Woodnotes

Last night I fell asleep

before you came home.

I dragged the dog out for a walk

but he hates the cold as much as I do.

He pissed all over the kitchen floor,

he despises being alone.

He ate snacks before bedtime

wallowing in loneliness.

You wanted to have sex

while I had creative writing on my mind.

My blue journal sprawled between

my thighs,

I want my head there, you said.

My pens took precedence

Patience was playing from my phone

I ignored you. I fought your lights.

You take it personal, but I’m a writer

and you know that I can’t interrupt

my flow. Sex came and went,

making love is for another lifetime.

I took the kids out for dinner

ate avocado rolls

veggie burgers

St.Louisbourg burger

with onion rings.

I said, it’s hard to be an artist

to be in a relationship,

I am preparing them

for the heartache, but it’s

Too late.

If the one you’re with

does not understand what a woodnote is

or what defines you.

It’s a natural musical tone

or the song of

some bird

no one cares about trees

nature is becoming extinct.

The young and old have their heads

filled with useless information

school shootings

young wolves writing poems

academia taking the back seat

poets knocking on your door

I am locked in;

dead children

another statistic.

Here we are sleeping together

never at the same time

chaos in our fear.

Writing prompt: word: Woodnotes

#februaryfalls18

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

My Young Heart

 

It has no age
it feels as if you
grew ice in your heart
a magician constructing homes
out of broken hearts.

You wanted to love the parts
of me that no one knew existed.
It is hard to live
in a hidden world.
I never understood how
graveyards worked.
You could have killed me
with all the love and romance
as if teenagers had nothing
on us.

I wanted to know why
but these questions
are never answered.
I suppose wanting someone
with a heart
that matched mine
was too much to ask for
and I know that now.

See how my young heart
has no wrinkles?

See how my young heart
professed my love
to you? And all you did
was nothing.

You accepted it
and never gave me yours.

My young heart aged
and now it needs
a kind of love
only strange girls like me
require.

I can never go home now
it does not exist anymore.
All the furniture is gone
all the memories are packed
in used boxes with labels
of time and place
that I will not even look at again.

Erase my young heart.

Let it break over and over
as it is accustomed to doing.

A punch drunk poet: Book Review of Stupid Flowers by Brice Maiurro

IMG_42595 out of 5 stars.

I have to say receiving a signed copy of this book in the mail was a real treat. I loved it from the first page and the first look. I know when a poetry book will be one of my favourites or not, by the feel, look and glancing at a few poems,  I instantly knew this one would be one of them. Brice Maiurro’s debut poetry book, Stupid Flowers is a poetry book with a certain rawness to it that I could relate to.

Brice Maiurro brings in actual events, whether true or not, and combines them in every day poetry. Written in lowercase and with unusual witty titles each poem stands out for its own quirky themes. Titles such as, “Talking to God Over Shitty Coffee at Denny’s” make you smile and by the end of the poem, make you reflect on life, destiny and society as well as church. Maiurro has a way of stirring the poetry pot with the important ingredients floating on top and the mundane sinking to the bottom. In the poem “3015 Kamia” there is a section that I read over and over again.

“i’ve been taught to look at the mountains

the sky the trees the murals on the sides of buildings

but you reminded me how god hides

in the places you’d least expect to see her”

What I adore about these four lines is how poetry, the way it is supposed to be written, should not tell you what the poem is about, but should hint and leave it open-ended. First off, he compares man made art, such as murals, to the sky and in doing this he includes the concrete with the abstract, to emphasize his point of beauty and attraction is not limited to nature, as most poets feel; in essence, we see it as we drive or walk in the city. Murals are an oddity, because people do stare and love art on walls; the grandiose and mystery of it, the colours and the talent, this alongside god being a woman, is a poem that leaves you in a reflective mood.

Each poem and use of stream of consciousness leaves you to interpret this poetry book with all its implications. Poetry is ambiguous, this is what most people find hard to understand about poetry. By leaving some things unsaid, you, the reader, fill in the details, and Brice Maiurro, does an exceptional job of this. The interpretation of his poems leaves the reader to imagine what and this is what literature is all about.

