Treasuring Poetry – Meet prolific poet, Ivor Steven, and a review #poetry #poetrycommunity #TreasuringPoetry

My April Treasuring Poetry guest is talented and prolific poet, Ivor Steven. Please enjoy his thoughts about poetry and some of his favourite poems.

What is your favourite style of poetry to read?

Oh, there are so many styles of poetry that I like. In my personal library I have poetry books by Leonard Cohen, William B Yeats, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, John Keats, Henry Lawson, Banjo Paterson, and Rupi Kaur, and of course numerous other local poets. My selections are of a range of styles and very eclectic, however, my favourite poetry style is rhythmical freestyle poems.

What is your favourite poem in your favourite style to read?

Since I was a teenager, I have been an avid follower of Leonard Cohen’s writings, and he has had a huge influence on the way I draft my poems. One of my favourite poems of his is “Avalanche”.

Avalanche
  Well, I stepped into an avalanche,
 it covered up my soul;
 when I am not this hunchback that you see,
 I sleep beneath the golden hill.
 You who wish to conquer pain,
 you must learn, learn to serve me well.
 You strike my side by accident
 as you go down for your gold.
 The cripple here that you clothe, and feed
 is neither starved nor cold;
 he does not ask for your company,
 not at the centre, the centre of the world.

When I am on a pedestal,
 you did not raise me there.
 Your laws do not compel me
 to kneel grotesque and bare.
I myself am the pedestal
 for this ugly hump at which you stare.

You who wish to conquer pain,
 you must learn what makes me kind;
 the crumbs of love that you offer me,
 they’re the crumbs I’ve left behind.
 Your pain is no credential here,
 it’s just the shadow, shadow of my wound.

I have begun to long for you,
 I who have no greed;
 I have begun to ask for you,
 I who have no need.
 You say you’ve gone away from me,
 but I can feel you when you breathe.

Do not dress in those rags for me,
 I know you are not poor;
 you don’t love me quite so fiercely now
 when you know that you are not sure,
 it is your turn, beloved,
 it is your flesh that I wear.

What is your favourite style of poetry to write? Why?

I must say I like writing Haiku, Tanka, musettes, and other forms of short poems. However, I only started writing poetry after I had suffered a semiserious stroke in 2000. During my rehab, the speech therapist encouraged me to write rhyming words to help regain my cognitive abilities. I developed a knack for rhyming words and from there my writing knowledge gradually expanded. With my restricted thought process, the rhythmical Freestyle Poems were an uncomplicated style for me to follow and I kept improving on my newfound journey into the world of poetry.

What is your favourite of your own poems in your favourite style?

Oh gosh, I have written nearly two thousand poems over the past twenty years, my favourite one is from my first book “Tullawalla”, I wrote the poem in Philadelphia while visiting my cousins in 2019. The trip to America was only two months after my 2nd and 3rd strokes, and the journey was truly a “dream come true”. 
 
Dreams of The Heart

I cannot walk the continents
Like the intrepid Marco Polo
But my feet have felt the sands of time
Pass between my toes

I have not sailed the high seas
Like the courageous Christopher Columbus
But my body has bathed
In an ocean full of kind hearts I am yet to fly in space
Like the brave Neil Armstrong
But I have reached for the stars
And touched my soul’s dreams

How do you promote your poetry and poetry books?

I promote my poetry and books via my WordPress website, and social media sites: Instagram. Facebook. Thread, and a new website Medium. Also, I am an appointed writer for the online Coffee House Writers magazine (America), and they allow me to promote my Books on their members chat-site. I am a member the Geelong Writers Inc, who have Monthly social gatherings where I can sell my books. I frequent several local cafes, at which I am allowed to display and sell my books. I regularly attend local Arts Markets and I have had Book Stalls at nearby book festivals, the most recent being the prestigious Clunes Booktown Festival.
>> Clunes Booktown Festival – For the love of story

You can find out more about Ivor Steven on his blog here: https://ivorplumberpoet.press/about/

My review of Until Eyes Hear Sound

Available from Lulu.com here: https://www.lulu.com/search?contributor=Ivor+Steven&adult_audience_rating=00

and Jaymah Press here: https://www.jaymahpress.com.au/product-page/until-eyes-hear-sound

Until Eyes Hear Sound is a wonderful collection full of impactful poems about numerous important issues humanity faces as a collective, as well as the beauty of our natural world.

The book is divided up into ten chapters as follows: Little Creatures and Birds; Planet Earth, Nature and Existence; The New World? The Same Universe; Observations – “Until Eyes Hear Sound”; War! Without Peace?; Memories and Rhymes; Poetry in Slow Motion; Humour, Fantasy, Faeries, and Weird; and Short Poems, Haiku, Senryu, Tanka, and Others. Each section shares a smaller collection of poems that highlight the best and worst of that category. The poems are written in a mixture of freestyle and rhyming verse and are easy to read and vivid in their description.

