Submit to The Kali Project

A wonderful project

TheFeatheredSleep

I am editing another Anthology in collaboration with CrossTree Press called The Kali Project.

If you are an Indian woman Poet/Artist (or you know of one who may be interested, either in India or internationally) please consider submitting work to The Kali Project. This anthology is a collection of poetry, prosetry, and artwork from women of Indian heritage, in response to the courageous determination of Indian women to gain full equality in India.

Subjects to consider writing about include but are not limited to: Feminism, equality, political upheaval, women’s-rights, sexual violence, LGBTQ rights, gender identity, violence, marriage, concepts of Indian female identity, inequality at the workplace. Change.

The Kali Project is open for submissions until October 22, 2020.

You can submit up to THREE poems and THREE pieces of artwork.

Please submit poems with your full name as the title in Word.

If you are interested in submitting for the…

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Stars and Blackness

What We Were

Restless emptiness

Of all the concave blackness

Between the stars–

I remember, think upon

Dwell for a moment in

All the perfection–imperfections

Of you and me and us,

Counting our flaws,

Irritating grains of sand become

A time worn comfortable effortlessness

In our bruising brutality

Of what we were and were not,

Wanted to be and dreamed,

Taking for granted

A rarity of feathered softness

We barely recognized

Was there–

Until now.

Wait for me

In the place

Where we are washed clean

Of anger for what we

Never were nor could be,

Strived to be, wanted to be.

One day I will join you there,

And we, not storybook characters of dreams,

Breathing in the sweetness of air,

Admit, knowing what we truly were

Mattered—

Sweet and real,

Stars and the concave blackness.

Until the End, Serenity Rests

Image courtesy of Sue Vincent
https://scvincent.com/2020/09/03/thursday-photo-prompt-serenity-writephoto/

 

A moment–

Serenity–

When you let go

Falling to the end

Where I cannot follow

Yet—

 

Then everything clenched

Tighter, taut dreams

Serenity became snatched

Moments of candy orange sunrises

And bruised sunsets

Snatched moments I had

To unfeel everything felt

For a time,

A pretense—

 

And now,

In this life

Until the end—

In my daughter’s laughter,

My daughter’s voice

My daughter’s face

In everything

My daughter does,

The deepest part

Of my eternal serenity

Does rest.

Thoughts on a Stone Fairy

Photo from social media attributed to Jean-Michel Bihorel

I started to write this one when I first saw this photo on Facebook.  I did some research to find the true name of the mountain and then wrote down a few lines. Then I saw Eugenia’s weekly prompt was “fairy” and things took off from there.

UPDATE– However, the fact checkers did not have all the facts when I checked, and it seems I was duped.  Fact checkers I used (and I used several) only had the name of the mountain as being incorrect, and they all agreed that this was a drone image.  However, it seems they have been updated and the image is really the digital work of an artist named Jean-Michel Bihorel.  Thank you to Susi Blocks who brought this to my attention.  I may remove the post entirely but I will take a minute to think about that.

https://amanpan.com/2020/08/10/eugis-weekly-word-prompt-fairy-august-10-2020/

She rests now,

              Snowbound,

              ‘Sleeping,

Some giant stone fairy of another land,

Another time, when fantastic creatures

Walked with us.

There is in me

Awe, admiration of her peace—

Thinking wistfully of what if’s—

Had I been born a giantess of stone

Or one with fairy blood of snow—

I could have loved her,

              Curled behind her,

              Spooned for centuries.

              No one to care,

              Know,

              Disturb the peace

              We shared—

              Till seen from above

              By a modern drone—

Then perhaps humanity might again know

Fantastical creatures once roamed,

Possessing magic.

But I am no fantastic being.

Possessing no magic,

I am no match for a mythic wonder.

My blood, without a drop of the fairy kind,

Destine for warmer, ordinary climes.

Lessons in Listening

image courtesy of Dreamtime.com

 

https://onewomansquest.org/2020/08/03/vjs-weekly-challenge-107-listen/

My lessons in listening:
To a mother’s final words—
Always remember I loved you and was proud
Tossed off, too rushed to leave work
To get to the hospital, to see her,
Always thinking of more days, time.
Not thinking all I’d see,
Her dead eyes.

