Back in 2010 I decided to participate in Nano for the first time. National Novel Writing Month, Nano for short, happens every November, and participants attempt to write 50,000 words in a month. I decided to write a sci fi novel, because I love the genre, have read it for years — many — but had a phobia about writing it.

Being, perhaps, terminally crazed, I decided I would participate in Robert Lee Brewer’s November Chapbook challenge as well, and to produce 30 poems which would form a chapbook.

I decided to make the poet part of the universe of the novel. That way I could include the poems in the 50,000 word line count and use some of the poems in the book.

I did far more world building than I did plotting — I had an outline with about a page of notes and a fifteen point plot line. Many of the specifics went right out the window when I started writing, but my world building remained.

My aliens form relationships involving four people (or three, or, very occasionally, two), and they’re all lovers. I choose what I hoped would be alien sounding names, made their society based on personal responsibility, lack of coercion, respect for the environment, rather than rules and laws. I made up stuff about their art (my mother was an artist who specialized in portraits in oils), and, later, a bit about their music (I play the flute and the piccolo).

And because I (warning, spoiler alert) wanted my 14-year old main character to be a “cross” — part human and part alien — and be believable, in terms of appearance, I wanted to choose among the naturally occurring human skin tones for my aliens, and I needed my aliens to look distinctive, but not too, too alien.

I made them Black. Very, very dark skinned. And why? Because I didn’t want them to be white. First of all, white is too, well, bland and predictable. And by making them Black, I added a source of conflict to my story, and stories are all about conflict. And, face it, too many of the good guys, in my opinion, are white. I wanted to play against type, so the good guys in my novel are dark skinned.

I’d be thrilled to learn I’ve made my readers squirm, to twist in their seats as they come up against their prejudices and unconscious assumptions. Hopefully, I’ll find I’ve succeeded.

And here are a couple of poems from my imaginary poet, Raketh Namar, the namesake of my main character, Raketh Frey. Because the poet was a revered spiritual leader, and his poems are one of the Aleyni’s sacred texts, I found myself writing in a way that I, as myself, would not have, and writing a good number of what might be taken as poem-prayers.

Poems of this type, written in a voice other than that of the author, are called persona poems. You can learn more about persona poems here
//poetic-muselings.net/2012/01/11/persona-poems/

Here are a couple of Raketh Namar’s poems that don’t appear in the book

Looking For My Fears

Muted buzzing in my ears
resonates to hidden fears.
Drag fears forward into light.
Exposed to air, see them take flight.

Fear’s seeds sprout best deep in dark
so let cleansing sunlight mark
paths for spirit’s shining light
to cleanse my mind, root out fear’s blight.

Who Will Play Music?

Who remains to play the music, now musician’s dead?
Which lips set bright brasses blowing? The man’s cold in his bed.
Whose hand renders strings a strumming now the fiddler’s gone?
Whose hand genders drums a drumming as night turns to dawn?

Our hands start the drums a drumming as dawn turns to day,
ours the fingers on strings, strumming,. We’ll sit down to play.
Our lips put to brasses blowing, knowing he will hear.
We will keep his music going, from us to his ear.

And now, {drum roll}, for the winner of a copy of the Poetic Muselings’s, (of whom I am one) poetry anthology, Lifelines:

Kathryn Scannell. Kathryn, I’ll be emailing you. Congratulations.

Check out the other members of this Online Black History Month Event:

Check out my awesome fellow members of this Online Black History Month Event:

Winston Blakely, Artist/Writer– Fine Arts/Comic Book artist, having a career spanning 20 years, whose achievements have included working for Valiant Comics and Rich Buckler’s Visage Studios. He is also the creator of Little Miss Strange, the world’s first black alien sorceress and the all- genre anthology entitled – Immortal Fantasy. Both graphic albums are available at Amazon, Barnes and Nobles and other online book store outlets. Visit him: http://blakelyworks.blogspot.com/
or http://blakelyworkstudio.weebly.com/

L. M. Davis, Author–began her love affair with fantasy in the second grade. Her first novel, Interlopers: A Shifters Novel, was released in 2010, and the follow-up Posers: A Shifters Novel will be released this spring. For more information visit her blog http://shiftersseries.wordpress.com/ or her website www.shiftersnovelseries.com.
Milton Davis, Author – Milton Davis is owner/publisher of MVmedia, LLC . As an author he specializes in science fiction and fantasy and is the author of Meji Book One, Meji Book Two and Changa’s Safari. Visit him: www.mvmediaatl.com and www.wagadu.ning.com.

Ja Ja (DjaDja) N Medjay , Author—DjaDja Medjay is the author of The Renpet Sci-Fi Series. Shiatsu Practitioner. Holistic AfroFuturistic Rising in Excellence. Transmissions from The Future Earth can be found at: www.renpetscifi.com or on Facebook – www.facebook.com/RenpetSciFiNovel or on Twitter – https://twitter.com/#!/Khonsugo .

