Categories
Poetry

from my poetry book Love & Vodka

all the parts of me

i did not show you

were the ones

i wanted you

to notice.

 

-perception

 

Categories
Poetry

Book cover reveal

Dear readers.
This is the book cover for my soon to be released poetry book. For everyone that has stuck with me along this publishing to self-publishing ride, all I can say is :I thank you. I curtsy and applaud all writers who self-publish. It’s hard enough to put together a book, let alone publishing it. I pulled my fucking hair out along the way so many times. So many hours of staring at my laptop wondering what the fuck did I do now? For instance, clicking on accept instead of revise and somehow or other led to some scammers and hackers…then my husband took the phone and told them where to stick it as I sat there wondering I thought I was talking to kindlepublishing sales team.

Drink a bit more.

Then praying that my chapbook is formatted properly because I clicked the wrong button. Refusing to pay someone 1,900 dollars to do it for me. How hard could it be?

Hard. Then not so hard.

Now I am doing it all over again. This book is edited and waiting for final print format. Waiting is fine. A relief actually to let others do their thing.

When you trust a publishing company to publish you, when you give them your money, your words, parts of yourself you can’t take back, it hurts when they disappoint you and the writing community. I don’t care about the money I lost, I care about integrity, loyalty. Twenty-four year old bosses who take advantage of poets, who promise them dreams and take them away. I received a paypal amount but no sales report, no termination letter, and on and on how the lies piled up for me and my fellow poets under this company.

It’s never water under the bridge. You just learn to swim because drowning is not an option.

Hence my title, In My Own Flood.

I will keep you posted as to when I publish my full-length poetry book, not much longer now…and I thank you for reading my work.

A huge thank you to Kate Theodosiou for the illustration. My sweet soul sister I have never met.

Best regards,

Chrissy x

 

Categories
Poetry

Chapbook

Hello my dear readers & writers,

I am severing ties with my publishers and hence have to sell my chapbook old school. You can dm me on social media

Facebook, Twitter or Instagram

and I will sign & mail you a copy of my limited edition chapbook.

I appreciate your support for poetry and my work. I never thought I would ever publish my work. I thought my notebooks would just pile up in my closet like old neglected clothes.

This chapbook would not have been possible without your belief in me. I doubt my ability every day and this is my writing process before you.

This chapbook is raw and unedited, a preview of my poetry book. These poems will not be in my poetry book.

Thank you again.

 Chrissy

Categories
Poetry

Excerpt from my chapbook

My chapbook is sold here: http://gold.upstreammerch.com/products/your-ink-on-my-soul-chapbook-by-christina-strigas

And here is an excerpt from my chapbook. I am also doing a book signing in Pointe-Claire at Chapters Indigo on Sunday, April 10th from 11-5 p.m. Starbucks upstairs, so come and meet me.

My poetry book is going to be released in June. All illustrations in my poetry book by Kate Theodosiou.

Follow me on Instagram to win a free signed copy of chapbook. c.strigas_sexyasspoet

Thank you so much for you support & much love.

Categories
Poetry

Footsteps yet taken

I suppose when you think about someone’s life

and its variables

you can make an equation

as to its sum of all matters.

I am not a pianist, or a mathematician,

I do not even claim to be a writer. I feel

inadequate at the most. When I think my

worst work is my best, I still

close my eyes. I listen to

instrumental music to block

out all lyrics, all of his poems

that keep me grounded. He says

I am everything and nothing

in the same sentence.  I can

turn to dust on all the footsteps

yet taken. Turn around from the

walk on the beach

and enter the snowstorm of the

year. Play you a song you will

never forget. Write you a poem

you will read over again.

Not from a book, or a blog,

but from my heart.

The ones that make you

think more than you ever

wanted to. The poem that

blends into the next.

The one that refers to the

same person you never

forget.

All these paths

lead me to the same

entrance.

Categories
poetry

Freedom

I wrote it on the beach

while staring at the ocean

but forgot to send it

deleted it somehow

and poetry faded into

the sand under my feet.

