The Joy of Acceptance…

The acceptance of being your own person, writing in your own style, not mimicking or falling in line.

I get a lot more rejections than I do acceptances, but I don’t dwell on the rejections.

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There is an art to accepting or rejecting any work. And, although any acceptance is a happy occasion, a particular nice one such as this is always a joy to receive.

To update you on my publications of late –

Heaven’s Password is about a woman who finds herself in heaven, in a line reminiscent of the DMV, and is asked for a password. She’s not the most patient person and can’t remember ever setting up a password. Just like your bank account, you can’t get in without it! This was published in the The Survivor issue of P&G.

Bowie and the Basket Case is due out any day now from ID Press. When someone breaks into her house, Anna doesn’t readily find anything missing. But soon she realizes little things are disappearing and reappearing – is someone gas-lighting her?

The Healer’s Daughter was accepted by The Ear and will be out May 15th. Self explanatory title?

And finally, or so far, Voice of Eve has sent me the lovely acceptance above for my photography and three poems – as you’ve read – June 15th.

Thanks for reading, dear souls.

Wishing you much love and happiness.

noreen

Old School Inspiration

Yuself Komunyakaa is one of my favorite poets. He writes about love and passion, loss and war – all kinds of war, including the Vietnam war in which he served many years ago. Although he’ll write about, he won’t talk about it.

One of the many mysteries of poets. Sometimes purging our pains in poetry is so much easier than clearing our mind with conversation.

I love reading poetry because it inspires me. Does it inspire you?

 

The Soul’s Soundtrack

When they call him Old School
he clears his throat, squares
his shoulders, & looks straight
into their lit eyes, saying,
“I was born by the damn river
& I’ve been running ever since.”
An echo of Sam Cooke hangs
in bruised air, & for a minute

the silence of fate reigns over
day & night, a tilt of the earth
body & soul caught in a sway
going back to reed & goatskin,

back to trade winds locked
inside an “Amazing Grace”
that will never again sound
the same after Charleston,

South Carolina, & yes, words
follow the river through pine
& oak, muscadine & redbud,
& the extinct Lord God bird
found in an inventory of green
shadows longing for the scent
of woe & beatitude, taking root
in the mossy air of some bayou.

Now Old School can’t stop
going from a sad yes to gold,

into a season’s bloomy creed,
& soon he only hears Martha
& the Vandellas, their dancing
in the streets, through a before
& after. Mississippi John Hurt,
Ma Rainey, Sleepy John Estes,

Son House, Skip James, Joe
Turner, & Sweet Emma,
& he goes till what he feels
wears out his work boots
along the sidewalks, his life
a fist of coins in a coat pocket
to give to the recent homeless
up & down these city blocks.

He knows “We Shall Overcome”

& anthems of the flower children
which came after Sister Rosetta,
Big Mama Thornton, & Bo Diddley.
Now the years add up to a sharp
pain in his left side on Broadway,
but the Five Blind Boys of Alabama
call down an evening mist to soothe.

He believes to harmonize is
to reach, to ascend, to query
ego & hold a note till there’s
only a quiver of blue feather
sat dawn, & a voice goes out
to return as a litany of mock
orange & sweat, as we are sewn
into what we came crying out of,

& when Old School declares,
“You can’t doo-wop a cappella
& let your tongue touch an evil
while fingering a slothful doubt
beside the Church of Coltrane,”
he has traversed the lion’s den
as Eric Dolphy plays a fluted
solo of birds in the pepper trees.