The following are a few lines from some of the poems I related to the most in the collection:

“Raw rain is tumbling across town
Mother Nature’s roaring sound
Amplifies her tears slapping the ground
As her dark clouds wrinkle into a frown”
from She Knows

“Behind every mask there is a weathered face
Behind every face old lines survive in place
Behind every place memories live with grace”
from My World, My Thoughts

“arriving
via the cemetery gate
holding her flowers
hands quivering
heart quickens …

“leaving
via the cemetery path
renewing goodbyes
crying silently
breathing slowly”
from Arriving and Leaving, Visiting Her. This was my favourite poem in the collection.

A beautiful collection.

About Robbie Cheadle

Photo of Robbie Cheadle standing in front of trees.

Award-winning, bestselling author, Robbie Cheadle, has published fourteen children’s books and three poetry books. Her work also features in several poetry and short story anthologies.

Robbie also has two novels published under the name of Roberta Eaton Cheadle and has horror, paranormal, and fantasy short stories featured in several anthologies under this name.

The eleven Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.

Robbie and Michael Cheadle have recently launched a new series of children’s books called Southern African Safari Adventures. The first book, Neema the Misfit Giraffe is now available from Amazon.

Robbie’s blog includes recipes, fondant and cake artwork, poetry, and book reviews. https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/


A Review of my Poetry Collection, “Small Wonders”

Purchase Link: https://books2read.com/SmallWonders


Reviews of my poetry collection, “Small Wonders”

On sale for National Poetry Month – Only $2.99

Purchase Link: https://books2read.com/SmallWonders


A Look at Poetry Reviews from the Past Year: Ever So Gently

Book Cover: Blue/Green abstract background
Text: Lauren Scott, Ever So Gently, A Collection of Poems

It celebration of National Poetry Month, I’m reblogging my poetry reviews from the past year on Saturdays throughout April in case you missed any of these noteworthy poetry collections.

Today’s selection is Ever So Gently, by Lauren Scott


WordCrafter Press Celebrates National Poetry Month

Celebrating National Poetry Month with a Great Price

During the month of April, all poetry volumes on the WordCrafter Press backlist are on sale for only $2.99 each. That’s right. Any poetry volume on the WordCrafter Press backlist can be purchased for this great low price all month long. So, check out the list below and add these great poetic volumes to your library of poetry today.

WordCrafter Press Poetry Backlist

:)_____________________________________:)


Book Review: Cashing Checks with Jim Morrison

Box of Books Text: Book Reviews

About the Book

CASHING CHECKS with Jim Morrison offers a surreal cascade of archetypes from, among others, ancient Greece, the Bible, American Literature, and pop culture. Moving through it is the speaker’s companion spirit and guru, Jim Morrison-Lizard King, Narcissus/Adonis. Set in a world where, in Albert Einstein’s words, ‘reality is merely an illusion, ‘ Lindsey Martin-Bowen’s poems are alive with wit, evocative imagery, insight, and sometimes downright playfulness. Through heeding Morrison’s counsel to ‘go weirder, ‘ she’s made this collection reader-friendly.”-William Trowbridge, Missouri Poet Laureate, 2012-2016 Author, Call Me Fool (2022)
“In Lindsey Martin-Bowen’s CASHING CHECKS with Jim Morrison, I relish every word, compelled by the poet’s stories and singing voice. Fantasy and fact merge in these invocations of the seminal American rocker Morrison and of his spirit. Join me as a reader in exploring this exciting testament to the power of language to resurrect history and wonder.”-Denise Low, Kansas Poet Laureate, 2007-2009 Poetry Unbound Featured Poet

My Review

I was thrilled to receive a print copy of Cashing Checks with Jim Morrison, by Lindsay Martin-Bowen. The title alone, was enough to peak my interest, and lend anticipation as to what I could expect within its covers.

This collection of poems is all about hanging out, and philosphizing with the spirit of the late, great, Jim Morrison. I was amazed by the way the author captured the voice of Morrison in many of the poems, enough to let me believe briefly that maybe the author truly does converse with the dead musician. Included are poems that serve as social commentaries on life and love, on the state of the world today, and on possible futures; topics which every one of us can relate to.

So many of these poems struck a chord with me that it is impossible to pick one favorite. but I really loved the imagry in “Coming Back to Me”.

The dawn inhales and holds its breath, drawing

wisps of clouds up the foothills, where theyb hover.

Jim steps out of the mist, unsteady as some soldier

searching for his platoon on a surreal battlefield.

He wedges boot heels into fissures be3tween rock

ledges, ambles down to where gravel meets asphalt.

Then he steps onto the road leading to my Dutch

Colonel on a corner in this mountain college town,

where I chose to spend many of my remaining days,

watching parades of seasons pass in the hills’

keleidescope of colors revolving — in fall, scarlet,

gold, and bronze. In winter, cobalt blue and white.

Spring brings a rushed array — one week yellow,

the next red, then purple, and green never leaves

till late August, just before the aspen twitter

with orange and gold coins glittering in sunlight.