There was one poem, “dear maria” which especially touched me and made me cry. Not only is my daughter’s name, coincidentally Maria, but she is also going through her own little turmoil as a teenager, and this poem was reflective of all the maria’s. I made her read it, and at sixteen, she wants to read this poetry book. It is an outstanding poem, and by far, my favourite of this whole collection.

Brice Maiurro makes up his own composition of life with these poems in Stupid Flowers. This is a debut collection of poetry by this poet out of Denver, Colarado, and I am looking forward to reading more of his work in the future.

I think this is a valuable book, in consideration of what other poetry books are out there circulating in the poetry section.  This book reflects the heart of a true poet with a talent to see the unseen.

Short Bio:
Brice Maiurro is a poet out of Denver, Colorado. Stupid Flowers marks his first full collection of poetry, published by Punch Drunk Press. His poetry has been featured by The Denver Post, Birdy Magazine and Suspect Press. His poetry blog, Flashlight City Blues, was recognized as one of the top 25 poetry blogs online by Feedspot. Brice also enjoys road tripping. His goal is to visit every National Park in the United States.

Published by Punch Drunk Press Ltd.IMG_0800

Instagram: @maiurro

Twitter: @IAmBricesTweets

 

IMG_3872

IMG_1967IMG_3616

 

 

One day

One day I will wake up dead and the life you breathed

into me with thumbs pounding on keys

will have meant nothing. nothing at all.

One day I will meet you again

after months of wanting

kiss you on your  tender lips

and feel your arms squeeze me tightly.

One day we will not even remember

each other’s smell. All of our physical pain

will have taken over our desire.

One day I will walk on the beach alone

and crave your hand in mine.

It is not even real, this love.

Back doors are open

and front doors are locked.

I died once and came back with

a new identity

someone stole Chrissy

and brought back a new version.

You would think she would be smarter

but she keeps on fucking up

mixing up sins with duties.

I lifted my dress for you

but you moved on now.

Other dresses are softer

and no one fights for anyone

anymore. Only lyrics

matter.

I can make them real somehow.

Did you feel the heat between my legs?

It was real, that I could not deny.

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard

 

Hello everyone,

If you’ve read any of my books, I would appreciate a review on Goodreads and Amazon. Click on the link above to see what I’m reading and my reviews.  I have tried for the past few days to add the Goodreads widget to my blog, but I feel so lost in cyberspace, not even youtube tutorials help, so I suppose it’s not meant to be. However, I feel that Goodreads is such a useful social media site for writers and readers to share their works and opinions on books.

I am always honest in my reviews and don’t believe in fake praise.

I have received some invitations to review some poetry books from authors I know, and I am going to be posting some of them up on my blog soon.  If anyone is interested I will consider reviewing some poetry books if you want to email me at christinastrigasauthor@gmail.com

To review novels, you can email me and we can discuss.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

All my best,

Chrissy

 

Blue

Distance grows

months become seconds gone by

I see you so rarely now

I forget your likes

and dislikes

or at least I pretend I do

till sanity slaps me

reminds me of your play on words

and

allure.

 

 

 

New chapbook

Hey lovely souls of WordPress & bloggers,

 

I am so excited to announce that I have put together a chapbook and it will soon be released by a publishing company run by my poet friend Chris. I will slowly reveal the details as soon as I can. Just know, that my book is going to be one of the first released under this company and it brings me great joy to share with you some new poems that I practically wrote in forty-eight hours straight. Hardly ate, hardly slept. Wrote the words like waterfalls.

I am on the first draft right now, and I will be editing and working hard to create a chapbook for my readers. I dedicate this chapbook to all of you who read me and support me.

 

I want to thank you for reading and commenting on my work. Without you guys none of this would be possible. My passion is writing, and I have written books and I am still working on a novel…however poetry is closer to my heart than anything else. It is that instant downpour of emotions that comes out. Sometimes it’s not personal at all, it could be the news, a conversation I overheard, a dialogue, a word, all these inspire me and help me to write better.

 

Thank you for being here with me.

All my best,

 

Chrissy x