Poetry Book Review of Hush-Christina Strigas Reviews Nicole Lyon’s new book

Christina Strigas

I read Hush twice in the past couple of weeks, and honestly I intend to go back to many poems again and again.
Nicole Lyons, is a force of nature, as her biography states at the end of the book. The only thing wrong with this poetry book is that it ends. I could have read more, I wanted to read more!
Nicole Lyons’ poems take us to different types of relationships, but the pain and loss of oneself in a certain type of abusive relationship is what stuck with me. Throughout her poems, the narrator is constantly suffering over loving someone that has these two sides to himself, the one with the beautiful eyes and the one that can punch walls. There are some brilliant long pieces of poetry that are full of visual imagery and events. “I Have Fallen” is a poem that is close to a climax…

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Something Wicked This Way Comes: Meet the New Secret First Draft!

Secret First Draft has a bold and edgy new look and is welcoming its inaugural group of SFD Writer’s Collective Members this month:

1Wise-Woman of A Lion Sleeps in the Heart of the Brave

Oloriel Moonshadow of color me in cyanide and cherry

Aurora Phoenix of insights from inside

Hudson Biko Mwalagho of Piece by Piece HB

Christina Strigas of You can’t break up with a soul mate

Zelda Reville of Zelda Reville: A Sea of Illusions

This amazing group of writers will be contributing original content to SFD. SFD is also seeking guest bloggers to keep our content fresh and exciting.  We will also continue to bring you reblogs from the writers of Sudden Denouement, Secret First Draft, Whisper and the Roar and other divergent voices we think you will want to be reading.

If you are interested in becoming a member of SFD or contributing a guest writer contact the Editors at secretfirstdraft@gmail.com

 

March Madness Honorable Mention: I Know it’s Not Me/Christina Strigas

Depending on the light of the day

streaming in from my window,

I am insecure or full of doubt.

If it is Fall, right around the time

of my birthday, September nineteenth,

I come alive. I smell hope in the grass.

I feel the love in the universe; how the

leaves alone fill up my emptiness,

the sunsets turn everything gold,

the walks with my dog complete me.

Sometimes, my dog is the only one

who knows what I need. He reads me

better than any man ever could.

 

How silly, you think. Why dont you ever

talk to me the way you talk to the dog?

 

I keep it locked up in my fancy notebooks,

my indie music, my art acquisitions,

my loyal lover. Nobody knows it’s me,

I fool everyone with dark eye-shadow

and midnight poetry rants. I can even fool

myself about the seasons and how they

strum out my life. I know it’s not me.

It’s trouble that follows me in your name.

I am worrying about all the time on my

hands. I am worrying about the stains

on my shirt that do not come off.

I am worrying that my children are

leaving me so soon. I am not ready

to let go of anyone. I have to breathe

deep and open my arms wide to

lesbians, gays, acrobats, lovers,

husbands, wives, and put up the chains

to mean girls, and men that want to

eat up my inspiration with charm.

I know it’s all you.

I finally get it.

It took me forty-eight years

but I figured it out.

It is never too late

to love yourself.


Christina Strigas blogs at You can’t break up with a soul mate