The Day My Kisses Tasted Like Disorder

Hello, this is Heather posting. Hope everyone who celebrates it had a wonderful festive period! Today I'm reviewing some of the most emotionally moving poetry that I've ever had the pleasure of reading. Many thanks to Hristova for sending me a free copy in exchange for an honest review.

Information

Author: Emmanuella Hristova

Published: August 2018

Length: 50 pages

Brief Description (from Amazon)

I hesitate when you kiss me because I 

am afraid you will taste the disaster 

brewing underneath my skin. 

Emmanuella's debut poetry collection documents the birth and death of a relationship, and the death of her sister. Each poem is an emotional time-stamp that plunges the reader into the depths of the author’s feelings as they burgeon and wane. The book reads like a diary and chronicles the boundaries of the things that we all feel: love, heartache, and pain that gives way to hope.

(https://www.amazon.com/Day-Kisses-Tasted-Like-Disorder-ebook/dp/B07CP43MLJ/ref=la_B07F8N2N1J_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1534981163&sr=1-1)

Review

Hristova’s collection explores a challenging year in the poet’s life as she enters a new relationship, loses a loved one and experiences heartbreak. Her free-form writing style is raw and moving, initially expressing hope and excitement, then melancholy and anger. The illustrations in her collection, not yet included in the eBook are incredible, absolutely stunning, and I really hope these can be adapted to eBook soon! 

Towards the end of the collection, there are some extremely powerful pieces of feminist poems. I’m immensely proud of how much feminism has already achieved over the past century, allowing women to be educated, work, vote, and generally be treated more like equals. Of course, this isn’t true for everywhere in the world and is still very much a work in progress, but new movements (like the new up-skirting law in the UK) are definitely moving us closer to gender equality. Hristova’s poetry really delves into why these movements are so desperately needed, with some still holding misogynistic beliefs. ‘Upon being a woman’ places emphasis on this, with Hristova’s speaker repeating ‘men never prove me wrong’ between naming harrowing examples of the various men who have abused her. The aforementioned poem’s reprise ends with a moving plead of ‘Prove me wrong. Please’ – which I hope will come true for her soon. Unfortunately, a lot of women are stigmatised and victimised simply for being female and Hristova’s poetry acts as a poignant reminder that gender equality still has a long way to go. 

From a literary perspective, Hristova is extremely skilled in form and structure. Even without the illustrations, the way the words dance across the page, some bolder or larger than others, brings the poetry to life. October 18th especially induces a sense of emptiness with the lengthy gap between the brackets. I absolutely adore how the collection reads like a diary in chronological order to enable the reader a greater connection. She also intelligently crafts different tones, with increased repetition and a bold use of language in the more passionate poems. Sometimes the sheer quantity of similes and metaphors, each individually really stunning, does weaken the poem as a whole. For instance, September 29th builds some spectacular imagery around how the speaker’s dazed lover views them as a doll, rather than a woman, but mid-way through the poem she turns into an astronomical, dreamy sort of apparition. I felt that these few lines (whilst undoubtably beautiful) reduce the doll portrayal somewhat. My favourite poem in the collection is December 10th, in which the speaker questions what Christmas present would be suitable for their dying loved one. The simplistic, broken form speaks volumes about the internal suffering of the speaker in a way that anyone who has encountered loss can empathise with.

Hristova’s poetry collection captures some painfully genuine emotions in an artful and sensitive manner. Honestly, I would have liked some positive poems in between some of the later, darker ones – being comforted by a friend, the therapeutic feeling of writing and painting, even small stuff like eating a super delicious sandwich – but given how horrendous Hristova’s year was, I can totally understand why such cheerful content would feel dishonest! Overall, I really enjoyed reading her poetry and cannot wait until the next collection comes out.

Half-Heartedly

Hey there, it's Lydia here! This is a poem I wrote last week. I'm going to be posting my poetry on our blog more often, so keep checking our site! 

I don’t know its Location,

it should be on the left 

below my breast

in that general station.

Beneath cages of solid white

and fillings of pink 

wrapped in a cocoon-like state

where blue or maybe red pours, 

restlessly chasing each strip 

from finger to feet. 

But I cannot find its location. 

The doctor said all is well 

that aorta is functioning 

and left atrium is all in place, 

that your heart beats bebum-bebum

pushing golden life in regular trace. 

You’re pretty and young – 

I don’t understand 

How can you not find its Location? 

Ah, I think I remember now

as light poured onto my form

seen through a crack all broken and torn. 

A Greenhouse 

shimmering impenetrable grace

filled with sunflowers wet with dew

and bees floating from each face. 

There are splinters

shards all battered and blue

some mended some not 

crying when the cold wind blew. 