To all my dogs– little tells
Of cocked heads, whines, barks,
The ways of wagging tails,
To know what meant what–
Hunger, pain, desire to play,
A need for love or to go outside.
Those I’ve always learned well.

To students, the teens I taught,
A puzzle to figure of pieces and placement
What each meant for each—
The lift of a shoulder, how the eyes met or did not meet mine,
The head upon the desk, the work done or not,
The things said, not said—
To figure needs-
Some basic, some not so,
Requiring other safety nets,
Bruised and broken,
Some I could help repair.
I knew what to listen for,
Almost by instinct,
Since I had not been listened to
When I was one of them.

To my child, a whirlwind of cries,
Hunger, diaper, cold, hot, sick—
Each cry different
A knowing, animal instinct,
Some primal thing beating
Inside knew the way
Of my infant’s need.
When a teen—
A different thing,
A new species of need,
My animal and her animal
Had no common language
Of smells, signals, or cries
In the darkened tunnels
We went through.

To my dying wife, my dying wife—
So hard to listen to, to understand
a language no longer including
My daughter or me.
Never knowing for whom
The last coma spoken words–
I’m sorry, so sorry—
Were spoken.

Now, I learn the final lesson of listening,
A lesson sixty years in the learning, 

To myself, my own heart, my own soul.

Of Need and Desire

Image courtesy of Sue Vincent
https://scvincent.com/2020/08/06/thursday-photo-prompt-fantasy-writephoto/

So very willingly,

I placed my head into danger’s toothy mouth

When I climbed the Pilgrim’s stairs–

Until dizzy from the height,  

And the steepness of the effort–

All done to look upon

A pure crystalline blue sky

Caressing a sapphire sea—

A fantasy of need.

Beneath The Surface

Image courtesy of Shutterstock

 

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge–August 4, 2020

 

Beneath the surface of the night

Flailing fitful, restless

A dream slept wrapped

In a syllabic, heavy blanket,

Waking drenched in a sweat

Of moon touched light.

 

Upon this awakening,

Her shining skin did give

Away no secret of her wings or flight

Beneath the surface of the night.

 

Gratitude

Image courtesy of Flickr

August–

The resplendent month,

Of sun’s heat and blinding light.

The lethargic month

Of jealousy’s blight,

A thing of loss, not fought.

August—

The milestone marking month,

Of anniversaries, holidays, tears.

The flaming month

Of ashes where freedom,

A rising thing, held dear.

https://amanpan.com/2020/08/03/eugis-weekly-prompt-august-august-3-2020/

Where I Found You

Courtesy of Sue Vincent
https://scvincent.com/2020/07/02/thursday-photo-prompt-dream-writephoto/

I thought to find you on the path

Between the heather patches.

You were not there.

I thought to find you along the roads

From here to other places I traveled,

But there were no traces.

I thought to find you along the routes

Where I walked the dogs.

Of course, there you were,

Ready to laugh and say they loved you best.

As you always did.

Taking treats from your pocket,

You fed and petted them.

Looking up at me, you said I had more

Grey than last you saw, but it didn’t look bad.

Your idea of a compliment, I know.

I killed the weeds of anger over things like that.

Now I must learn to trim back the hedges of grief.

Get electric hedge trimmers you laughingly said.

Then whispered I should learn from the dogs

And you’d meet me along the path

Between the heather one day.

And that was all.

You were gone.

Spirit of Stone

Photo courtesy of Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt Veiled #writephoto

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a green horizon, beyond which the mist veils a hill topped with strange rock formations.

I knelt before God

as the earth was formed.

For ages I have been here,

spirit of stone unmoving,

waiting above the forest land.

I am the tonnage of stones,

living veiled behind swirling mists.

Yet, I am billions of stones,

existing beyond the veil.

I press the earth for meaning

when I hear the children of earth wail

of suffering through centuries.

I rise above the peace of forest land,

lifting the tonnage of anger I carry.

I am the billions of stones now,

moving beyond the veil.

I have risen, the world,

carrying justice

in the weight of stone,

the children of earth will not be moved.

Behind the veil, I am the tonnage of stones.

I will retreat there when this time is done.