Margaret Fieland, Author– lives and writes in the suburbs west of Boston, MA
with her partner and five dogs. She is one of the Poetic Muselings. Their poetry anthology, Lifelines http://tinyurl.com/LifelinesPoetry/ is available from Amazon.com Her book, “Relocated,” will be available from MuseItUp Publishing in July, 2012. The Angry Little Boy,” will be published by 4RV publishing in early 2013. You may visit her website, http://www.margaretfieland.com.

Valjeanne Jeffers, Author — is an editor and the author of the SF/fantasy novels: Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend and Immortal III: Stealer of Souls. Her fourth and fifth novels: Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and The Switch: Clockwork will be released this spring. Visit her at: http://valjeanne.wordpress.com and http://qandvaffordableediting.blogspot.com/


Thaddeus Howze, Author-- is a veteran of the Information Technology and Communications industry with over twenty-six years of experience. His expertise is in re-engineering IT environments using process-oriented management techniques. In English, that means he studies the needs of his clients and configures their offices to optimize the use of information technology in their environment. Visit him: http://ebonstorm.wordpress.com or http://ebonstorm.weebly.com

Alicia McCalla, Author—writes for both young adults and adults with her brand of multicultural science fiction, urban fantasy, and futurism. Her debut novel, Breaking Free will be available February 1, 2012. The Breaking Free theme song created by Asante McCalla is available for immediate download on itunes and Amazon. Visit her at: www.aliciamccalla.com

Carole McDonnell, Author–She writes Christian, speculative fiction, and multicultural stories. Her first novel is Wind Follower. Her short fiction has appeared in many anthologies and have been collected in an ebook, Spirit Fruit: Collected Speculative Fiction. Visit Carole: http://carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/ or http://writersofcolorblogtour.blogspot.com/

Balogun Ojetade, Author—of the bestselling “Afrikan Martial Arts: Discovering the Warrior Within” (non-fiction), “Moses: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman” (Steampunk) and the feature film, “A Single Link”. Visit him: http://chroniclesofharriet.wordpress.com/

Rasheedah Phillips, Author–is the creator of The AfroFuturist Affair in Philly. She plans to debut her first spec/sci-fic novel Recurrence Plot in Spring 2012. You may catch her ruminating from time to time on her blog, AstroMythoLosophy.com.

Nicole Sconiers, Author-is also a screenwriter living in the sunny jungle of L.A. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Antioch University Los Angeles, and she recently published Escape from Beckyville: Tales of Race, Hair and Rage. Visit her: http://nicolesconiers.com/index.html

Jarvis Sheffield, M.Ed. is owner & operator of TheDigitalBrothers.com, BlackScienceFictionSociety.com & BlackCommunityEntertainment.com. Visit him: http://www.blacksciencefictionsociety.com/profiles/blog/list?user=2stjwb1h216fd

The cover of “Lifeline,” the Poetic Muselings’ anthology, with artwork by Lin Neiswender, has been nominated in the P and E book/ebook cover artwork category.
Our cover, our anthology, and us poets are all in the Preditors and Editors poll:

Check it out, and if you like it, please vote.

http://www.critters.org/predpoll/bookart.shtml

Poetic Muselings poets http://critters.org/predpoll/poet.shtml

Lifelines Anthology http://critters.org/predpoll/antho.shtml

Check out my post on the Poetic Muselings blog on being inspired by other people’s poems. Read Mark Wyndham’s poem, and the one I wrote in response.

Image: Simon Howden / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Happy holidays, everyone.

Here are some holiday poems. The first two were written in response to a post on the poetic muselings blog

Writer’s Cramp

One cold winter day, I selected a pen
to write down a poem or two or three, when

there cam a rap, rapping, a tap on my door.
“Oh, bother, oh, darn it,” I said. “What a bore.”

“I have to stop writing.” And then I stood up,
gulped down the cold coffee dregs left in my cup.

The front door swung open, and who should I find?
The poet police, who said, “Dearie you’re fined.”

“The poetry fashion is all for free verse.
Yours has rhyme and meter. It couldn’t be worse.”

“We hereby command you to cease and desist.
You cannot evade us, so do not resist.”

I slammed the front door and slumped down,, debating
how long the verse coppers would stand outside, waiting

to haul me away, place me under arrest
from penning my rhymingest poetry best.

Christmas Memories

Somehow my mind is all a blank,
no memories remaining.
However hard I strain my brain,
all I get is complaining.

Recall’s a stall of holidays
or gifts both great and small.
So lift a glass to my old past.
It’s passed beyond recall.

