand basket, in a manner of speaking. I made some boiled potatoes, only a few, because I knew he would eat them all if I had made too much (I usually make his plates at home, a most certain portion control method). I ate a small amount and kept quiet the rest of the evening.

Did someone just ask why the right container was not handed to him in the morning? Do I look like Mrs. Beaver and I am waiting at the door with his lunch box? I was on the sofa reading like a modern woman. 

Well this morning came, I still felt some amount of melancholy, so, I wrote this sappy piece. Heh! Sappy! Get it? Its better than what I used to do, eat a box of doughnuts, or two, and put my health at risk. Something I grew up seeing my mom do when sadness hit the fan, or other things. Oh, how do we deal with pain when it seeps out. See , the happy-go-lucky resilient me has returned.

Next time I'm hiding my beloved orzo, uh, side dish in the back of the fridge, in the dark corner with my pain.

Cut This Hackberry Some Slack

Shaking trees let go
of their seed, their leaves
in revelation of powers at hand
do we doubt the appendage 
set forth behind reason

loss is a strong inertia, unwanted
trembling when pain rises
up through the ground
filling the trunk with disease
some splitting extremities

a single fruit falls, barely marred
outwardly it continues to roll
away away, polishing its self
flesh sweetened by time
sustaining nature’s purpose

decaying limbs lay
at mounds of moved dirt
nomadic life taking over
adding color to landscape
whispering war to passerby's

when the wind is quiet
branches furrow inward
embracing isolation, grasping sanity
an aging tree continues to reach
ominous outlined horizons call


This piece is also laced with something I saw on Marcus Goodyear's post about Mother Theresa and doubt...

A Review of 'Flash Fiction'- 72 Very Short Stories

By the time you read one of my blog rants, or even one of my poems you could have read two or three of this books very short stories- Flash Fiction: 72 Very Short Stories. I have wanted to read a full collection of flash fiction in published form for a while. Enjoying writing them myself, I have wanted to compare what sits in my FF files to what some would consider really good, or publish worthy. They are all wonderful, and I have made it through the book twice now.

What is flash fiction? (For those of us who are just beginning to develop our writing knowledge)

Interesting how I found so many great places that explain what flash fiction is, while looking for others reviews. One for example goes into a very thought provoking explanation and comparison to prose poetry, Cheek Teeth: The mouthpiece of TRACHODON, written by managing editor of Cheek Teeth, Katey Schultz. I plan on following her site, and submitting my work to TRACHODON.

Hey Michael Madsen the writer/poet, this is another hint!

You can most certainly find the meaning of flash fiction on Wikipedia, read Zinta's Review, and in a few of my 'How To' writing manuals, but it is basically 'a very short story': a moment captured in time, and if you blink, well you might just miss the explosion. My kind of writing, for an ADHD kind of writer. I am working on some much longer books, but have trouble staying focused, with so many ideas floating in my head, there are too many to write. This book will sit out for my company to read if I ever keep them waiting long.

Do I recommend others to read this book? 

Order this book, or read 'Flash-Fiction-Very-Short-Stories' if you see it laying around someones living room!

Poem Share, and a rambling

I pride myself in being all about discovery. I love to discover new things. Especially poetry. My book shelf is lined with old and new poetry books. Some I understand, some I do not. I will not give up trying to discover the hidden meanings in these poets work.

To my surprise an actor, Michael Madsen writes poetry. I went on a journey to read as much of his work as I could the past few days. He has a blog and another website for his work, and his books are a bit pricey. Must be nice to have enough money to self publish all eight of your books, and get so much attention. The privilege of being a Hollywood A-lister I suppose. I know, I know, sounds like a rant. But, I did begin to find some of his work I felt was worthy of praise.

He writes about his life, which we all do, he writes about fellow actors who have influenced him, partied with him, or taken their lives, and he writes the word 'fuck' in a lot of poems. I visualize a rough and tough bad boy here. Matter of fact he and I might even get along in person. I saw his mom is a writer, so maybe that is the talent well from which poetry springs up. We all have something to say, right?

For years I dreamed of being published through a high end house, and even thought about self publishing...soon I realized there was a lot to learn about writing poetry, even just writing since I was years behind due to my daughters illness and my job as a mom and bread winner, but I am glad I found so many of you out there that help me in my own self discovery.

However Michael, if you are out there, maybe listening, or even give a poop...try submitting your work to journals and on-line publications like I do. Let your poet peers have a glimpse at some of that work you write and give their two cents. How about standing up behind a podium and read at an open mic with us. Do they have A-lister Open Mics? Maybe you should start one, and invite other poets to attend. I would pay for an airplane ticket to see you read in person.

I wrote this after watching a few of his youtube poetry vids...

If You Sit Still Long Enough You Begin To Think

One afternoon
I watched actor Michael Madsen
read poetry behind a podium
my feet would have preferred
to move closer to the outside
to the real world

he writes?
and it’s pretty good?
the voice of a rough and tough
Hollywood bad boy has my attention
I like watching him ride his chopper on youtube
his words
his poetry, make me reminisce
about past mistakes

in grade school, I wanted to act
before my parents moved the family
to a new neighborhood, and a new school
where red hair, freckles and four eyes stopped all progress
halted my dreams of a part in the Christmas pageant
in which I was chosen to play the lead angel

back in the old neighborhood, and school
where I left my desires
my best foot forward
a door opened, for a younger would be
my memory walks their hallways
my could’as remain tightly folded in anger

Michael’s words also made me realize
I always wanted to walk along the golden coast
ride motorcycles and sleep with my groupie bad boys
to count their tattoo’s
shoot guns off roof tops while drinking Jack-n-coke
snort coke in club bathrooms with other A-lister’s
see my name in big lights, and in gossip magazines
next to theirs

I did ride motorcycles in my youth
rode midnight freight trains across Texas
smoked weed in the caboose with conductors
got my first tattoo after my daughter passed away
I was forty three
there is still so much more to try

Mr. Madsen
the poet in him and I share some of the same scares
but we run in different circles
maybe we run from the same past
but my curtain goes up when I wake up every morning
words form lines written by my own hand
no rehearsals
no time for regrets

Today, what I have
and have not are all I ever will need.

(First draft, and will be taken down if I decide its publish worthy...E)