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.
Link to purchase Stupid Flowers: http://www.lulu.com/shop/brice-maiurro/stupid-flowers/paperback/product-23194066.html

Published by Punch Drunk Press Ltd.IMG_0800

Instagram: @maiurro

Twitter: @IAmBricesTweets

 

IMG_3872

IMG_1967IMG_3616

 

 

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

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figment

figment

Everything turns blue

if you dissect it

even the color purple.

 

I feel how words exit

like last night’s

whiskey shots

as the burning sensation

warmed my insides

along with your hand upon

my skin. The combination

was deadly

sin.

Just because I listen to my voices

does not mean

you need to.

You go about and leave me

in this shallow water

it’s not cold at all

actually,

my illness has gone

my hands are warm again

my feet touching the ground

but my imagination

it creates blame

for misunderstanding

my own intentions.

Often, you deny it all

and I believe all the

lies. The fact is

I am a consensus

a Canadian statistic

and now I am

growing my own garden

seeds intact

you on top of me

digging deep inside me

for all the answers

to the questions

you can never ask.

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.

Over wine

So here we all are,

discussing art, poetry and the modern poets.

Here we are, with our quirks

our tattoos, our playlists

our countries of origin.

I’m one hundred percent Greek,

my friend is Mexican, Australian,

American, Indian, Albanian,

Portuguese,

a mini-multicultural microcosm

of poets. We share the best lines

over morning coffee, exchange smiles

over lunch and family pictures over supper.

In another life we were at the courts

with a glass of wine and time on our hands,

quill and ink, ideologies and war,

we had each other close.

Now technology draws us so close

we can almost smell each other’s

perfume. We can almost feel

each other’s pain. We can create  a

movement, change CEO’s reports,

shock them with a poetic force.

We are turning the hands

of time forward,

over wine.

And still art

doesn’t sell,

and poets do not make money

let us work our two jobs,

go back to school,

raise a family,

write at midnight,

check our status updates.

Here we are.

Ready for the darts

and critics.

Here we are

at your disposal

for abuse,

but at least

we have each other’s back

from oceans and miles away.

The poet’s circle

revives

itself.

Elements

When you come back

you’ll see how deadly

I bite.

I kept your secrets

as you kept mine,

it was an exchange

of the souls,

some that meet briefly,

others that depart hastily.

I may be an earth sign

but my heart is water

my soul is fire

my body is air

and your presence

is in my blood.

You should know nothing

is real in realms.

Every poem is a continuation

of the one only meant for you.

You love her so madly, It’s lovely.

It’s how a man loves his dog

and every woman swoons.

Still I read,

you read,

it may be somewhat of a variation

thematic structures

unique to us,

but if I slip your mind

I promise to hang on

that steel step. Hope is

my downfall,

my rise.

I wait for you to slay

all your demons

come back from your hell.

This silence is madness.

In September I give most of what

I settle for away to strangers.

I’ll cry if it’s my birthday,

I’ll shop at bookstores only.

I start to plant my new seeds

right about the 19th of September

as I lay naked,

in touch with my femininity

my masculinity,

swirling in hues of gold and purples

this aura conspiring with me,

as I take all my addictions

and drink them,

collect some poems

for my grave,

people like us, we’re too sensitive

to the touch,

cry too easily.

Do you feel the words

on your lips, mouth, tongue?

Do you see how they hurt

when you swallow them?

This is why I must regurgitate

all of them

and place them

in my Virgo order.

My steel

becomes tragic

in its element,

always because

of how I feel for you.

Some Wednesday hump day news

Hello all my amazing WordPress friends and followers,

I want to let you know what’s going on in my writing career right now. This way you can understand how insane everything can get in a couple of months.

After the release of Crush, my paranormal romance, I started working on another book, which has absolutely nothing to do with vampires. I’m not planning on writing a sequel to Crush, for those who asked. It’s not that kind of book, and I’m not that kind of writer. One book at a time, one story at a time. This new book is a modern love story with twists of erotica. It gets pretty damn hot in that manuscript…working on intense sex scenes needs some wine on the side. Not ready to disclose the title yet, but it’ll be an indication of what drives the force of the book and for you the reader, to keep on turning the pages.

My publishers: who work so hard at bringing out the best in their writers.

http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=65&Itemid=97

I have to edit the manuscript, which takes forever for me. It’s my pet peeve and I hate changing my words, somewhat like Henry Miller did, so because I tried to incorporate more poetic lines in this novel, from only two perspectives it’ll be a long editing process.

In the meantime, I am working with an incredible publishing house 451 Press, that has signed me up to create my book of poetry. I’m going a bit nuts here too, because when I presented them with too many poems, they came back to me with more editing. So right now, my incredible project manager Nicole is helping me out by selecting the poems that will pretty much make you come back for more ( the idea of a second book). The experience of working with such a hip, young company is so refreshing and makes me feel so young at heart.Check them out for yourselves:http://www.451.press/new-page-2/

I thank you so much for your constant support and for visiting my blog. Sending you some love and peace your way. It means more to me than you know.

Christina

This song always inspires me, hope it does that for you too. Live version xx