I hear what you say

but I’m nodding at the sky

it’s talking to me

so be silent.

listen. i told you to

stare and you did,

listening to the wind

and how the earth moved

with the clouds.

You breathe deeply.

she was the one

who never got

away from your thoughts

and she was the one

that reminded you

of me. no spells

required. it was

word play. tricks

that poets perform

on cue. i trust no one

but my lover

who knows every

mole on my skin.

every beach is different

yet the same,

and every man is you

and every woman

is me.

That freedom of

saying you’re mine

or I’m yours

or other lovely phrases

that confuse the horizon

are Purolator express

packages of signed poems

I sent to Pakistan, London,

Lebanon, and other exotic

places that poets meet.

Remember how we ruled

the scene with teased hair

and duMaurier cigs

no line ups, no hash tags,

no texts, no pictures?

You just wanted to

get next to me.

That was all

that mattered.

Now everything matters.

My shoes, my hair,

my fake promises.

Yet you see nothing

but what you

have always seen

and that is one

of the myriad ways

that I love you

in every song.

Categories
poetry

June second

the lights are red, but i want to go up

into the sky. drive right through

the pink and purple all night long.

this is my porn. you text me

your naughty, i’ll dream

in the fucking clouds. it’s june

second, two thousand and fifteen,

remember the 80’s? i relive them.

another full moon? do you

really care all that much? stop

howling. i feel it in every cell.

you’re fucked up.

I think my imagination

is so wild

even you

would run away.

but, you stay, you

make me believe

that the sunset

was a masterpiece

and the darkness

its palette.

the moon controls us

like love, we’re

helpless

to its pulling effect.

catch me tonight at

nine pm…its’ my son’s

award ceremony,

but i’ll still be falling

from the sky.

don’t forget to look up

and extend your arms,

even if you don’t see me.

Categories
Poems poetry Some of my poems

Watching Anna Karenina

When that empty breeze
brings upon memories
of how your kisses tasted so sweet
your arms around my neck
gently lifting me
the white love surrounding
us on the green grass
and how I bit your lip
in ecstasy
and teased you
until the fights turned
into mad sex
meeting lovers in corridors
behind screens
and how love stands alone
blocks cages and church icons
as anger is the new breed
of communication
while you look down my blouse
hard for me
wanting all of me
my insides filled with only you
if I could give you more of me
I would
but I am stuck
somewhere between who I was
and who I want to be
for I am on that unpredictable wave
forecast is fluctuating
my insides are tortured
with common folk
but your eyes
oh those fucking eyes
how they see through every piece
of me
that I toss and shed off
like my clothes
naked.

You can undress me
without a touch
love me
until we speak no more
of this
or silence me
with no words
that make me search for my own.

It is how you pursue me
without wanting to
battling yourself
me
Us
Them
Him
Her.

It is the death of us that preoccupies my mind rather than the birth.
One can die from a broken heart
and princesses and princes
are not immune
to clutching their heart
in torment.
No one can truly
forgive
betrayal.

I watch your strong back
as I leave you
no other choice
but to say goodbye
to the woman you
kissed on that fall day
and who loved you
with all her breath.

Categories
poetry Some of my poems

Needs

Words need an exit
for writers.
Readers need
an entrance.
Some poems are meant
to be read aloud
lying naked in bed
drinking up each other’s
words.
Inhaling and exhaling words
skipping meals
poets are meant to look
into each other’s eyes
with no sunglasses
no lies.

Eliminate your disguise
and melt with me
onto the sheets
disappear on a break
run from the calls.
Sleeping in another galaxy.
Montreal is perfect
for summer acts
of love
and Art
Poetry
Music
Now I’ve emptied out my mind
replaced it with your poses.
You could have been
a model
but really
I could not care less
if your eyes were purple
For it is your one thousand year
old soul that speaks
to me
and recognizes our memories.
It could not have been
one mere lifetime
But many.
So many I refuse to breathe.
Disappearing behind
my typewriter
to recall
and write my stories.