black coffee and philosophy

My black coffee is warm, the sun is peeking.

It said 7:02. I don’t understand

how phones can answer most of my questions

except the philosophical ones of how you can

be one person with two eyes

and another with an eye in the middle. It seems

most men are like this, it’s not a surprise.

I learned it from young, but the hope keeps

rising like your hardness. I wished I never

saw you now. I wished I never knew you now.

I thought you were someone else, excuse me.

I thought you spoke my language, you never

did. You researched me, googled me, and

made my name too large in print. It’s just a

name. I’m no one special. You’re the radiohead

song.

I think I see you everywhere, but

the truth is, all these thoughts are pointless.

My coffee is still warm and my libido

is still alive. I’m baking lemon cakes

now, I’m wearing no underwear.

I’m mentally ill now, I’m going crazy.

Aren’t you happy for me? I may even

try to kill myself for you. Wouldn’t

you love to have a trophy of all

of us? Lined up and direct

in reality

telling you how we are all so crazy,

so nuts–

to for have fallen for you.

don’t bother

to call me, I blocked your number,

don’t bother to search for me, I left your city,

don’t bother to want me, move onto the one from Ottawa,

she’s closer to home. Don’t bother to create new blogs

to scare me, it only makes me think you’re insane.

Don’t bother to come here, my city is dead.

Don’t bother to pretend, I see through your

disguise. Don’t bother to text me, I delete

and forget. Don’t bother to read me, it’s old

trauma news. you need a new fix, a new

supply and I’m so cold now. it’s like i’m

dead, i’m not even breathing. you knew

me once, don’t bother to bring up the past,

i’ve dug a whole in the train tracks.

isn’t it better this way? i can read books

i can leave my phone under a car seat

i can stop caring, looking, being your drug

you so easily replace me, from the one one before,

after, and now. it’s the present. you better

make your move, message her, tell her

all the lies, trap her, entice her, do

your dirty deeds, it’s the only way. i can’t wait

to be forgotten. please forget me.

don’t bother to find me. i’m in a new life.

Nothing

In death

people don’t disappear

they brighten up and write poems

on the other side of the sky

wait for you to decipher

their lines.

They bury the flowers

you planted and eat your leftover soup

even if living with the dead was hard

their life in your hands

is as comparable

as empty hands and brick walls.

Anais Nin

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.

-Anais Nin

Born on this day in 1903.

She is and will always be one of my favourite writers. Her journals are brilliant. She makes me feel as if I am not alone as an artist and a woman.

Celebrate #feminism and being a writer.

Thank you for all your support and encouragement.

I took this photo last week when I was swanky.

#selfie for @jwprebich @authordkollat @dstudioarts @catederham

Thanks for tags.

Tagging you to show me your favourite quote.

#quoteoftheday #anaisnin #anaisninquotes #christinastrigas #poetry #journalwriting

From my Instagram post

https://instagram.com/p/BfeyzpulN2_/

The Wanting by Christina Strigas (a book excerpt)

My book is in our https://museithotpublishing.com estore. Here’s the excerpt:

Who was that girl Miss Moss was talking to five years ago? Every time I wanted to ask Miss Moss about her, something stopped me; my shyness? No. It was probably the ridiculous idea of pining over some girl I’d seen for a mere few seconds, and felt like an idiot to ask about her. Miss Moss would probably look at me as if to say, Are you serious? It took you five years to ask? Besides, I did have a few girlfriends during these past five years, so to ask about some other woman—someone I’d caught only a glimpse of—would have seemed so preposterous.

I’d forgotten about her for a while, until recently. I guess the lack of meeting anyone worthwhile always brought me back to her, that beautiful girl who had taken my breath away. I’d never looked at a girl like that before. In those few seconds, I saw the possibilities but did nothing about it. Heat enveloped my body the moment my gaze met hers, this insatiable thirst to have her and to feel her close to me.

I’ve played out several scenarios in my head on how that could have actually happened:

Scenario Number One:

“Excuse me for interrupting, but can I ask you a question?”

She looks at me and responds, “Sure.” Then she looks at Miss Moss and says, “Excuse me, will you?”

Miss Moss nods.

“Yes?” her lovely voice sings to me.

“I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you are. What’s your name?” She would be Aphrodite, or Belinda, or Cassandra, or Samantha or…

“Jasmine.”

“I’m Teddy. Can I have your number? I would love to take you out on a date.”

She gives me a dazzling smile and recites her phone number. I memorize it. No need to write it down. No need to type it into my phone. It would be engraved on my heart forever. “Don’t you want to write it down?”

“I have a great memory.”

She grins and then excuses herself to go back to her conversation with Miss Moss, who is standing by calmly.

Scenario Number Two:

She grabs my arm. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” she says with a smile.

“I can be anyone you want me to be,” I reply, smiling back.

She laughs, stepping away from Miss Moss, who seems to understand the seriousness of this first meeting and leaves us alone.

All the sounds of the day disappear as I look into her light violet eyes and study her cute button nose and full lower lip. Her brown hair blows wildly in the wind, and she has no reply. She stares at me and then asks, “Did you go to this high school?”

“No, I’m a teacher here. Actually, it’s my first day.”

