Poignant, passionate poetry book review of FLASHES & VERSES…BECOMING ATTRACTIONS by Adrian Ernesto Cepeda

Adrian Ernesto Cepeda’s poetry book Flashes & Verses…Becoming Attractions is a book that took me into a world of pop culture, passion, erotic love, pop icons, and Latin love. I enjoyed this collection, this array of poems that narrates diverse stories of common themes; namely, how love, romance, and ideology affects our daily struggles.

Cepeda’s romantic language and images leave you wanting more and more. This is a poignant, passionate, poetry book that is long overdue. If you love to read Neruda, this is the book for you. From rock to the brat pack, to pop music, music is a theme throughout the book. Cepeda has many muses, but you can tell the heart of this book lies in the spiritual connection the poet has with human beings, whether they are pop icons or his first lover, the attractions are the love and bond of human emotion and desire.

“We Couldn’t Even Afford To Go Inside” is one of my favorite’s in the book. A poem about an old lover, a connection that is hard to replace or feel again, a nostalgia of a past love affair. I folded way too many pages in the book, but a few more of my favorites: the sexy “Hotel Room,” “She Pours Me with Her Eyes,” “Book Like My Woman,” and of course the ode to Jim, “Stoned Immaculate: Jim Morrison Lies Here.”

Adrian Ernesto Cepeda’s poetry has been featured in over one-hundred different publications. One of his poems was named the winner of Subterranean Blue Poetry’s 2016 “The Children of Orpheus” Anthology Contest and two of his poems, “Buzz Me” and “Estranged Fruit” were nominated for Best of the Net in 2015 and 2016. You can connect with Adrian on his website:  click here to visit his website

You can purchase his book here and other bookstores:Flashes & Verses…Becoming Attractions published by Unsolicited Press

Adrian can be found on Twiter @PoetNotRockStar

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Drowning in Carnations

You said write a poem

about New York moments

we almost had in our arms.

I ignore you

only focus on the times

we had;

the walk hand in hand on Ste-Catherine street

the xmas gifts I gave you

in April—

you forget everything I remember,

that is how memory prevails

I could never be true to you.

I apologize for the past,

present, and dead future.

I apologize for being cruel

for changing when you could not.

You were not who I thought you were,

I wasn’t who you wanted me to be.

Bitterness is not changing

aging is ice skating on my dreams.

I held back

this is why I am not in muddy love.

I gave you corner bits

you wanted me whole.

I apologize for not loving you,

when I said I did.

At the time I felt love.

I am not a global liar.

I was drowning in red

carnations,

the smell suffocating me.

I wanted to melt in your arms

instead I was alone again

amongst five day old flowers

and a fake necklace story.

#januaryfalls18

Les Enfants Terrible

http://www.femininecollective.com/les-enfants-terribles/?utm_campaign=crowdfire&utm_content=crowdfire&utm_medium=social&utm_source=social#2195478619-tw#1497834079543#2195478619-tw#1497834330095

 

Hello everyone,

 

Excited to share a new poem with you. Click on link above. I am also excited to announce that I will be a new member of SD, (Sudden Denouement) a first rate literary collective.

 

Much love and gratitude,

Christina Strigas

 

 

Never Tell

I can never tell who loves me anymore

they like to rehash old shit

from five years ago

when I wasn’t the same person.

They like to pretend they know me

because they read my poems.

I can never tell who needs me anymore

they live their own life

without calling me

or texting me a simple hello.

I can never tell who wants me anymore

they don’t say “i want you”

they ignore me

and make me feel useless

and hated.

I can never tell the time anymore

it keeps on making my future

unattainable.

I am losing my witching powers

and becoming too normal

I dislike people

and only want them one on one.

Groups are killing my spirit

eating up my leftovers

and wiping their mouth

with glee

at my destruction.

I just can’t tell anymore

if love

is real.