And here are couple more:

What Happens Christmas Night

I’ve noticed that Saint Nick’s a bit
too big around for him to fit
inside our chimney, Christmas night
the struggle must be quite a sight.

Perhaps he oils his nice red suit
all over so that he can shoot
right down the chimney. Then you’ll see
he’ll cut his hand and sprain his knee.

I guess that all those aches and pains
will hurt so much that he’ll complain
that getting down was such a chore
he’s going to leave us by the door!

And here’s one I wrote one year when contemplating writing a Christmas letter. I never did write one.

Names Changed to Protect the Innocent

I am writing you this letter,
I had hoped things would be better
than they were the year before.

I am sorry I’ve not written
but it’s really hard to fit in.
I am sure you know the score.

I am hoping you are all well.
Did you hear my husband Al fell?
It has really been a bore.

We found that his leg was broken
when he went to let his folks in
and was answering the door.

He went and slipped on the ice.
He grabbed the rail but no dice;
getting up was quite a chore.

We took him right to the doctor;
the bad break has really shocked her.
His leg’s still really sore.

And my Mary’s back to drinking,
you can hear the glasses clinking,
and she drinks more than before.

We were hoping she’d stay sober,
that her drinking days were over,
and her drinking was no more.

Alas it was all a vain hope.
She says that she needs it to cope,
She finds holidays a chore.

And my Al has started smoking;
even though he’s always choking
he just keeps on smoking more.

James is smoking like his father,
it is really quite a bother;
I don’t need to tell you more.

And our Sally’s started dating
a boy Al is really hating
and the rest of us adore.

All the rest of us are betting
there will surely be a wedding,
maybe June if not before.

Little Gary’s grades are falling;
it is really quite appalling.
He won’t study any more.

I’ve tried everything they told us.
We have all made quite a big fuss,
and we’ve added to his chores.

Nothing that we’ve tried helps at all.
We have run into a wall,
I simply want to slam the door.

I hope your news is better
than the news that’s in this letter.
I feel I’ve been in a war.

I have written you all my news.
Please write back to me when you choose.
Love to everyone, Lenore

Epitaph
by Margaret Fieland

First, second, and
third revisions,

bits
and pieces

rewritten in another
voice, scribbled
on scraps of

paper or stored in a
folder marked

Japanese Poetry as Translated by Hiroaki Sato

I should have been born fascinated with my heritage. Not everyone can say they’re descended from a line of powerful samurai, or that their resilient family survived the world’s first militarily employed atomic weapon.
Still, my country’s history—much less its literature—didn’t interest me until I left it and the Pacific Ocean behind to attend college in the United States. And that’s where I met Hiroaki Sato.

I call him Sato-san, as is respectful in our culture. I knew nothing of him when we first met except that he worked in New York as a purported giant in the field of Japanese literature and translation, which at the time meant little to me anyhow.

I found upon our meeting that despite his fame, Sato-san was humble and more eager to learn about my interest (or lack thereof) in our mother country than he was to talk about his published works.

I, on the other hand, find the latter much more fascinating.
From the Country of Eight Islands

One can hardly consider Japanese history without considering its poetry. “Poetry was a part of daily life, a means of expression for anyone who felt the need to manifest emotion through ordered language,” writes Thomas Rimer in the introduction to From the Country of Eight Islands.

Any sometime reader or die-hard enthusiast in Far East Asian literature must have a copy of From the Country of Eight Islands on the shelf (or better yet, in one’s hands). Sato-san and Burton Watson, another giant in the genre, have translated countless poems across the ages—from the pages of Kojiki, or Record of Ancient Matters, to present day—and ranks—“from emperors and priests to anonymous soldiers and peasants.” The following are some of my favorites:

From Princess Tajima, who died in 708, thinking of Prince Hozumi while at Prince Takechi’s palace:
As in the autumn paddies rice stalks lean only one way, so would I lean to you, though the rumor pains me

From Matsuo Basho, 1644-1694:
Plum blossoms at their best—if only the wind blew empty-handed!

From Masaoka Shiki, 1867-1902:
A stray cat
shits in my
winter garden

Japanese Women Poets: An Anthology
Sato-san pays tribute to the sex often overlooked in literature in his more recent publication, Japanese Women Poets: An Anthology. In fact, a quick glance through my 300-level English Literature textbook takes note of only one woman writer prior to Chaucer—Marie de France, Lanval, of Anglo-Norman literature—while Kojiki alone contains the works of 58 female poets, about 30% of its contributors at the time of its publication in 712 CE.

In the anthology, Sato-san enlightens unacquainted readers with the particular role women played in what is often and rightfully regarded as a patriarchal nation’s literature, inseparable from its history. The translator’s presence is practically nonexistent, and voices rise from the poetry like ghosts.