I don’t see a move to Kansas or any spot east, wonder

if Jim and I will land in Venice, his California beach.

He raises a hand and yells, ‘lo,’ his voice echoing

down the street, falling at my knees, now trembling.

When he heads my way, I smell his Jade East, see

his hazy body morph into solid physique, black

leather pants, jacket, and sandaled feet. He lifts his chin,

shakes his curls, then lowers his face and stares at me.

Still trembling, I remember our jaunts on a motorcycle

and a persnickety jeep — wonder if I’ll ever be free again

or if I’ll ride highways like some banshee for eternity.

And I also enjoyed the section of Tanka strings, always the sucker for syllabic poetry. Most have five Tankas, but “Jim Morrison and I Lose Our Way on a Moon Dog Night” isonly two, and short enough to share with you here.

The drive home’s always

this way — too long, when sudden

changes shakes us up.

After a few warm, sunny

days, cold winds hit us again.

Tonight, an odd haze

encircles the moon like white

light in an X-ray

outlining a frail hip bone

fallen into necrosis.

An unusual collection of poetry through which to view the world through different eyes; perhaps through the eyes of Jim Morrison. I thoroughly enjoyed Cashing Checks with Jim Morrison, and I give it five quills.

Five circles with WordCrafter quill logo in each one.

______________________________________

Kaye Lynne Booth does honest book reviews on Writing to be Read in exchange for ARCs. Have a book you’d like reviewed? You can request a review on the Book Review tab above.


Treasuring Poetry – Poet and editor of MasticadoresUSA, Barbara Harris Leonhard, talks about poetry and a review #poetrycommunity #bookreview

A huge welcome to Barbara Harris Leonard, editor of MasticardoresUSA, and talented poet, to Treasuring Poetry.

What is your favourite style of poetry to read i.e. haiku, ballad, epic, freestyle, etc?

I’ve studied different poetic forms but generally read freestyle poetry, especially Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Elizabeth Bishop, and so many more. I also enjoy the more formal classic poetry and other modern poets like Frost, Sandburg, and others. A favorite poet of mine is Emily Dickinson. I’ve written poems in the manner of Dickinson. Overall, however, the majority of poems I have read and written have been free verse.

What is your favourite poem in your favourite style to read?

The first poem that comes to mind is Elizabeth Bishop’s poem “The Fish”. Here it is from poets.org. The description is exquisite, and the story is powerful. She catches a prize fish, admires him, and finds that the fish has been caught five prior times. After examining his wounds—the old hooks and broken fish-lines scabbed over in his mouth—she releases the fish. The imagery throughout the poem is stunning. The old fish is embattled and exhausted, not even resisting the catch. He represents something ancient and universal. He is more than a fish; he is history (“beard of wisdom”) and war as she describes his “weaponlike” lower lip and cutting gills. “The Fish” is a poem written with the skill I strive to have as a poet.

https://poets.org/poem/fish-2

Elizabeth Bishop

1911 –1979

I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
—the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly—
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
—It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
—if you could call it a lip—
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels—until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.

Copyright © 2011 by Elizabeth Bishop. Reprinted from Poems with the permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

What is your favourite style of poetry to write? Why? 

I like free style poetry, mainly narrative and persona poems. Sometimes poetic forms feel restrictive because mastering the form becomes more important than the message of the poem. However, I feel practicing  with forms enables a poet to mature in many ways. As I’m writing free style, I use many poetic devices, such as alliteration, slant rhyme, assonance, meter, and others. With free style, for me, some challenges include where to place the line breaks and group the imagery into stanzas. How the poem is organized can affect the meaning. I like the potential for ambiguity in free verse poems. 

In “The Fish”, the last three lines are ambiguous. What does “rainbow” refer to? Epiphany? Was the fish a Rainbow trout? Maybe both interpretations apply. But the em dash is important. It interrupts the description of the fish to state an insight “—until everything”. The line break allows the reader to recall everything that was just said and speculate on more things. The repetition of “rainbow” three times insists there is insight. Pay attention. Rainbows are multi-colored, much like the fish. Rainbows presents diversity, inclusivity, and friendship. It’s no wonder she freed the fish.

the gunnels—until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.

Formal poetry can also have ambiguity and surprise. It’s just that I feel I have more freedom to play with the lines and stanzas in free verse poems.

What is your favourite of your own poems in your favourite style?

In my book Three-Penny Memories: A Poetic Memoir, my poems are free style. I have several favorites, but “Marie Kondo Cleans My Purse at Starbucks” received recognition from Spillwords Press. It won Publication of the Month in Jan/Feb 2022. In this poem, I am carrying the grief from Mom’s decline due to Alzheimer’s and her death. I am burdened by the memories. Marie Kondo, who is famous for her books on how to declutter your house, offers to help clean my purse (let go of that which no longer serves me). As this poem is about healing from loss, it is in the last section of my book, “Echo”.

Marie Kondo Cleans My Purse at Starbucks

Konmari sees me at Starbucks, 

my purse spilling over at the counter.