I felt that

fingers grazing that bloody wall

the bees stop, 

the sunflowers shudder, die and drop

and a stage comes into view.

a candle 

flickering 

flickering 

gone

I cannot find its Location 

Elegies by Douglas Dunn

Hello, Helen here! Slightly late this week due to illness and a stampede of assignments charging my way, for which I apologise. Here is my review for a book of poetry that I read some years ago but will forever and always be my absolute favourite.

Book: Elegies

Author: Douglas Dunn

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Elegies-Douglas-Dunn/dp/0571134696

Written after the death of his wife from cancer, Douglas Dunn’s Elegies are a collection of poems about grief, love, and the struggle to keep going after profound loss. Perhaps the first thing I should say about this wonderful, wonderful book, is that it is the first – and only at the date of writing – set of poems that have made me cry. Dunn’s grief is smeared across every page for the world to see, in a way that is so raw and ragged that it takes your breath away.

One of the things I found most heart-wrenching was the way Dunn interspersed the grief of the present with memories of their life before her diagnosis, when he and his wife were happy and in love without the shadow of death hanging over them. I have been told that one of the best ways to write tragedy is to give the reader something happy to hold onto – the hope that something good will happen and change the ending and let us close the book with a smile on our faces. Whether Dunn’s inclusion of these brief, shining moments of joy were intended to cause this effect is perhaps unclear, but nonetheless, they certainly help you understand exactly what Dunn has lost, and how helpless he felt watching his wife’s health slowly decline, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The most famous poem from Elegies is probably The Kaleidoscope, which is widely available on a manner of poetry websites, often accompanied by a recording of it being read aloud. Written in sonnet form, The Kaleidoscope details Dunn’s loss of direction after his wife’s death. He describes, in aching detail, how he still half expects his wife to be in their house, and how he can almost see her watching him, if only he’d turn around. It’s probably one of my favourites from this collection, along with Birch Room.

I will say, however, that this isn’t really a book to pick up lightly. It deals with a lot of sensitive and emotional aspects of life and death and love, and even those who claim to be completely hard-hearted will probably finish reading this with a lump in their throat. It is likely that you might need some time to process the book after you have read it – I know I did! – so please bear that in mind.

Having said that, I would heartily recommend this to anyone and everyone who likes poetry, and to most people who don’t! It flows and captures you in way that some older poets might not, and I promise, you will never be bored when reading it.

Love in Between

Hey there, it's Lydia here. I'm really happy to be posting on the blog again, as you can see you'll be hearing from a member of our eccentric trilogy team once a week! This week I'll be discussing Love in Between by Mercy Jane Porquez Ballesteros.

Love in Between is a collection of classic and contemporary poems. It is inspired by the works of William Shakespeare and Edgar Allan Poe, both are my greatest influences. The short stories reveal a lot about human relationships, the concept of love, and how humans behave in it. This book will appeal to readers interested in contemporary romance and young adult fiction. It is inspired by the different emotions of love, for love manifests itself in many forms. At times, it can only be conveyed through words, exploring life’s lessons and suppressed passions. (Description from the author)

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Love-Between-Mercy-Porquez-Ballesteros-ebook/dp/B076Y56M94/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1537277078&sr=8-3&keywords=love+in+between

Before I properly begin my review, poetry is an extremely personal form, in which everyone writes and interprets in many innovative ways. Each author is credited for expressing themselves no matter of anyones judgement or opinion.

The collection of poems and short stories addresses the romantic themes of: heaven, truth, heartbreak, jealousy, Godly love and life after love. While being a sucker for romantic fiction myself I read this collection with anticipation and eagerness. The book is separated by two sections, in which poetry presents itself first and the short stories second.

The author's poetry drew me in very rapidly, with her use of creative imagery and descriptive techniques, as well as some dialogue amongst her stanzas which I found very refreshing. Her use of Shakespearean dialect created a sense of nostalgia from when I studied many of Shakespeare's sonnets during my GCSE's and A Levels. The author greatly illustrates that 21st century writers are still influenced by the works of Shakespeare. However, like all collections of fiction, not every piece will be liked. I found that some poems were very similar in style, structure and content. That while some stanza's were very complex, others were rather simplistic and monotonous. Some poems had a lyrical flow that reached a satisfying conclusion, while within others I felt slightly lost when I met its ending.

While reading the second half of the book, I was presented with a similar reaction. The author presented some interesting introductions within her six short stories; creating a setting that both looked back into some characters pasts, while they reflected on their present emotions and surroundings. However I felt that the stories focused too much on the plot and not enough on the language that would express the characters complex feelings. This presented the characters to be rather flat and static.