From Empress Yamato (7th Century), when Emperor [Tenchi] passed away:
Others, yes, may stop longing,
but his vine-crowned visage in my mind
I can never forget.

From Ito Masajo (Born 1882):
Cupid often runs out of arrows and is lost

From Ishigaki Rin (Born 1920):
Miniature Clams
At midnight I woke up.
The miniature clams I’d brought in the evening
were alive in a corner of the kitchen
their mouths open.
“In the morning
I’ll eat you,
every last one of you.”
I laughed
a witch’s laugh.
After that
I could only sleep through the night,
my mouth open slightly.

Bio: Alexis Bonari is currently a resident blogger at College Scholarships, where recently she’s been researching education administration scholarships as well as scholarships for blind students. Whenever this WAHM gets some free time she enjoys doing yoga, cooking with the freshest organic in-season fare, and practicing the art of coupon clipping.

I’m a guest today, blogging about writing poetry today on Darcia Helle’s blog

http://quietfurybooks.com/blog/

Robert Lee Brewer’s November chapbook challenge has come to an end. Check out the comments section of Robert’s blog for November for all the wonderful poems written by all of us participating writers.http: //blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides

Since I was also participating in NaNoWriMo, In order to not go completely crazy I wrote poems that I hope will be part of the book. They are supposedly written by the ancestor of one of the alien characters in my novel, and thus I wanted them to reflect the moral, spiritual, and ethical viewpoint of the aliens. It ended up being a very rewarding experience. The poems were considerably more “religious” than I would normally allow myself to write, and also contained more metaphoric imagery than I normally find in my poetry. As this lack is something that I have been wanting to address, I find this a particularly interesting development.

Blooming Red 
by Carolyn Howard-Johnson and Magdalena Ball 

Looking for a holiday stocking stuffer? Want something to read aloud at holiday dinners, something the whole family can enjoy? Then treat yourself to is delightful collection by poetic collaborators Carolyn Howard-Johnson and Magdalena Ball. This is a delightful little volume, 58 pages consisting of thirteen poems by each poet. I love reading poetry aloud, and this volume is full of delight. A couple of favorites: 

Christmas Magic Wrought by Google’s Keyword Elves 
by Carolyn Howard-Johnson. 

which begins with 

At the stroke of dawn on November first 
gremlins tired from their Halloween 

and ends with 

That’s when Google’s 
keyword elves gave me the gift of all 

Christmas gifts. It’s called 
the make-dinner-reservations 

-at-McCormick-and-Schmick 
system of revenge. 

.You’re sure to recognize yourself in this holiday tale of woe. The poor narrator is having a hard time at the holidays.. Ants attack her turkey, the oven thermometers are on the fritz and the Kitchen Aid has died just as its warranty runs out. And are more disasters to come. I laughed but, like the narrator, we, too, have contemplated just chucking the whole thing and going out to a restaurant. 

And another, this one by Magdalena Ball – fond memories, Six Million Years Ago, from six million years ago, when we were kids. 

Six million years ago 
when we were just kids 
upright in thin desert air 
bi-pedaling in anticipation 
of holiday seasons yet to come. 
Time was different then. 

and ends 

the first law of thermodynamics 
what cannot be created or destroyed 
your burning 
youthful 
matter. 

Do yourself a favor, and create some memories of your own by buying this book and then sharing it with the whole family over the holidays. 

Here’s where you can find it: Blooming Red

Every week Robert Lee Brewer posts a poetry prompt on his blog This week’s prompt is to write a shopping poem

Here’s mine — it’s one of my series of “Blues” poems…

No Money, Honey, Blues

Pay is burning in my pocket, stop into my favorite store.
T-shirts, only twenty dollars if you purchase three or more.
I pick up six or seven though I’ve got a dresser full.
I start humming the no money, honey blues.

Next door is the bookstore, and I find I’m walking in,
buy a largish cup of coffee, wander by the bargain bin.
I buy myself a bag full though I’ve already read them all.
I am whistling the no money, honey blues.

Then I’m in the liquor store. I buy a case of wine.
Though I never drink it, salesman says it’s mighty fine.
I fork over ninety dollar. Now my money’s almost gone.
I am singing the no money, honey blues.

My house is overflowing, no more room to fit things in.
I can call Salvation Army, I can rent a storage bin.
I hand my money over and I clear my basement out,
while I chorus the no money, honey blues.

I got my chapter buddy EJ’s comments on my chapter 14 and rewrote parts of the chapter as a result. Ej’s comments are always a great help, and this time was no exception. I sent him my chapter 15, and I’m working on chapter 16. I’m close to the end of my book, and the chapters feel harder and harder to write. Of course, I already have an idea for a sequel. I also have several other book ideas, because I often finish a novel with “but I want to know what happens after that ..”