“May I help?”

She gathers me up

like I’m antique lace 

washed too many times.

Before she begins, she whispers,

“Hello, the House,

I am safe. May I enter?”

She pokes through my purse, 

pulling out the deck of cards 

Mom once carried in her own purse. 

A heavy bag of Mom’s pennies 

to redeem for cash.

Her checkbook.

The messy old calendar

that listed her appointments

alongside my own.

The quilt she made me, 

now falling apart. A cookbook

compiled in her own hand.

Konmari extracts other artifacts,

laying them gently on lined up tables.

People gather. My eyes bleed.

The extra-large pair of panties

Mom made me wear to Sunday school.

The wash, still not done.

A half-used bottle of Diethylstilbestrol, 

she was prescribed to prevent spotting 

when I was in vitro.

The tricycle she rode 

around town at age three 

because her mother never watched her.

My cancer scares, scattered 

on the bottom of the purse 

like cookie crumbs.

The scabs inflicted 

by her compression stockings

I failed to wash one last time.

The clump of tissue 

I miscarried, swaddled 

in an inner pocket.

Her hysterectomy scar.

My hysterectomy scar.

Entwined on a spool.

My t-shaped uterus, 

clenching a half-used packet 

of Puffs Plus.

A dogeared photo of Mom.

A mirror reflecting 

who I want to be.

Konmari has me 

hold each item 

one last time, saying,

“Thank you, tiny soul, 

for sharing your life. I am

grateful.”

She teaches me 

how to fold joy 

three times.

How to throw out

what I can 

no longer carry.

One strategy I appreciate about poetry, whether is is formal or free style, is the use of metaphor. In Bishops’s poem “The Fish”, the fish represents our history and ancient wisdom. Like the fish, we have all fought off death physically or spiritually. We are warriors who build muscle and bear wounds from our life battles. The fish holds our stories, and Bishop is masterful as she extends the metaphor to a universal level.

In my poem, I used the purse as a metaphor of my soul. In the book, Mom’s purse appears in several poems because her purse held her memories: her driver’s license (identity), her checkbook (finances), her comb (beauty), photos (family) and so on. Because I had to become Mom’s brain and hold her business along with mine, the purse took on significance as a brain, or a place to hold her life alongside my own. Grief work, for me, was a process of emptying the purse of all the attachments that no longer served me. And who could help declutter better than Marie Kondo? And revealing your wounds can be embarrassing, so why not do that at Starbucks? This choice gives a dream-like quality to the poem. It is surreal to carry your mother’s tricycle in your purse! Imagine all the nightmares of suddenly appearing naked on the first day of school or other important places. All my baggage is laid out on tables for everyone to see as though viewing a dead body. It’s no wonder “my eyes bleed”.

How do you promote your poetry and poetry books?

Connections sell books, so I’ve increased my online presence (Twitter/X, Mastodon, Linked-in, Instagram, Facebook, Threads, etc). I advertise my publications on social media. My position as Editor for MasticadoresUSA enables me to promote writers and get exposure. I also do interviews and readings online as well as readings, author showcases, and open mics in my hometown, Columbia, Missouri, and now other places in Missouri. I’ve gifted books to libraries. This past summer, 2023, Three-Penny Memories: A Poetic Memoir was chosen among other books for the summer reading program at our local library. My book sells on Amazon and is distributed everywhere, but I have also put it in independent bookstores in my hometown and in St. Louis, Missouri. I continue to publish poems mainly. I’ve started an account on Medium and am republishing poems there when the copyrights revert back to me. I sponsor Zoom poetry meetups and Zoom poetry critique sessions for the Columbia Writers Guild, a Chapter of the Missouri Writers Guild (https://ccmwg.org/ ) and The Garden of Neuro Institute (https://gardenofneuro.com/). I’ve developed relationships with other poets and have reviewed their books. I publish the reviews on MasticadoresUSA, my blog extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog, and Medium.

Thank you, Barbara, for being a wonderful guest.

My review of Three-Penny Memories: A Poetic Memoir by Barbara Harris Leonhard

Book Cover: A collage of author photos on a background of evergreen branches with red flowers.
Text: Three-Penny Memories, A Poetic Memoir, Barbara Harris Leonhard

This collection of poems is a deep dive into the love between a mother and daughter. The collection takes the reader on a journey of the poet’s life and the development of the relationship with her mother. She covers her own life threatening illness and the subsequent incapacity and recovery process, as well as her later discovery of the poet’s inability to carry a child to term due to her mother’s ingestion of Diethylstilbestrol (DES) during her own pregnancy. How ironic that the poet’s mother took this drug to ensure the health of her own pregnancy and it resulted in childlessness for her own daughter. Life is full of bitter irony.

