Tangible Creatures Poetry Collection

I've been waiting until December 6th to announce the release of my poetry collection, Tangible Creatures. I chose my mom's birthday because she was always the first person with whom I would share my ink dreams! 

*Flowery book blurb:

Entangle yourself in forty years of wandering as poet S.E. Page plunges deep within the root and rot intrinsic to existence while searching for worth. Even as time demands ever greater concessions from our bodies, Page muses on how we ink out fairy tales and folio to feed our imagination and make us whole again. Abandoning both heaven and hell, Page scours the deepest recesses of the universe and her heart to find a new way to transform the grief of losing her mother to the ineluctable march of mortality. Words and photography meld together as a worn soul-seeker marvels at the glamour and grit of life.

“Mother ash undone universe
Breathe into me—
(Just one more time)
But how does one plead with a ghost?
How dare I ask for some
MORE.”

The splendiferously talented Elizabeth Pinborough designed the cover for me based on a picture of my mother from her youth. It truly holds her essence; the free and gentle spirit torn away too soon from this sphere of existence. My poetry collection is woven throughout with meditations on my relationship with my mom, not just when she was alive, but also how it evolved after her sudden passing. Leaving my birth religion at age 33 was like experiencing her death for a second time, because my entire cosmic view of mortality and the afterlife was shattered. These poems play with those facets, and try to capture a slant of starlight before it vanishes on the edge of a sigh, a song, a page . . .

Cover Reveal!

Ever Bonnie

Tangible Creatures Cover-Sneak Peek!

This month has been pretty tough, so I'd like to end it on a note as soft as silver seeds and starry wishes. Here's a partial sneak peek at the cover of my poetry collection, Tangible Creatures, created by the stelliferous Elizabeth Pinborough!

The Story We Tell Ourselves

Growing up, I believed in a Star Trek future. That humanity would one day overcome their flaws and build a kinder world. But now that glimmering reality feels frayed as a thread that has almost snapped from our grasp forever as my confused roses bloom merrily in November.

 

Why do I write anything, anymore? I wonder. Maybe in the end the one we most want to tell a lovely story is our self. I don't think I have ever shared this poem before. I wrote it many years ago. 

 

BUT SAY IN A WORD 

 

A lovely lunacy thrives

between belief and breath,

yielding hope before

heart meets horizon,

searching out sacred spaces

behind the moon’s mirror,

dropping silent screaming

wishes to burn alive

in the dark beautiful

YET,

seeding stars for—

Today?

 

Such verdant follies,

I know!

 

Now,

"Might I have a bit of Earth?” 

 

 

 

*Title refers to Luke 7:7

*Last line from The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.