One of the things that is setting my heart on fire about this whole Poetry Pals project is discovering new guest poets and then reading where they take the brief. We’ve had guests focus on specific forms, we’ve visited places, we’ve been told the stories behind certain poems and we’ve been encouraged to consider themes, and that’s not all. I kept said brief pretty open, on purpose. I hoped this would happen. But I’m not sure I truly understood how it might turn out. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it’s turning out beautifully.
Every guest gifts us their own unique perspective, on poetry, on writing, on life. So that not only are we encouraged to write via the prompt, but we are encouraged to write as a result of the connection we feel, the new thinking or expanded understanding we might have gained.
When someone writes a poem and then shares it with the world, for me it feels like a gift. When a guest poet writes to us on here, choosing a specific poem(s) for us to read, for me it feels like two gifts. The gift of the poem itself, and something a little extra. You know how sometimes you’ll get a card with a gift and it’s the message written within said card that you remember. Suddenly it feels more personal. It’s pulling up a spare chair. It’s including an RSVP and not just as a formality. Every guest poet inadvertently reminds me why poetry matters. Because even if I don’t end up writing anything, reading their words is enough to have changed me a little. And I am so exceptionally grateful for that. For them.
I felt this deeply with our guest poet this week.
is a poet who writes from the soul. Her writing is so considered and honest but not without a glint in the eye - which of course I love (her review of Saltburn made me snort). This post is so full and the writing prompt is a searching one. Enjoy.Form in poetry is suggestive but not prescriptive. I struggle to follow formats in poetry and I find them quite constraining.
As a reader, my favourite poetry has rhythm and life. When I read a piece, it could move me for many reasons, not one being whether it's Miltonic or Shakespearean. I want to feel the pulse and hear the heartbeat.
As a poet, I sometimes worry that I don't think enough about form. But I relish letting a piece breathe and returning to it until it flows. Then I'm happy to release it into the wild. I don't worry much about formalities...most of the time.
Am I allowed to love her?
By Shondra Bowie Riley
I am her cousin
and her daughter
When her voice sings to me
I hear the cries of my Mothers
Am I allowed to love her?
I am saltire argent
Stars and stripes
Black other unknown
I am the proof of my Mother's existence
Am I allowed to love her?
I am bonded backs and
bellies that bore her
shameful compliance
I am pride from my Mother's womb
Am I allowed to love her?
I am sugar
That built her gilded walls
A controversial artefact
I am my Mothers's stolen destiny
Am I allowed to love her?
Am I Allowed to Love Her? - This piece meditates on the complex emotions of being an African-American woman living in Scotland and raising a child who only knows my home as a fun holiday destination. My paternal name is Bowie. When I learned that this and my maternal family name were both Scottish, I researched Scotland's role in the transatlantic trade of enslaved Africans, a role that was... ambiguous at best.
From my Ancestry DNA test, I am primarily West African and a wee bit Scottish, among other things. I began to wonder what my ancestors might feel about me contently living amongst the descendants of people who r(e)aped the fruits of trade colonialism. I especially thought deeply about the women, my ancestral mothers.
My curiosity about the white men on the walls of Scotland's old-world buildings and statues led me to Scottish wealth gained from sugar plantations in the West Indies and tobacco plantations in the U.S.A. I wasn't surprised, although there was a longstanding narrative that Scotland had a slight hand in the transatlantic trade and England led the charge. While this is somewhat true, wealthy Scots cashed in with a heavy, greedy hand.
In my brief obsession to learn more, I came across the Stone of Destiny, an unextraordinary slab of Redstone taken from Syria to Egypt to Ireland to Scotland via war and robbery. This happened for centuries until England's King Edward I nabbed it from Scotland in 1296. It was placed in a coronation chair in Westminster Abbey in 1301 until 1950 when young scrappy Scottish Nationalists stole it back. Depending on who you ask, it is now on display in Edinburgh Castle- or Westminster Abbey. Whether this is all true or not, it made me think about what I represent, being the product of enslavement and savagery, now able to migrate of my own free will.
I borrowed imagery from these discoveries to express how I felt. It's challenging to face the truth, but I have a wonderful life in Scotland. Ultimately, I don't believe my ancestral mothers fault me for making a life for myself where I choose. They're probably relieved I have the freedom to do so.
It Is Everywhere by Remi Graves —Simple and potent. The first time I read this piece, it took my breath away. I felt swept away, then gently placed where my feet belong-firmly grounded in hope. I return to it regularly.
(You can listen to Remi Graves read this poem here. Highly recommend that you do - Nelly)
Your Writing Prompt:
1. Think about your paternal and maternal family names. If you don't know much, Google them. Seriously.
2. Take note of four things that resonate with you and contemplate why. These could be people historical or etymological facts, folklore or just a feeling.
3. Write a piece, using all four, in whatever form works for you without mentioning either names.
Her work has been featured on Heroica, ZYA (formerly True & Woke), and is included in ‘The Lockdown House’, a University of Lincoln project on stories of women’s experiences of lockdown.
Thank you so much Shondra.
Look forward to hearing how everyone gets on later in the week,
Nelly x
Thank you for inviting me 🙏🏾 you are such a positive and nurturing soul. I appreciate you!
Ah, this could be quite interesting.