Throughout all the trials and tribulations of her life, the poet’s love for her mother burns like a flame, as does her mother’s love for her. And then came Alzheimer’s, the destroyer. The part of the book and the poet’s internal conflict and wrestle with her own feelings was close to my heart. Dementia and Alzheimer’s change people, turns them into someone you don’t know. Someone who doesn’t know you, someone who endlessly demands, complains, and makes bitter comments. In between, there are moments of normalcy and during those times, love returns in a rush, along with accompanying guilt for the conflicting emotions of the bad times.

This book captures the ebb and flow of human love and emotion exactly. It does not examine it, rather it describes and defines it.

A few stanzas from poems that stood out for me:

“One day says – out of nowhere –
shattering words out of her scattered mind
“You’re still childless? Don’t know why!
I dropped seven!”
From Mom’s DES Baby: The Hardest Pill to Swallow

“Mom, flat and detached
My fear. That she’s gone.
Now for good.”
From Fool’s Gold

“How will she manage
the mysterious passage?
This woman with no memories,

no way to find the path,
recall a friend, her mother,
recognise the welcoming

Angel of Death?”
From Departing from Gate 3

The collection is incredibly revealing and emotional, and exceptional read.

Purchase Three-Penny Memories: A Poetic Memoir by Barbara Harris Leonhard from Amazon US here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0BH99FS2T

About Barbara Harris Leonhard

I’m a retired Instructor of English as a Second Language. Although I have been writing since I was age 8, after retiring in 2017, I have had more time to devote to writing. My WordPress site is extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog. My work appears in online and print literary magazines, journals, and anthologies, and my poetry has won awards and recognition. My debut poetry collection, Three-Penny Memories: A Poetic Memoir (EIF (Experiments in Fiction, 2022), which is about my relationship with my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s, achieved best-seller status on Amazon. Also, on Spillwords, I was voted Author of the Month of October 2021, nominated Author of the Year for 2021, and recognized as a Spillwords Socialite of the Year in 2021. I enjoy bringing writers together and have been sponsoring open mics on Zoom. I live in the Midwest of the United States with my husband, Dierik, and our cat, Jasper. Dierik and I enjoy long drives to the wetlands to count the deer.

You can find out more about poet, Barbara Harris Leonhard, on her blog here: https://extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog/about/

About Robbie Cheadle

Photo of Robbie Cheadle standing in front of trees.

Award-winning, bestselling author, Robbie Cheadle, has published fourteen children’s books and two poetry books. Her work also features in several poetry and short story anthologies.

Robbie also has two novels published under the name of Roberta Eaton Cheadle and has horror, paranormal, and fantasy short stories featured in several anthologies under this name.

The eleven Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.

Robbie and Michael Cheadle have recently launched a new series of children’s books called Southern African Safari Adventures. The first book, Neema the Misfit Giraffe is now available from Amazon.

Robbie’s blog includes recipes, fondant and cake artwork, poetry, and book reviews. https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/


Book Review: In the Shadow of Rainbows

Box of Books Text: Book Reviews

About the Book

In this dazzling debut poetry collection of over 60 carefully selected poems, author Selma Martin points the way to the beauty in the everyday, the shadow of the rainbow, and the silver lining at the edge of every cloud.

Favouring lyrical forms, and revelling in rhymes and musical language, the individual poems in this collection harmonise together in symphonic splendour to form an enlightening and delightful whole.

Purchase Link: https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Rainbows-Collection-Songs-Presence-ebook/dp/B0CB5PLMB6/

My Review

I’m happy to be able to begin 2024 with the review of Selma Martin’s debut poetry collection, In The Shadow of Rainbows. Many of the poems in this special collection have a lyrical feel to them from the poet’s unique style, finding ways to celebrate life and the wonderful things found when you least expect them, lying hidden in the shadows. I received an ARC copy from the author in exchange for an honest review.

I see poems as personal reflections on love, life and nature. They express the unique way that each poet sees the world, and shares them, opening doors for others to view the world in a different way. Poetry can express some amazing things, and make its readers think of things in ways they’ve never before considered. Selma Martin has done just that, opening doors to reveal the hidden world which jumps out and surprises us from the shadows of rainbows.

I truly enjoyed reading through this collection, often going back and rereading poems which resonated with me personally. It is often amazing to view the world through someone else’s eyes, revealing what we might not otherwise see, and this journey offered in Martin’s collection is a truly wonderous one. This delightful collection of lilting, lyrical poetry offers special appreciation for life, love and the world around us.

As with most poetry reviews, the best way to describe the poet’s unique style and perspective is to share some of my favorite selections for my readers to judge for themselves. Because, after all, the poetry speaks for itself better than anything I could say to describe it.

(Martin’s form doesn’t transfer well on WordPress, so I hope I didn’t butcher them too badly.)

Slice of Life

Flanked between two warnings, I live you, planting the light hours with loving acts, for you, for us, for our menage,

and when I meet dusk, filled,

ready for our mingling at the table, where we swap slices of lived moments of the same day, hearts swell replete.

The Lore

Azure and unperturbed is the sky until a little

cloud perches high above me near sunset

I quit my book

glad Cloud stopped for me.

