Book Review of “Abandoned Breaths Poetry, Quotes, and Poetic Prose” by Alfa

Alfa’s first book of poetry is a treasure. A collection of poems, quotes and prose that are filled with maturity and experience. This is what makes Alfa’s poems so relatable, the fact that her words are full of knowledge and experience. A wise poet passing on advice on how to fall in and out of love. Her writing is natural and effortless.
Alfa need only go by one name, like Madonna, because she has superpowers in her diction. Alfa describes love, heartbreak, sorrow, loss and healing all in one poem. This is her gift; how she can combine all these emotions and feelings in one quote or line. There is a plethora of quotes in “Abandoned Breaths” that are perhaps familiar if you follow her on social media. This familiarity in Alfa’s writing is what makes her work so authentic. Her soul, her poetry, her quotes, are essentially her “superpowers” which she portrays with a tactful grace.

“Never make the mistake

of thinking a quiet soul

is an empty one.”

This quote is a popular one of hers that we can find on her social media pages. Evdience of this is how her words are tattooed on people’s skin.

I especially like the longer pieces that are full of soul-searching. Every page is a storm full of words. Let her rain soak you.

I had the pleasure of also editing this book and being part of the production, but last week I sat with it and read it as a reader. I held on to it for a few days and read some passages over and over. I never close the door to poems. I feel that Alfa’s book is one that I will read to help me in times of need. No fluff here.

“Abandoned Breaths” is an honest and inspiring book that can reach out to millions over any type of sorrow or loss they may experience.
Alfa has a universal way of touching your soul through her simple and direct words that make a lasting impression. I would highly recommend this debut poetry book. It is a gem. Check our her blog and other sites below for yourself.
Social Media:

http://www.alfapoet.com

http://www.facebook.com/alfawrites

http://www.instagram.com/alfa.poet

Twitter:@alfa_poet
Her book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/099805030X/ref=olp_product_details?_encoding=UTF8&me=

Ageless

I know that age matters not

right now, but then it did.

It mattered when we raced against

the wind. I was just a babe in your arms.

You were a man even as a teenager.

You had this way of bringing me love

on a tray, and spoiling me until

I was full on your love. I had it

all, for a brief time. I showed you

my cuts and bruises

and you kissed them. Your lips

on my shoulders within seconds.

My hands unbuckling your belt

in such a frantic youthful way

in an ageless time

between this world and the next.

Let’s remember where we were

and lament the age of us.

It matters that you see past

the girl. We felt invincible

and will never know that freedom

again, that youthful love we held

onto so naurally.

real life

it takes a toll on you

to wake up

and make breakfast

carry on like nothing

has changed you.

you’re supposed to be the same

person you were yesterday.

but so much can change in a day

and altar your world

into a new dimension.

the one you never imagined

you would be on.

real life can be an illusion

and a denial up until

it weaves its way into

your world and captures

you in its net. you’re caught

now. you can’t shake your legs

or arms. you’re stuck

to swim on earth

or drown in hell. or both.

poets think they know

everything with all the

chips on their shoulders

wearing them down. they

know absolutely nothing.

they live in dreams. real

life is just another

way of killing you slowly

without knives.

In the Middle

Once I was at the end of the love song

crying for years because it was over

before it even began. We were caught

loving the wrong person. I immersed

from my drowning and swam to the

beginning of the line. I sailed across

your poems and floated on your words.

You sent them to me by mail, on out-

dated postcards, you wrote them on

the back of my hand with your

fingertips. I sent you magic and

illusions with one needle on your

arm. We lived in a movie and

recited Shakespeare naked in bed.

You were not even close to being

who I thought you were. I was

too much for you to handle back

then, wanting to do everything

and doing absolutely nothing

about it. I climbed Mont-Royal

in heels and you laughed at

my absurdities. I was spontaneous

and explosive, until I wasn’t anymore.

I bent backwards on words

and the power of your hands.

Now I’m in the middle of something

that will change me forever.

I will never bet that girl again.

I have to be someone I thought

I would never be. Life throws you

these wicked curveballs

and I am catching them,

ready to be stuck here

hoping that it will not get

worse. All this hope

for songwriters and poets

but for a regular woman like me

it’s a waste of my time.

Forget

It does not matter who forgets who

or who lives in the past.  The moment

is all we have, switching gears to

satisfy our needs. I left my heart in

the parking lot, it happened so quickly

did not even know I was going to quit you.

I meant for us to last like that movie

twenty years of longing and never having.

I meant for us to be together in my head

not in real life. It can never be, so why

risk my sanity? I spent so many days

in the hospital, I know one day I will

ask for help. I hope you answer my call.

I hope when you see my name on your

phone, you won’t get scared of the truth.

I have these knots in my stomach

my heart, sometimes I can’t even orgasm

because I’m blocked, stuffed up on life

bleeding sinus pills. I wipe your scent

off of me, when all I want to do is inhale it.

You want someone else

I can never be her

I have known no one but you

and this is what heartache tastes like

at nine fifteen in the morning,

I have to run

to another life

but one last hug

you forgot my present again

and I am coming to believe

I am the only one who gives

again and again.

This is what I am made of

a lifetime of silence

spurting forth words

for you to read.

