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writing

Writing About Writing

I’d said I wouldn’t join the Writers of Kern annual Dan McGuire Blog Challenge this year. I was too busy. But the more I thought about it, the idea came to me that signing up would help me be more accountable to my writing practice. So I’m in.

Practice. That’s what it is. And sometimes what a person practices turns into something good. We’ll see. What I’m going to do is write. No expectations except to get something down on the page. If anything can later be transformed (read “revised, edited and tweaked”) into a piece that makes a point or expresses an idea or demonstrates beauty, I will be happy.

Writing for the sake of writing. That’s contrary to anything I’ve done before. But I’m gonna try it. Wish me luck.

~ xoA

 

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Uncategorized writing

john 1:1

 

Poet Wanda Olugbala’s second tribute to Toni Morrison.

fearfree living

i am
finding it difficult to
catch my breath this
grief has taken hold of me
reached into the crevices of
who i am or at least who
i thought i would be
living, here, in this world where
her voice remains knowing those
were the last words she would
fold into themselves dishing
them out to us just as
twisted and delicious as
big mama’s famous checkerboard
cake where chocolate
met vanilla and became
something
more
 
i honestly thought i
knew what love is, i
thought i understood it
having sat across from it
in rooms full of strangers
having drank deeply from
it’s chalice while friends held
back my hair but really what  do i
love more than words
what really am i if not
a
word
 
words
take me
mold me
trap me in this too
small life with this too
big child making every

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how do you bury god?

Sister-poet-friend Wanda Olugbala’s magnificent tribute to Toni Morrison and the profound effect Ms. Morrison had on her life.

fearfree living

I don’t know
how old I was when
Toni Morrison found me. I know
only that she found
me thirsty for me between
the pages of each book
I devoured.

I was starving for
stories that described this
brown skin and these
big ol’ eyes. I wanted to
hear my laughter
rise up from pages and
relive the loud chaotic joyful
life in my sorrow.

She gave that to me.

I did not know Pecola
but Pecola knew me. She knew
me as surely as Nel knew Sula.
She wrote me. She wrote
my life. The whole
world saw me then.

In my black
girl living. It saw me and I
saw me laughing
and dancing and lying
and crying and being a whole
black girl me.

Toni Morrison,
she wrote my life. She
put words to my poverty
and my triumph. She showed
me that my love is…

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