Would you like to create an online anthology of poems and essays on having to migrate from your home due to economic/natural/politcal causes? I have this idea for a title called "Letters for Home" or "Children of the Diaspora". My goal is to have at least 25 poems adressing themes of cultural identity, migration, homesickness, etc. If you have a poem that falls under this theme and would like to create a singular unified voice for the nomadic souls please feel free to let me know. I especially welcome anyone who can contribute a voice from Isreal, Palestine, China, Puerto Rico, due to recent events but all voices are welcomed.
Prologue “Dark Knowledge” (An attempt at writing Fantasy)
The Great Hall was dimly lit with a few dying candles and the meager moonbeams that the clouded moon could spare. Rows of ancient wooden shelves towered over the narrow corridors of the massive library, each brimming with the aging tomes that covered different fields of magical knowledge. All of it was here, it had to be, basic annihilation, thunder crafting, illusion summoning, spell disarming, tree speaking, clerical healing, treaties of peace and war, and the biographies of notable sorcerers. Knowledge and power converged together within these ancient corridors overlooked by stone walls and heavy wooden shelves.
The sound of iron hinges penetrates the silence. A cloaked hooded figure enters as if not to disturb the quiet of the night and approaches the library ledger. He turns past page after page seeking that which is hidden from most practitioners. He utters a silent curse and places the ledger back; it must be here somewhere…within every place of magical knowledge there is always a space for what the ignorant label foolishly as unnatural.
“The knowledge you seek is close, child.”
“But where?” he exclaims “if I am to find the Codex I require answers! You promised me the power that was mine by right. Instead, you’ve led me straight into the heart of the academy without direction.”
“Patience child, do you think the magisters would have left the Codex lying around in plain sight? Of course, it’s hidden, they fear what it contains, perhaps however, if you lack the resolve to risk the danger perhaps, I was mistaken about you…”
“I’ll find it” he said.
“Good. Remember child, true power requires sacrifice. If you lack conviction to do what must be done now you will surely fail when payment is exacted of you. To falter at this point will mean a painful end, the powers that you are seeking cannot be called upon lightly. Steel yourself.”
He removed his hood to reveal a youthful face with soft features and slightly pointed ears revealing his mixed heritage of human and elven descent. Had circumstances been kinder his face could be described as pleasing and filled with a cheerful disposition. He closed his eyes and began to concentrate while feeling the faint trickles of powers build within him. He summoned the magical energies required for the spell, built it up inside himself until it began to bubble, and at the last moment released it with a single word.
#fantasy #magic #sorcery #wizardry #shortstory #fiction
“Out of seeds we grew...”
Out of seeds we grew
into each other,
our fingers like roots wrapping round our unsteady palms.
Blind vines grasping a tree trunk,
unsure of themselves like a murmured vow.
Two lungs in need of air,
we are desperate and afraid
of the same silences that stalks us.
So, we keep warm in one another
living a dream,
aware that we are sleeping.
to escape the cold, by finding warmth,
in a setting sun.
Coming of Age (translated from spanish)
It happens that I tire of being a man
It happens that I am sick with age
It happens that the immensity of life scares me and I hide like a child beneath covers before a thunder storm
make me something beautiful
because I tire of being a man
Make me an infinite ray of sunlight.
Make me a nocturnal moment lost between the spaces of the universe.
Make me the enternal distance between two pairs of lips that love each other.
Make me warm and indestructible like the embrace of my mother.
Make me fire or shadow, a grieving breath,
make me a love poem or make me a shout!
But I beg you God, make me something new
because I tire of being a man...
I enter my room and Solitude greets me, with it's bloody smile, and its seashell voice...
reminding me that their are still scars that itch the surface of my heart.
The conversations I never shared with my father.
The stories I never read to my brother.
The seconds that never held the kiss.
The fat bitter tears I choked on for those perfumed wounds disguised as flowers.
The atomic words that I dropped over my mother.
Until our eyes flooded with a rainbow of fire, fury, and a red winter.
Yes, I too, am in the tremendous mood to fly a thousand fucks from here, with a green knife, screaming out my sins, until I die of the cold.
“If I give this a title, can I pretend it’s fiction?”
The sun set an hour ago. He is on his way back from his run. He hears his phone ring and answers it.
Out comes the voice of child carrying the facade of a man he shouldn't have to be yet. From his phone flows out frustrations, confusion, and questions he shouldn't have to ask. The young man who never recieved these words speaks them now to the little boy who needed to hear them...
"I am so proud of you. I love you sooo much. I know it isn't easy but you're being a man and doing the right thing. Don't forget that I'm alway's here for you. I love you."
There is a pause as subtle as a shotgun. You can almost hear the earthquake in the boy's voice.
The boy laughs when something funny was said. The young man knows he will be fine now. He's still hurting but the scar will harden and make him strong. The boy talks about school and girls. He mentions his plans for the future and how he likes dogs.
The young man was never a good lier. He wants to believe that he can be one now. As the little boy talks about his crushes and his favorite T.V shows. He swallows his heart ache and makes loud exclamtions like "Wow!" and "Really?" to draw attention away from his breaking voice.He must hold back his sobs, life has taught him that vulnerability is a luxury that is shared with others first.
As the boy now steers the conversation towards superheroes and talks about movie dates, the young man quietly reaches through the phone and gently places the weight of extra years off his little brother's shoulders and on to his own. He smiles a quiet smile and listens to him speak.
How is it that the absence of fathers can create the foundation for new ones?
A child falls asleep waiting to hear his father say "see you tomrrow"
his mother sings a tear-stained lullaby to the wine bottle because no else knew how to translate her heart, and my skin is the canvas your face was painted on. Some days it feels like vandalism. My reflection is your "Wanted" poster as we ask the same questions.
"Have you seen this man?"
I am indebted to the stars.
Luxury of the working class.
The Lord’s handout to the poor dreamers.
Me, destitute lover, of the moon and her dancers.
Staring blindly above with devotion, in awe of the vaults of Heaven.
The Romeo to Juliet’s balcony, my neck has bent backwards, drinking in deeply the white light of heaven's milk.
Regret is eating Chef Boyardee after 9:00pm.
Regret is leaving a "how are you?" text.
Regret is having a cup of coffee at 7:00pm.
Regret is making eye contact walking down the hall.
Regret is never doing.
Regret is never knowing.
Regret is never trying.
Regret is saying "I love you mom".
Regret is not saying "I love you mom".
Regret is saying "I love you" too much.
Regret is saying "I love you" too little.
Regret is not holding on tight enough.
Regret is not letting go.
Regret is giving in.
Regret is giving up.
Regret is leaving the spaces blank.
Regret is pressing "Publish"
Regret is saying "Screw it"
Bravery is knowing that you did anyway.
Wisdom is trying again from a different angle.
Humility is giving thanks that you had the chance to try anyway...