I’m TheLadyBestseller on YouTube, and I can be found under Claudia Moss! Don’t you just LOVE the power and immediacy of the Internet?
Multimedia Melodies to you! :D
I am thinking we could meet this way for quite a long time, mis amigos! My collection of pictures seem to be growing with each one I post. Just illustrates my love of photography and the documentation of my life and of life in general! So stay with me…por favor!
Forget it! I’ve got lots more pics to share, so do remember what I said in the opening of this post. :) At this time, I’m headed to the kitchen and then it’s the gym. Am standing in the flow of blessings today and every day. The house is quiet. Silence is the conductor; I am Her orchestra. And passion fountains freely….
An announcement came, inviting Writing Fellows to sit in remembrance of the Gaza Strip victims and survivors. There would be no discussion, only Silence or meted out words. My decision to attend was swift. I thought to read the famous poem of silence and no one coming when they came for this one and that one, of no one left when they came for me. Regina helped me find it among Google’s treasures.
Then, just like that, I remembered that I was a writer, same as right now I am recalling Gordon Parks and his classic, A Choice of Weapons. Mine, also, are words, photography and love. In an American Jewish University dorm, I sat to fastidiously search my heart’s archery.
Beautiful words, like an unseen shaman, circled the group. Love pulsed. Emotions swelled and burst. When it was my time to speak, feet suddenly swinging under my chair as though I were five, this was my offering:
On Distant Shores
We stand on distant shores
Bowed in grief
Breathing striated air
Crying tears for peace
Do they drip, too, from a conscious world’s
You haven’t time to wonder
To ponder what it means to be forgotten
Their cries cut short in rising fumes
In shards of lives
Left to drift toward healing
And distant peace
I stand on a shore that
Isn’t as aloof as it seems
Today I pause time
To remember you
To feel your pain
To link souls
To send cosmic rays of
Light love and peace
Ours is a human tapestry
Loomed and stitched
Creating the Present
Crossing seas and war zones
For how could I sit in this Universal lodge
And not offer my love?
August 9, 2014
Lambda Literary Writers Retreat
Saludos, todo el mundo! I’m back again for round three, capturing in photos and narrative my Los Angeles Writers Retreat experience. I thank you in advance for being here with me, and please don’t forget to leave your mental prints…if you should like.
Until I return with another photo spread, be saucy, if you can’t muster sweet!
I longed to order it before I took to the sky, hopscotching the clouds back to Georgia from California. Fate didn’t cooperate, even though I wanted Corral’s autograph, in spite of my recent decision not to stock personal bookshelves, as I’m a Kindle girl now. Yet undefeated, I remained easy, remembering that I’m also a working Goddess with the power to summon the slim, black volume, with slithering, coiled lighting adorning its cover, to me.
If I ever came upon such a scaly sight, my breath might just vanish like a slow lightening strike, but the magic between this book’s jet covers, I know, would revive and save me. Blessed be the restorative power of words…
I am blogging tonight so I opened it and fluttered its pages to baptize myself in the awe of Corral’s poetry, and this is what snatched me to attention, butterfly soft, demanding I light on a stage of a page from which I could not look away.
“ALL THE TREES OF THE FIELD SHALL CLAP THEIR HANDS
Josefa Segovia was tried, convicted & hanged on July 5, 1851, in Downieville, California, for killing an Anglo miner, a man who the day before had assaulted her.”
I read the emotive poem. I gasped. I sighed. It was unnecessary to read further. Having been raped, twice, by Black men, I, instantaneously, knew Josefa Segovia, and although I knew not her choice, I closed the book to save it for another silent night or a sacred morning in which I could read more and witness all the pieces of myself settle comfortably on a sofa for the experience. The IV from this book to my soul already energizes me; somehow it knows I will seek it and it me in the ensuing days. And when we meet again, like Keith Sweat, I will make it last. Not wanting to gulp Corral’s electric imagery and colorful culture mentally, but to sip it sensually, holding each poem on my heart like a memory I must never forget.
EDUARDO C. CORRAL’s poems have appeared in New England Review, Ploughshares, and Poetry, as well as other journals and anthologies. He received a Discovery/The Nation award and was selected for residencies at the MacDowell Colony and Yaddo. He’s a recipient of a 2011 Whiting Writers’ Award.