Book Review of “Only You” by David Wesley Anderson

     Only You is a poetry book that feels as if there is no beginning or end; one poem flows into another. David Wesley Anderson writes without titles or punctuation. He laments and describes a fiery love affair.
The theme conveyed in this book is one of feeling of feeling at peace, spiritually, emotionally and sexually in unison with one’s partner. The poet describes orgasms and sexual pleasure with details and by explicit memory. At times, the poems feel choppy without the punctuation, but the desire and the passion illustrated between the lovers is undeniable.O
It feels as if I you are reading a love affair come alive.
In this passage, we can see how Anderson portrays the need of wanting someone, but also the resistance entailed.
“I know the way

to your door

but you keep

changing the fabric

of the lock”
There are some brilliant lines among these poems, but the fact that the poems have no endings and they continue from one page to another makes it for a harder read due to the fact that you don’t know where to pause or take a break.
There are numerous passages that illustrate how erotic Anderson’s poetry can get as well as evoking sexual prowess.
The middle section of the book is an erotic tale, filled with sex scenes, fantasy and magic connections. It is how lovers explore each other’s bodies in a sexual, longing manner; being a fantasy lover in a primal sexual instinct,
“That pervasive need

to be wanted

beneath you

and that unrelenting

tide rocking me

into an escape

where colours shift

and eyes glide.”
Lust takes over the remaining end of the book, as Anderson depicts two naked bodies glistening with want and desire. He describes a deep, spiritual and sexual connection. The lovers tell each other they will explore their bodies and give pleasure. Red is a constant color that runs as a theme throughout the poetry book, red lips, etc.
“Let us run babe

and trip into the

eyes of our sun

where we mix

and melt in flames

sparkling red we

dare to fall further

into each other now

sometimes i long to

be spread out by you

to be torn inch by red

inch through fingers.”
The poems in Only You are centred in the middle of the page and some of the poems have the illusion of a naked woman’s torso and hips. It is visually beautiful to see how the words transform into a body and pleasant to read in this creative manner of writing.
It feels as if I am reading an epic love poem. The book ends on this sexual high that only lovers feel.
Only You is unique in its layout and reads quickly and easily. If you want to check out David Wesley Anderson’s Social media links and purchase his book please click below.
David (D. Wesley A.) is a self proclaimed micro poet finding rhyme and reason within 140 characters. His themes revolve around love and their impact on the intimacy of both the individual and couple. He has published three chapbooks and two full length books of micro poetry. He is currently working on a third book to be released soon. He lives currently in New York City.
dwesleya.com

https://www.facebook.com/dwesleya/

https://www.instagram.com/dwesleyanderson/
https://www.amazon.ca/Only-You-David-Wesley-Anderson/dp/1541297091/ref=sr_1_1?tag=geolinkerca-20&s=books

GNO

Vodka, champagne

ice bucket,

free drinks on the house

because

we know the club owner. This

is his wife, we are her

privileged friends. We drink

and eat for free and pretend

we mean something

to no one.

Girls, girls, girls,

on fire, out to impress

each other with

shoes and a purse

and nothing to say.

It was q & a for me

“What do I think of a thousand dollar

pair of shoes?”

I had so much to say

and no one who cared to listen

and a few “she’s a writer”

so hence the nods

at my philosophy of designer

shoes and purse

and where is the value

in that? to look good

and panic that someone

stepped on you or spilled their

drink and the world has to stop

because they are alive.

I am ready for the exit

but first I need a few more drinks

to discuss how I prefer to spend

a thousand bucks on books

and you won’t catch me dead

in those

the only way is to buy them for

me

so I told them my stories of how

I feel when I walk

when I talk

and who knew that jealousy

is so ingrained in some souls

that they hate me first

and then such love and compliments

that fakery fuckery has arrived to visit again.

Oh, yes, who cares my phone cracked

life is beautiful, the lights are purple

the women are complimenting each other

and then whispering the truth.

On the drive home, my friend turns

to me and says,

“you’re just an oddity

no one understands

or gets you

so don’t get angry

because they just don’t.

I’ve known you for years

and I get it

but that girl who said

she knew you but never met you

she knew where you lived

she knew all about you

and you, shaking her hands

nice to meet you.

She said, nice to finally meet you.”

I swear the night just got weirder

and stranger

couldn’t wait to get the fuck

out and stop defending

my philosophy

my Nine West shoes

my vegan food

my new hair

my books

my poems

my art

I need to seriously be drunk

to face society girls.

 

 

 

 

Misunderstanding

I have to take off my bracelets to love you

but I keep my ring

to remind me of all the misunderstandings

in modern love and romance. First

one is the texting,

then the replies

then the emojis

the silence.

Then the waiting around

to be misunderstood while

waiting in grocery lines

and examining faces

lines, reactions.

Smiling at strangers

in real life, on the internet,

in the cafe line.

I am sick of it all.

I would rather lie

down and masturbate.

I want to be sad

over all the times

you never made love to me.

This hole in my heart

is what keeps me going.

I need it

to write.

I love my randomness

and your demands.

I live for the music

the dream

the petals.

No one can control me either,

trust me,

but I always come back

I never leave

I’m not the type

to leave the walls up for long

and what I love about you

is that you

are exactly like me

and yet

not like me at all.

Dichotomy of love

of sex,

it’s eros.

I love you for never giving up

on all the misunderstandings

just driving on and on

and even when you are angry

you tell me

and again I fall in love

with you.