We stare at each other long, me, blanking out toils and troubles, Cloud turning orange and peach until she mauves herself,

Melding with Sky, and follows it.

When I can discern her no more I walk away from my tent-down to the small river that gurgles. I watch it gain speed, and as it snakes into the noble Pacific

I hear her babble me a goodbye.

A salacious wind blows warm air behind my ear but soon disowns me, a moth brushes on my temple and is gone much too soon.

Everyone’s on the move except me- I don’t mind, I have the chant of the river, the bustling of bugs,

puddles of moonlight, silhouetting the beauteous forms of things and best of all, and best of all the seven daughters of Atlas

clustered over me.

What else do I need?

For an Hour

when a colorless day let’s slip a rare irreproachable hour

take it and indulge it for a while sit with it, let it swallow you while

or paint it with shades alluring, dye each section with thoughts of hope

paint your steps from here to the seashore pigment the waves to humor the sun

taint the sun-no wait-don’t paint the sun we need Helios to stay as is

winnow the bulrush color-washed clouds that camouflage Mt. Fuji

and the hawk-just let the hawk be duly, a day will never beam

without bringing you recall

of the sea, laughing with you for an hour

A wonderful way to begin the new year with a lovely collection of poetry. I give In The Shadow of Rainbows five quills.

Five circles with WordCrafter quill logo in each one.

_________________________________________________

Kaye Lynne Booth does honest book reviews on Writing to be Read in exchange for ARCs. Have a book you’d like reviewed? You can request a review here.


WordCrafter Holiday Extravaganza Sale

The WordCrafter Sale of the Year

Did you know that WordCrafter is having a Holiday Extravaganza Sale that includes every book in the entire WordCrafter Press backlist?

That’s right.

And books make great holiday gifts. Treat someone you know or treat yourself this holiday season.

December 1 – 22 every book in the WordCrafter Press back list is at a discounted price. Check it out.

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Treasuring Poetry Special Remembrance Month Edition: Poet, Frank Prem, discusses his war poetry #poetrycommunity #warpoetry #TreasuringPoetry

Today, I am delighted to welcome prolific and masterful poet, Frank Prem, back to Treasuring Poetry. Frank writes incredibly relatable poetry that covers a wide variety of topics relevant to modern life including the bush fires that raged in Australia a few years ago, Devil in the Wind, working as a psychiatric nurse in an institution, The New Asylum: A Memoir of Psychiatry, as well as collections about war. I have read Frank’s beautiful and moving collections about World War 1, Sheep on the Somme, and the war in the Ukraine, From Volyn to Kherson: Interpretations of the War in Ukraine. Frank also writes romantic poetry, interpretive modern poetry and verse books for children. In the nicest way, nothing is safe from Frank’s poetic pen.

Tell us a bit about your war poetry collections

I developed an interest in the First World War many years ago and was particularly interested in the stories of Australian soldiers and their seeming need to volunteer to fight half a world away on the basis of loyalty to the British Empire and the Mother Country that was England, but also on the basis of a kind of chivalric principle. A moral fever that swept the nation.

I came across books that were written in the more modern historical style of telling stories to illustrate events – using the example of an identified soldier, from an identified town, with family details and background, then tracing their movements into the war and its various theatres and actions.

I found I was able to understand these individuals a little better and to empathise with them and their loved ones a little more than I otherwise could.

I also found myself interested in using images for my own poetic inspiration and that led me to the images held by Australia’s War Memorial. There was one image in particular that started me looking at pictures taken during the war. The image was of a white cross in a field of muddy and bloody craters. The cross marked the grave of Captain Ivor Margetts, much loved and respected by the men he led in battle. By the following day the cross and the grave were gone. They’d been blown to hell by the shelling.

I was tremendously moved by this, and as I searched for a version of that particular image online, I encountered many more, each with a poignant story to tell and many were destined to feature in my book Sheep On The Somme (https://www.amazon.com.au/Sheep-Somme-World-Picture-Poetry/dp/1925963144 ).

More recently, I found myself watching the sabre rattling over the Ukraine that was being perpetrated by Russia and was reminded very clearly of reading I’d done long ago about the beginnings of the Spanish Civil War back in the late 1930s and of the rise of Right-Wing Fascism in Europe during that same period of the 1930s. I was struck by the similarities and the ways in which those events and movements evolved into what became World War II. It was – and remains – quite concerning to see these way events continue to unfold.

As the news and pictures of Russia’s military build-up on the Ukraine border kept emerging, along with the seeming inability on the part of Ukraine to do anything to stop it, I watched events more and more closely.

When Ukraine’s borders were finally breached, there were more photographers and journalists on the spot than has ever been the case previously in a conflict. We were flooded with formal and informal news and masses of un-curated and un-censored images.

During the first nine weeks of the conflict I became engrossed in reading the news and studying the images. And – of course – I began to write.

