The Pitch

I want to pitch you some poetry.

Take my batt out and swing it

hard in your direction.

My intention is to love you with it

to make you feel whole. I know

you are broken, it’s such a cliche,

true, you might be rolling your eyes

at me, as I do to you.

It’s fine. I have conversations

with you in my head.

You advise me on what Alan would

say, or what a dead rock star wrote

in his poetry book. You are too smart

for the public, the masses, your lovers.

You use the same lines

over and over

and I see that you are not

capable of loving me

the way I loved you.

I love you so differently.

I love you so perfectly.

I love you so absurdly.

I can love you until I close my eyes.

I bought you a gift

I imagine how you would open it

and look at me with glee.

I cry for you.

I have no illness, no anxiety,

I am pretty normal

except I’m a poet

so that makes me see the invisible.

I can see the lethal toxic world

and I could handle it.

I pitch my life to strangers

and they listen.

The same way you listened

once.

It hurts and makes me sick

to not ever see you

talk to you

but death

is like that

it makes it surreal.

I write in my notebook

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott-Fitzgerald

on the cover. Ironic how that was the book

I read when I met you.

Poets can pitch words

poets can wear mitts

throw them around for fun

for games.

You did it to hurt

and I can never

wonder again

what you’ll wear when I see you

when your face is gone from my world.

Brooklyn

i hope you realize

that covers will not

keep you away. words

will steal the night

from us. music will

drain the veins.

my undergarments

will vanish. trickery

in the city.

do you see

me

on the street

with Brooklyn

in my eyes

and water

around us?

i float and swim

 

while you take the bus

to Chinatown.

 

(this is from my poetry book Love & Vodka p. 22 available at all on-line bookstores)

thank you so much for reading.

i appreciate all of you here at wordpress for allowing me to express myself and creating poetry.

stay beautiful.

 

 

Ouvert

I am open for

take out

sit down

read my menu.

I have books for you

poems

and I baked

what I promised.

Everything I write

is set in ink

or pencil

to be erased

or deleted

from the entrée.
My main dish is

an epic poetry dance poem

combine them all in one

or choose

à la carte.
I brew specialty coffee

for you

my lover

latte

cappuccino

espresso

all black

for your heart.

no sweetness.

no honey.

Pure bean

the way you desire.
After the bill

follow me into the kitchen

and remove all your clothes

to put the fermé

sign on the door.
No one can disturb us now.
Bon Appétit.
https://youtu.be/u7K72X4eo_s

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