Laural Winter

Nick and Norah's Infinite Play List-Book Review

Can I just say this is one of the best Young Adult romances! Seriously. IMHO of couse.The story is told from the alternating points of view of Nick and Norah by the two authors. These are two teens with a lot of romantic baggage who want to figure out whether they want to continue being the labels or stereotypes that their former boyfriends and girlfriends propose them to be. Setting is Manhattan small rock gay club scene.The question is can you stay up all night with them?

monday poem-the cigarette

This poem has been published a few times (Playing with a Full Deck-26 Books) and traveled the world in the Binder Archives of Temporary Services Organization. It is a lesson in creative visualization.

The Cigarette

I smoke now.

I sit on the porch and imagine the cigarette is my rapist's penis.

I am whittling his trigger, his passport to privilege, his cock, his rod,

his thang, his weapon, no matter the name.

Whittling it down, centimeter by centimeter with each inhale I take.

Calculated, brutal is each slow breath I inhale.

I smoke Pall Malls-no filter to save him or cushion the blow.

I exhale revenge,

exhale pain and desolation.

Sometimes I finish the rod until it is a nubbin' and a pile of ashes

to be blown away by the wind.

Sometimes I leave the dick to succumb to time and extinction:

the ultimate justice dealers.

Book Review -Bread Alone

Been meaning to give this book a review.  I really like it.

This is a book about starting over. Wynter Morrison is a wife whose husband lets her know suddenly one evening that their marriage is over. But Wynter is lucky in some ways. Her best friend lives in Seattle and invites her to leave LA for the Pacific Northwest. Wynter is forced to reconnect with her ideas for livelihood. She remembers she loved to bake. She remembers her internship in a boulangerie in france. Will she find her way to her heart, her soul, and her tummy? Read and find out.

Tuesday Poem-Speak

Yesterday I was writing prose and got busy with my crafty ladies at the Barley Mill.  Slipped my mind- posting. 

Speak Any Language

Where I come from you notice little things do or die.

How he picks up his cup or how she uses her utensils.

I know a walk across the room and a look can say it all.

Subtle signs to prepare

the coming fall,

the bruised lips,

and the tears.

Subtle signs that speak louder than a million words.

But at some point I get tired of fighting.

Tired of being some kind of body interpreter.

The curtains close and nobody is home.

After a while,

after being ready to roll all the time,

I ask for words

an ocean of them.

Monday poem-Leaves

Hey there,

I am trying to do National Novel Writing Month.  I'll give you an update on that project in a few days. You can try the link but I doubt you can get to the site but maybe you can!?

Leaves-I become obsessed watching them.  Our wisteria over the patio is bright yellow.  I took a photo.  I don't think it did it justice.

Anyway leaves, Monday poem.

In the Candle's Light

You in the candlelight there kiss the back of my neck.

I could stay there perched on that edge.

But the bed seduces and we climb into that seduction.

Legs gliding we fly to the airport of desire.

Lips pilot the trip through hair and the stretch of desert called our stomachs.

We could stop there hovering on the tongues but no we're dancing as the leaves on the windowpane.

There's no boundaries just smooth skin and melting analysis.

And you know it's over the top.

It's the silent scream making trail for the sigh.

Panting like little pups we spoon tightly.