I produced 3 volumes of poetry interpreting the Ukraine war – two of them will not be released because they used images taken by journalists in the field and I don’t have rights to use those images. The volumes (Bullets Into The Starichi Sky and I Call The Hole The War) sit on my private bookshelf here in my writing studio.

The third volume – From Volyn to Kherson – is a collection of poems in which I have attempted to use such talent for empathy as I possess to interpret the news stories I was reading in a way that enabled any of my own readers to get a sense of what the invasion and the conflict was like as an experience for the everyday people of Ukraine. What if it happened here, in my town? What would it be like to have seventy kilometres of armoured assault vehicles coming to surround and destroy my home town? Or yours?

I like readers to know where the inspiration for these writings has come from and so each individual poem is referenced and has a link to the online sources that I relied on in my writing. After nine weeks I was a little burnt out and had to stop writing, but I follow events over there diligently and worry about what I see happening in the wider world and which still so resembles the events of the 1930s.

What draws you to writing about wars?

I’ve encroached a little on this question with my answer above, I think, but I’ll try to elaborate a little more.

In my professional life I was a psychiatric nurse. Back (so many years ago) when I was a student nurse one of the areas of interaction with patients that was taught and stressed was empathy.

As I understood it, empathy was the ability to walk in another person’s shoes. To see things from the perspective of the other person, but not to necessarily sympathise, or accept, merely to understand in order to be able to reflect that understanding back to the patient.

The patients that came my way in psychiatry were invariably involved in and generally overwhelmed by personal chaos. This might have been due to illness, or it might have been due their life being in a mess they could not resolve. They might have been psychotic, depressed, suicidal, or experiencing any number of out-of-control situations.

That tool of empathy has stayed with me, I think, and now reveals itself in my writing. The experience of chaos by a person finds itself being reflected back in my writings.

I think it is in this way that I am attracted to attempt to unravel what a person may be feeling or experiencing in a war zone. Similarly, I find myself writing a lot about the human toll of natural disasters that come close to me or to my little place in the world.

I have always tried to develop my understanding of these things by writing my way through them. To help myself and any subsequent reader to understand by feeling what is happening through my words.

Tell us a bit about how you use photographs and newspaper articles to assist with writing your war poems

With newspaper articles, I try to extract the meat of the story. That part of the article that is the actual purpose – the reason that it is a story in the first place.

Often enough, there is human interest in the genesis of the article. I then allow the information to assemble itself in a way that I can present it to a reader. For example

What is grandmother doing in the kitchen? Is she cooking Sunday lunch? No. She is cooking Molotov cocktails for others to throw at invading vehicles. And . . . wouldn’t you or I, each do the same if this was happening in our back yard?

With an image, I anticipate that it will have a story to tell. I try not to impose myself and my own current thoughts or fears or desires on it, but to allow the story to be whatever comes.

For example, a golden paper daisy with a bright glow might well have a story to tell that reflects light, and the sun. But equally, it might be a harbinger – a prophet of some kind that draws attention to itself in order to be heard. I don’t know in advance what the story will be, but I try to keep myself out of its road and not to shape the narrative too much.

I have come to know, also, that each image will have a different story to tell to each viewer, so to the extent that I can, I try to facilitate a receptive space for that to occur through what I end up writing. I’ll give an example of how I find a story in a tiny image taken during wartime over a hundred years ago.

The image above is the view from inside a German army dugout in World War I – around 1916. It is from within this space that a small group of individuals fought their war.

When I look at this image, I notice a few things and I feel a few things. In no particular order:

  • From pitch darkness up into light. A very small doorway.
  • Claustrophobia.
  • Fear.
  • The smell of habitation. Bodily odours – where would the latrine have been?
  • The knowledge of death and destruction and battle rage just outside
  • Movement of the ground as shells fall outside. Perhaps close.
  • Maybe the sound of enemy troops approaching the bunker to destroy it.
  • What of family. Has this soldier (have I) written them a note to say goodbye?

I don’t have a personal experience of war, but I know what fear feels like. I know claustrophobia and the smells of my own body . . . and so on. I can draw on these to understand a little of what the soldier in the dugout might have felt.

The willingness to engage with these elements that come from the image allow me to engage my empathy and to allow a story – which the image itself contains – to be told.

What is your own favourite war poem?

I think that my personal favourite of my own written war poems is one that hasn’t featured in a book to date, but was written to be read for a spoken-word poetry slam 2 years ago. The criteria were that it needed to be 2 minutes reading time or less and to include the term ‘full circle’.

The poem told stories in word pictures and referenced images, without actually including them, if that makes sense. I have since recorded it for my YouTube channel and included there the images that the poem references, spanning both World War I and the current Ukraine war.

The link to the poem on YouTube is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JI3vRaTg0tI .