Stay beautiful and strong

Featured Image -- 6242Stay beautiful and strong

when others try to break

your soul, it’s not you

they want, it’s your beauty and art.

Some people create friendships

to bully you, steal your man,

betray your wife. Some people

want to catch you weak

and vulnerable to spread it

on the evening news. The

only way to love is by blocking off

negative energy

focus on your art.

People will either love you

or hate you

and if you are really talented

if you have a gift

they hate you even more.

It’s too easy to kill a spirit these days

with group chats instead of mobs

with tweets instead of telephone wires.

It is as if people have lost the ability

to be compassionate

and only care for attention

seeking out the evil

perpetuating hatred

jealousy through harassment.

The sad part is most of these

people I have witnessed doing this

are women. If you want to get your

power back, this is not the way

to do it. It sickens me. And for this

my heart gets broken

I feel too much and I would rather

not.

International Women’s Day

To the beautiful women who I read and who inspire me daily, thank you. I admire your strength through words and images. Celebrate being a woman and surround yourself with people who love you and encourage you. Kick toxicity out. Bring in love and acceptance.

If you know anything about me then you know that I read and write daily. I find the poets who I have read for decades are always the ones who inspire me, but some modern poets are breaking through into my heart. I am picky and critical when it comes to poetry, I am in love with the ideals behind it and less with the stigma of it. I have discovered some phenomenal women poets who have inspired me lately, Sharon Olds, Joumana Haddad, Mary Oliver, Dorothea Lasky, Clementine Von Radics, Sarah Howe, Lang Leav, Natasha Head, Warsan Shire, Sarah Kay, Yrsa Daley-Ward, Amber Tamblyn, Melissa Bull, Julie Bruck, April Green, Rupi Kaur, to name a few whose poetry books I connected with on a humane and spiritual level.

Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment as to the women who inspire you.

Sunday Musings

I woke up to write

before the coffee, the sunrise

it was words that fancied my skin

to forget my dream the moment my eyes opened.

What is it that makes you want a woman like me?

Your list is long

and everything you say

makes me reevaluate my life as if it were a spreadsheet.

I know you only want to use your knees to spread my legs

my arms

across yours. It is what I want.  I really do admire

how you are so quick to the point.

You do not miss a song, I know I hate to text

and read way too much. I am quiet and methodic

concentrate on the typewriter as if it loved me back.

How could we be here?

People dying from cancer, heart attacks,

and I’m aching for you. It is not a myth,

or a legend, it is how my heart wants

to be pressed up close next to yours

with no fabric between.

I am not anyone special, trust me.

If you lived with me, you would see

so best to elevate my status by

being silent of all my defaults

eliminate my errors

by not telling you anything

more. I will keep it for my poems

my books, my next life.

This is what writers do,

we beat ourselves up with words.

The difference between us

is distance

yet all the words

you refuse to share with me

I know them already.

 

 

 

 

November sun

I waited in line

to buy a frying pan

two notebooks

four journals

and organic chips.

I go places but get distracted

with all the things I don’t need.

You would think all the women

behind me

were having their nineteeth

nervous breakdown. No, this

is how the world looks at eleven

o’clock in the morning at Homesense.

The unhappy line

although I was pretty focused

for five minutes. I did what I

had to do. It feels as if a

Parallel Universe, yes the Mandela

effect, is here. Global warming

is at hand. Trump is President

and everything is possible

in A-M-E-r-i-ca

even reality hosts

can rule the world.

My worries are meaningless

my anxiety slapped me again

on highway thirteen.

Apple store is a drug that lures

you in and eats your soul.

Yet this November sun

has a way of warming me up

like the thought of you does.

You are in my poem now

you are in my phone,

even when I close it

you still exist.

I learned to detach again

to not give everything I got

in sixty seconds. I will sit

back and stop reflecting.

I promise to enjoy the

rays you

send my way.

I promise to be honest.

I try to understand

why years later

you still want me.