My two favourite poems from the book are 'Midnight Flower' and 'For once, My Knight'. Both have a beautiful Romantic style, through the use of rich pastoral imagery which represent the speakers deep emotions. Although, what I enjoyed most was how both poems explore the truthfulness of love, whether that be about the innocence and honesty of love or the lack of truth it emits.

I lastly felt that within both the poems and stories there was a rigid sense of heterosexuality. There was heavy focus on the physical features and attraction between the characters, yet, they were always between a man and woman. It would be more appealing to see a more gender neutral atmosphere, so all people of all sexualities may find their romantic experience within the language.

I recommend this book to anyone who enjoys getting lost within the lyrical garden of poetry and atmosphere of love.

You should also take a look at other books published by Mercy Jane Porquez Ballesteros; these include 'A Taste of Revenge' and 'Poems of Love & Short Stories', in which can all be found on Amazon. You can also find her on her website www.mjaneballesteros.com and on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/mjane207/.

Strangers

Hey guys, its Lydia here! I was trying to challenge myself to write a poem a week to keep up my creativity for university, but me being lazy didn't write anything last week. So now I must discipline myself, so I will be writing two poems this week to make up for last week. I hope you guys like this one.
I'm also posting my poems on my Tumblr account, search for Literature-addict and give me a follow.

Connection hums in the air,

Both hairs a flow of dark auburn,

And sapphire eyes stare in knowing recognition.

Identical voices, low and considering in passing questions,

Although polite, answering is plain and shallow.

An ignorant bond is known under crust,

Trying to push a paternal union.

But nothing can break an infinite void

Of infant screams unanswered, or grasping invisible palms –

With collection of missed calls, and promises unkept.

They felt the half-hearted appreciation, and struggling affection,

That showed in limp hugs and simple birthday cards -

That is never breathed, neither timeless bare concert seats, and the distant voice of bedtime stories.

Same hot blood revealed impersonal silences

Then only faded knowledge of each other.

Cherished love and kindness might be seen by acquaintances,

Yet time saw cold strangers.

She Will Always Remain

Hi guys, it's Lydia here. This is probably the latest post I've ever written, but I finally found some time to edit and share this poem. I wrote this a few months ago, in a pretty horrible time for me. But I found that writing about my anxiety and picturing it as a living breathing person helped me focus my mind, it gave me a sense of clarity. Obviously anxiety or any mental illness has no form or shape, but for each person I think the way they visualise and imagine their illness is different to each individual mind. But tell me what you think and if you feel comfortable enough share your experiences with how your or a loved ones mental illness effects your way of life.


It attacks in happy hours,
Laughter escaping open mouths.
In times not foreseen, when minds are running water.

She appears as mist, that thins through floorboards.
Or beady spiders twitching in bedroom corners.
The Lady of 'ifs' and 'buts', whose face appears despite comfort.
The Monstrous Mistress, white fingers shadowing true sight,
Watery grey eyes that loom in waking sleep.

In minds blank peace she calls -
Her cold caress breathing in ears,
You've forgotten something.
Her purple lips gleeful in anxious agony.
Lounging, watching as fingernails stab palms,
As fidgeting eyes scan around frightful,
Finding something, someone to stop her presumptions.

As clammy backs cool, the echoing thuds reside.
She crawls back through silky glass.
Into innocent eyes, down, down within
She sings I am you. I can never leave.

To the girls who feel like they aren't enough

There is a girl staring at me in the mirror.
Her face is cracked. Crooked.
I know not of her pale complexion, her awkward angles
Her limbs which tremble like a new born fawn, her limp hair.
But her glacier eyes are mine.

There is a girl staring at me in the mirror.
I beam at her. Yet she is wallpaper and her image does not waver,
'Who are you?' I begin to ask but her mouth moves along with mine
I falter.
'I am you' she whispers 'I am what you will become'

There is a girl staring at me in the mirror.
She is still. Quiet. Subdued.
I want to ask her, who has done this to you?
But an eerie smile is tugging on her lips
She has done this to herself.

There is a girl staring at me in the mirror.
With a gaunt frame and bloodied fingernails.
'You are enough' I tell her
The tendrils of her inky black hair hiss at me
'I will never be enough!'

There is a girl staring at me in the mirror.
She is beautiful and broken and she cannot see it,
She cannot see that flowers bloom when she smiles.
The sweetness that leeks from her every pour, the selflessness of her open outstretched palms
She does not see these things.

There is a girl staring at me in the mirror.
Her face is cracked. Crooked.
And I wonder when did we become so invested in reinventing ourselves
That we forgot who were along the way?
'You are enough' I tell her.

There is a girl staring at me in the mirror.
'You are enough!' I tell her.

- Shani