The text of the poem is below:

THE TRUTH OF TIME

(AS TOLD BY THE PICTURES)

picture 1

a group

of soldiers

are hanging out

of the doors

and windows

of a moving train

leaving Egypt

heading

to the western front

ready

for a stoush

a bit

of a barney

it’s time

to come to grips

with the enemy

and they’re cherry ripe

for a

blue

picture 2

dimitriy

is holding olga –

tightly –
on the platform

a blue train

is nearly ready to leave

she’ll go

to poland

across the border

dimitriy

will join his friends

in the territorials

a week

to practice

how to hold a rifle

and to learn

first aid

then away

he must forget

to be an accountant

he’s

a front-line fighter

now

picture 3

a heap of rubble –

bricks

and half-bricks

timber and concrete

and dust –

lies as a mound

among mounds

it is

a streetscape

an avenue

of homes

destroyed by artillery

a soldier –

rifle

slung over a shoulder –

picks his way

toward camera

there is nothing left

that might hold

use

or meaning

picture 4

the village near kyiv

is a series

of mounds

rubble

that was homes

and houses

a month or so

ago

a woman

is sifting

searching

for something –

anything

that might

have a use

it’s all been destroyed

by missiles

and artillery

she hasn’t found

a lot

that will be helpful

~

pictures

pictures

they won’t

let me sleep

in the night

they shout at me

that we have come

full circle

and the ukraine

is in 1916 all over again

Who is your favourite war poet?

I can’t honestly say I have a favourite war poet, but I have read with a deep sense of connection stories such as All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque with its empathy for the soldiers of the day. Here is the Wikipedia link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Quiet_on_the_Western_Front .

What is your favourite war poem?

I’m aware of many of the great poet writers of the First World War, such as Owen, Sassoon, Brook and Graves, among others, but for my response to this question I have to refer you and readers to a song that I first encountered back when I was a teenager (50 years, who would ever have thought . . .).

The song was performed by a wonderful English Folk ensemble called Steeleye Span, and the song is called Fighting For Strangers. Here is the YouTube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JI3vRaTg0tI

YouTube Links

In addition to the links given above, I would welcome viewers, new followers (if any so desire) comments and feedback on my YouTube Channel, where there a re a number of video readings from my war poetry collections (and natural disasters and psychiatry and others). Click on the link below to be taken along to the Playlists available on the Channel.

https://www.youtube.com/@frankprempoetandauthor726/playlists

Robbie and readers, thanks so much for having me along to chat for November’s Treasuring Poetry post.

My review of From Volyn to Kherson: Interpretations of the War in Ukraine

This book is a ‘hard’ read. It exposes the realities of war; the filth, the noise, the fear, and the destruction and death. No civilian wants war, it is something that is imposed on individuals because of factors outside of the man on the street’s control. Civilians, however, bear the brunt of war as the women lose their husbands and sons. The entire population generally loses its collectively homes, food stability, economic stability, access to sanitation, food, and healthcare. Many countries and populations never recover from wars and their populations become unwanted refugees. The sympathy of the unaffected world shrinks rapidly when wars and the resultant refugees impacts on their economies, making the slices of the economic pie for their own populations smaller.

The war in Ukraine hit me especially hard when I read about the Russian soldiers who froze to death in their tanks. Although the Russians were the instigators and aggressors in this war, many of those young men are the same ages as my own two sons, and their dreadful fate couldn’t fail to stir compassion. Young men frequently have a glamorous and inaccurate picture of war when they enlist or are called up. The realities of war quickly displace these notions but it is already too late.

A few stirring stanzas from this collection of freestyle poems:

From fallen (quietly weeping)
“here it is safe

safe enough
to shed
a tear”

From the metro (is also home)
“let the fear
fall away
for a moment while
the anthem
sounds”

From vasylkiv (is fighting on)
This footnote made me shiver: “People used to think about new car or iphone, but nobody was thinking about peace. Now, we are dreaming of it. When old people used to wish each other peace, we didn’t understand what they meant. Now we do.”

and finally, from in okhtyrka (the tsentral’ne)
“they are preparing
the cemetery now
in okhtyrka

adriy
and his platoon
are gone

vacuum bombed

air taken
out
of them

and then
they died”

This is a beautiful and emotion book of poems that will change the way you view war forever.

You can find out more about Frank Prem here:

You can find out more about Frank Prem on his website here: https://frankprem.com/

and on his wordpress blog here: https://frankprem.wordpress.com/blog/

On amazon US here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Frank-Prem/author/B07L61HNZ4

About Robbie Cheadle

Photo of Robbie Cheadle standing in front of trees.

Award-winning, bestselling author, Robbie Cheadle, has published fourteen children’s books and two poetry books. Her work also features in several poetry and short story anthologies.

Robbie also has two novels published under the name of Roberta Eaton Cheadle and has horror, paranormal, and fantasy short stories featured in several anthologies under this name.

The eleven Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.

Robbie and Michael Cheadle have recently launched a new series of children’s books called Southern African Safari Adventures. The first book, Neema the Misfit Giraffe is now available from Amazon.

Robbie’s blog includes recipes, fondant and cake artwork, poetry, and book reviews. https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/

You can find example of Robbie Cheadle’s artwork in her art gallery here: https://www.robbiecheadle.co.za/art-gallery/