Why do we read POETRY❓ READIng #poetry encourages us to CONNECT & Find Meaning in Our EXPERIENCES.
It teaches us WORD ECONOMY. It elicits POWERFUL EMOTIONS. Poetry is THERAPEUTIC. CONSCISE WORDS with a RHYTHM. A well crafted line of poetry can stick with us for a long time..
HISTORY..early poets use poetry as an easy FORM OF DIALOGUE to sing & convey the message across in a format which may be remembered easily due to its music & rhythm.. ___________ Abt the book; JUST RELEASED ‼️
AISLING means Dream or Vision.
It contains 40 POEMS (90 pages) having different themes inspired from; Writings of Wordsworth, Keats, Robert Burns, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Pablo Neruda, Maya Angelou, Emily Dickson..
✍️ @rarebird2.0 hopes her poems HELP the reader to UNDERSTAND THE WORLD, HEAL emotional pain, EXPLORE themselves & DEVELOP insight. She believes poetry sheds light on the world & provides the best way to express yourself & understand others.
朗 The book is BEAUTIFULLY CRAFTED from the cover, to the beautiful bullets used for each chapter, illustrations & content. @bigfootpublications @rarebird2.0 ICING ON THE CAKE is the section adjacent to each poem, “my views”, where the poet summarized the poem in simple words.. I LOVED THIS CONCEPT ‼️ References are given at the bottom of the resp. page, which is again a plus.
The poems talks abt; Love, the world, pandemic, duties, prostitution, roles of a woman, culture, double standards, fate, death, dreams, creative ppl, beauty, memories, year 2020, soul, emotions, rape, children & innocence, Shakespeare, first love, past, purpose, God, girl child, nature, caste- culture- religion & hope..among other things. ______________ Leaving you with these lines;
I REALIZE I see them flapping their wings wide in full swing And I ponder over my powerless paralyzed condition. Realizing now what you said once, “I know why the caged bird sings.” 3 Songs of freedom: liberty to live again. My wings have been chained My breathing is erratic. These wings have been pulled off Not the dreams to live and soar high. I want to breathe this fresh air again; I envy them. They are now footloose and fancy – free; feeling the fresh air and I write and sing my unfulfilled dreams. You knew it already, Angelou I feel it, now I know why the caged bird sings.
My views: This is one of my contemporary poems. I am inspired by Afro- American poet, Maya Angelou’s poem, ‘I know why the caged bird sings’. Seeing today’s condition of being paralyzed due to pandemic and consequent lockdown, made me realize why the caged birds sing. Human beings are here compared to the helpless caged birds whose wings are chained and real birds are free-birds, flying high and claiming the sky. While the caged birds can only write and sing of their unfulfilled dreams and free life. ___________
I had read the 1st part, of this series THE THREAT BELOW few days back and had also posted my take about it.
In this volume, the 2nd part, the sequel, A GALLERY OF MOTHERS BRATHIUS LEGACY SERIES BOOK 2 we learn deeper secrets about SEAN BRATHIUS’s experiment which doomed the world, and we travel with outcast hero ICELYN BRATHIUS (who now lives below-the-mountaintop) to save the last refuge of humanity from certain destruction.
His thirst for knowledge & insatiable desire for discovery, created lethal hybrids, AMPHEROUS & OMATHIS.. it’s getting out of hands..plus someone has stolen all the information of the experiment.. What will happen now❓ devastation, destruction, duplication..❓ or can the situation be controlled ❓
Icelyn wants humans & Anaghwin to live mutually together. Would it be possible ❓ What price would she have to pay❓
No one in Mountaintop had been able to stop the advance of the dreaded three dots. In time, the entire future of Mountaintop and humanity was doomed to quietly expire.. will there be no respite & everything would end❓
Learn about all this and more by READIng this FABULOUS book by @jasonlatshaw ___________ Yes it’s a thick book, 551 pages/ 74 chapters long, yes it is time consuming but but but IT’S WORTH EVERY BIT OF IT‼️
MULTI-GENRE: FANTASY, DARK FICTION, ADVENTURE, DYSTOPIA, YA. It’s dark & dangerous, talks about an apocalyptic world, with enough twists & turns. A very PROMISING SERIES INDEED.
Released in May 2020 by Fernweh Books, this one again leaves the reader on a cliffhanger, an open ending.
Won’t recommend it as a standalone.
A beautiful, hardbound, embossed cover & loads of promotion is all that this beautiful work of art requires ‼️
“Embrace yourself, your destiny and what you are made for”..
This Yug’s Avatar is destined to be from the Tribe of The Simbhas. ———– ♀️Welcome to another Mythological fiction indulgence by me‼️
It’s a book by “The” Kevin Missal guys, published by @harpercollinsindia
Book 2 The Narasimha Triology HIRANYAKASHAP.
This 264 page, 53 chapters read, full of action & drama, came out in July, this year‼️
#️⃣3 in Religious & Spiritual Fiction & #️⃣20 in Myths, Legends & Saga On AMAZON Charts‼️ ———– 女THE MAHAAVATAR TRIOLOGY
Book 1 NARASIMHA Acc.to the author, this book was all about building up the scene, re-imagining the 4th avatar of Lord Vishnu.
BOOK 2 HIRANYAKASHAP It carries the characters & their lives forward & injects extreme pace into the story. ———— Recommendation: Read Book 1.
Book 2 can be read as a STANDALONE too, though it took me sometime to get around the storyline. Though the author has provided a SUMMARY of Book 1, for better understanding. ———— The book begins with an introduction to the TRIBES; the Devas, Asuras, Danavs, Simhas..
Followed by a summary- the story so far..
And a prologue..
