by Kate Tempest
The days, the days they break to fade.
What fills them I’ll forget.
Every touch and smell and taste.
This sun, about to set
can never last. It breaks my heart.
Each joy feels like a threat:
Although there’s beauty everywhere,
its shadow is regret.
Still, something in the coming dusk
whispers not to fret.
Don’t matter that we’ll lose today.
It’s not tomorrow yet.
A Dream within a Dream
By Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow –
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand –
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep – while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
A collection of honest musings on the misadventures of life and love, “Fragmented Bliss” embarks readers on a journey to collapse in laughter and tears because that is how galaxies of memories are formed.
Publisher: Createspace Independent Publishing Platform
Date of Publication: May 1, 2016
Source: Author provided a copy in exchange for an honest review.
No. of Pages: 116 pages
Date Read: January 2017
BJ Rosalind’s poetry is meant to be read out loud with intensity and full of emotions
I was contacted by the author in exchange for an honest review. I’ve always wanted to support independent authors since I started blogging, especially the underrated poets. Poetry is a genre that has been often put on the sideline, it isn’t something everyone usually picks up. So I made it my life’s mission to promote poetry and to promote as much underrated authors as I can.
To say I was happy to have chanced upon BJ Rosalind’s work would be the understatement of the year. Her work is exquisite! Truly, amazing talent knows no age. At a very young age of 17 she was able to conjure the most eloquent words. She was able to sew words together, beautifully, like it is what she was born to do. Her poetry makes that instant connection with its readers like any good poetry can. It speaks to you on a level of understanding that you and the author only knows about. I feel like her works will be more appreciated if the same is performed as spoken word. It was profound and moving, which isn’t exactly easy to portray in poetry, but Benita was able to do it flawlessly. I can’t wait to see her grow as an author, can’t wait to see her experience more of life and be able to put them into writing. I bet it will be phenomenal. She has this way with words that are distinct from the other poets. I also I appreciate that her poetry are easily digestible but not compromising the quality of it. It was on point – much like an arrow straight to the heart. I definitely recommend!
“I will never hurt you.”
I look at you and find it amusing how we are bound to think we won’t ever hurt the ones we truly love. But see, I’ve learned that it’s inevitable you misplaced the left-pair of your favorite green sock or the jersey you had back in fifth grade. We are careless beings; it’s simply naive to make promises of a future we can’t see yet. Maybe you won’t hurt me, but somewhere along the line I listen to my parents having screaming matches and children in the playground pushing each other down and I realized you’ve defeated my prison guards and you hold a key to all my demons. You won’t hurt me, yes, because you’ll destroy me into ashes tucked away in one of those glass bottles you collect down in your basement. Love heals but it also destroys everything in its path, don’t you know? I flashed a disarming smile and reached for your hand, open palms, fingers intertwined. “I know.”
– Fragmented Bliss; BJ Rosalind
by Edward Thomas
Out of us all
That make rhymes,
Will you choose
As the winds use
A crack in a wall
Or a drain,
Their joy or their pain
To whistle through –
You English words?
I know you:
You are light as dreams,
Tough as oak,
Precious as gold,
As poppies and corn,
Or an old cloak:
Sweet as our birds
To the ear,
As the burnet rose
In the heat
Strange as the races
Of dead and unborn:
Strange and sweet
To the eye,
As the dearest faces
That a man knows,
And as lost homes are:
But though older far
Than oldest yew –
As our hills are, old –
Again and again:
Young as our streams
And as dear
As the earth which you prove
That we love.
Make me content
With some sweetness
Have no wings –
From Wiltshire and Kent
And the villages there –
From the names, and the things
Let me sometimes dance
Or stand perchance
Fixed and free
In a rhyme,
As poets do.
by Jackie Kay
Your names, old records, Court and Spark, Dark Side of the Moon,
A shop window welcome; open hands, new friends.
A wintery evening, nights drawing in. Warm glow:
Sisterwrite, Compendium, Silver Moon.
How you grew up reading nights to dawn.
Books you found only here, the then unknowns:
Audre Lorde, Nikki Giovanni, Toni Cade Bambara;
The Bluest Eye held up a haunting mirror, Pecola Breedlove.
Switched lights on; eyes wide open – Sula, Corregidora
You read and read with wonder: We Are Everywhere:
Writings About Lesbian Parents! Or A Raisin in the Sun.
Voices from Women’s Liberation, Maya, Djuna, Zora,
The Spinster and Her Enemies! Or Lucille Clifton.
And by the silvery light of the bookshop you grew up
By the open door, standing alone, together,
Other readers as engrossed, browsing, basking –
The blessed benevolence, the sweet, sweet ambience
Of independent bookshops, remember Thins!
Look how you still love their names: Voltaire and Rousseau,
Grassroots, books gathering and honing your years:
Black and white striped spines, tiny irons, Viragos, Shebas,
The distinct spiral on the cover of your old The Bell Jar
Your skin’s pages; your heart’s ink, your brain’s Word Power:
Jamaica Kincaid, Bessie Head, Claribel Alegría
Don’t let them turn the lights out, dears.
Keep them safe, New Beacons, shining stars,
Look how you’ve aged with your beloved books, dear hearts.
Keep coming in, keep the bookshop door ajar.