“Oh! That’s great.”

“What’s your name?”

“Naomi,” she says in a sexy voice. “You?”

“I’m Theodore, but everyone calls me Teddy.”

Her gaze shifts slowly to give my body a thorough look-over. I try to make out the image of a woman’s profile on her grey shirt. Naomi’s leggings outline the shape of her legs. Her heavy eyeliner adds to her beauty, and my thought is lost in hers. My eyes travel from top to bottom. She’s wearing tan-colour booties. Her outfit is well coordinated.

“Can I call you sometime?” I ask.

Of course, the scenario ends with me memorizing her number, but even in this one, I still have no clue why she was at that spot at that precise moment.

Scenario Number Three:

As I stop walking, she stops talking. My smile reaches her and she reciprocates. I bravely walk up to her. Miss Moss remains still, glancing from me to her.

“Hi,” I say to Miss Moss, not remembering her name. I continue smiling at the girl.

“You’re a new teacher here, aren’t you?” Miss Moss asks. “I saw you at the staff meeting, but we haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Arianne.”

“I’m Theodore Neros.”

Throughout this exchange, she remains quiet.

Miss Moss looks at both of us again. “Theodore, this is Katrina, your soul mate.” Arianne smiles. “I have to go,” she says to Katrina, and then whispers something in her ear.

I turn to Katrina and say, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replies in a sweet voice. “What is she talking about? Soul mate…? Where did she get that idea?”

“I have no clue, but can I have your number so we can find out?” I quickly ask. She looks at me for a split second, and I don’t know if she’ll say yes or no, so I add, “I would love to take you out on a date.”

She looks shy, and then responds, “Okay.”

Pulling out a piece of paper and a pen from her purse, she writes it down before I can memorize it. I take it and hold on to it tightly.

“I have to catch my bus,” she says and begins to quickly walk away.

“I’ll call you,” I shout after her, and we wave good-bye to each other.

And that is the beginning of the affair.

Ariel Poets on Twitter

Ariel Poets is a Twitter Poetry and writing account that was created by Alexandra Meehan and myself. We run the account and help writers and poets around the world by inspiring them with our tweets. Twitter has sone phenomenal poets and writers. We have writing prompts that we are featuring on a monthly basis. Use the hashtag #arielpoets and write a poem about betrayal. For the month of January, betrayal is the theme. Follow us on Twitter @ArielPoets to read our daily inspirational writing tweets. Our inspirations are Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton.

This tweet on Ariel Poets is our most popular one yet. Take a look https

https://twitter.com/arielpoets/status/918067714769457152?ref_src=twcamp%5Eshare%7Ctwsrc%5Eios%7Ctwgr%5Ecom.apple.mobilenotes.SharingExtension

You can also find Ariel Poets on Instagram.

Take a look at what we are doing there too.

Thank you,

If

If the water on the windowsill

could be your molecules

they would give me a paper

to smell

a pen to place safely away

near my utensils

think of me when it rains

how the droplets

become you and me

falling from the sky

like bullets on a battlefield

like trees in the rainforest

sometimes still

most times turbulent

aged and chopped

preserved and honoured.
From “Love & Vodka”

All my books are available at all on-line bookstores, Amazon, Barnes & Nobles, etc. Thank you for reading & your support.💞


💙💙💙

5 tips for Editing Poetry Books

I have recently edited a few poetry books for fellow poets. I find that most poets, find it hard to edit their own poems and a second opinion is sometimes necessary to get out of their own head. I must admit that I never hired a poetry editor for my three poetry books, but I had a particular vision and look that I knew I wanted for my poems.

If you are looking for a poetry editor or you are editing your poems yourself here are 5 tips that worked for me and how I go about editing poetry books.

  1. After every draft, you should put your manuscript away for over two weeks and clear your mind. As many times as you go through your manuscript, is as many times you must put it aside. This ensures that you start fresh every time and believe me, every time you read it, you will find something that you need to correct or revise. Do this up until there is nothing left to rewrite. Do not settle until you feel your book is done. Eventually, you will know.
  2. You can divide your poetry book into sections or parts with titles so that it flows for the reader. Also, a table of contents with the list of poems at the beginning of the book is always helpful to quickly find a poem. Lately, some poets are not using any titles or table of contents…if you choose to do so, make sure that you divide your book into sections such as loss, healing, love, death, etc. so that there is some kind of order. There are not many rules in poetry and anything may go for certain poets, but in my experience, the books that have no titles or breaks are hard to read and difficult to distinguish one poem from the next.
  3. Every poetry book needs a Copyright page, a Dedication page, Acknowledgements page, at the beginning of the book and an About the Author Page at the end of the book. Number your pages. Look at the poetry books in your library and see how the professionals do it.
  4. Format, font and presentation are an integral part of a poetry book. Pay an expert to create your file in pdf with the appropriate poetic fonts and alignments. Equally, cover art and a blurb brings the book together as a whole.
  5. Make sure the poetry editor you hire has experience, knowledge and a grasp of poetic terms.

Good luck in the editing process, this is the hardest part of writing. As Ernest Hemingway wrote, ” The first draft of everything is shit.”