Finally we get 53 chapters of non-stop action‼️
And yes, we get a MAP too! ———— #qotd Do you like reading Mytho- fiction❓ #qotd Can we avoid our destiny❓
I have always found Mythology very enchanting & mesmerizing.. #qotd What do you feel abt it❓ ———- This book is about; * the revenge of HIRANYAKASHAP, who is one of the descendants from Brahma & heir to the invincible armour. Will he be able to undergo the 3 trials of Brahma & defeat the Devas❓
* HOLIKA, who again has vengeance, but with her own nephew, Prahlad, younger son of Hiranyakashap. Will she be successful ❓
* of a Simha, a NARASIMHA, who wants to avoid his destiny until he finally realises, the hard way, that he cannot evade it. Will he readily accept his destiny❓
* This book IS ALL ABOUT EMOTIONS – love, fraternal, parental, greed for power, ego, fulfillment of duties & responsibilities, loss, revenge, vengeance and being in tandem & accepting your destiny. ————-
The book ends on a cliffhanger, an open ending giving way to BOOK 3 of the trilogy, PRAHLAD.
I relished it & devoured it in a single sitting ‼️( I haven’t read book 1 though) & will collect & follow the series NOW‼️ ———- #noorthebookwormreviews #hiranyakashap #thenarasimhatrilogy
Death is always several seconds and a few footsteps away. Look around you, wherever you are right now. How many things are there within five feet of you that could kill you? ____________ SHOWCASE: Book Tour LIFE FOR LIFE with @partnersincrimevbt and @jkfrankoauthor ___________ I liked the excerpts & the blurb, so much that I had to get the book‼️ __________ Tour August 1 – September 30, 2020 Life for Life by JK Franko. __________ If you like smart, fast-paced thrillers with unexpected twists, then you’ll love J.K. Franko. —————- SYNOPSIS: What would YOU do if someone threatened your family?
Roy Cruise and his pregnant wife Susie barely survived an assassination attempt in their own home. The police now have them under surveillance. Meanwhile, Kristy Wise is a loose cannon—she knows too much and is trying to “set things right.”
What goes around comes around. And in this case, Roy and Susie may have pushed things too far. There are too many dead bodies. Too many foes plotting against them.
Roy and Susie must outwit the police and neutralize their enemies once and for all. If not, their days of retribution may end behind bars… or six feet under. __________ LIFE FOR LIFE is Book Three of the Talion crime thriller series which begins with the Eye for Eye Trilogy.
J.K. FRANKO was born and raised in Texas. His Cuban-American parents agreed there were only three acceptable options for a male child: doctor, lawyer, and architect. After a disastrous first year of college pre-Med, he ended up getting a BA in philosophy (not acceptable), then he went to law school (salvaging the family name) and spent many years climbing the big law firm ladder. After ten years, he decided that law and family life weren’t compatible. He went back to school where he got an MBA and pursued a Ph.D. He left law for corporate America, with long stints in Europe and Asia.
His passion was always to be a writer. After publishing a number of non-fiction works, thousands of hours writing, and seven or eight abandoned fictional works over the course of eighteen years, EYE FOR EYE became his first published novel.
J.K. Franko now lives with his wife and children in Florida.
This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for JK Franko. There will be Six (6) winners for this tour. Two (2) winners will each receive a $10. Amazon GC. Two (2) winners will each receive LIFE FOR LIFE by JK Franko (Print ~ US and Canada Only) and Two (2) winners will each receive LIFE FOR LIFE by JK Franko (eBook). The giveaway begins on August 1, 2020 and runs through October 2, 2020. Void where prohibited.
My work as a therapist requires imagination. To help someone, to really get inside their head, you have to have some sense of what they are going through. If you haven’t experienced what your patient is suffering firsthand, you must imagine.
For example, I have never had a panic attack. But then, only five percent of humans will experience a panic attack during their lifetimes. A pretty low number. So, how can I relate?
I must imagine.
From what my patients tell me, a panic attack closely resembles the feeling of claustrophobia. This is something that I have experienced. What gets me there instantly is that scene from Kill Bill—the one when the heroine Beatrix is buried under six feet of dirt in a coffin and left to die. Do you know it?
Indulge me.
Imagine that you wake up and open your eyes, but you can’t see anything. It’s pitch dark. So dark, you’re not sure your eyes are even open. You’re lying on your back. The air you’re breathing feels warm and slightly humid, the way it does when you’re sleeping with your head under the sheets.
You don’t know where you are, but you don’t hear the usual sounds you would hear in your bedroom. No ceiling fan. No A/C blowing. Everything is silent around you. Muffled.
You try to sit up and immediately feel a thump as your forehead hits something. Your hands automatically react and reach up, discovering that something dry and smooth—heavy, immovable—is laying on top of you, just inches above your body. Right above your face, your torso, your legs.
You try to stretch your arms out to either side, and you feel the same barrier just inches away from your elbows, from your shoulders. You move your legs, spreading them apart and lifting them up. They are able to move only inches before, again, you feel something boxing you in.
Your nose itches, but you can’t reach your face to scratch it. You clear your throat and can hear that the sound doesn’t travel. It’s close to you, stifled by the box you’re in. The box is made of wood. There’s maybe six inches between you and the box, all around your body. It’s so close you can smell it. Damp wood. You can also smell soil.
You’re in a box that’s been placed in a hole, six feet deep. On top of it, and on top of you, are six feet of dirt. That much dirt weighs over two thousand pounds. One ton.
The weight of the dirt prevents you from opening the box. The lid won’t budge. And even if you could break out of the box somehow, the dirt above you would fall into it, suffocating you before you could dig your way up to air.
There is no way out. No hope.
As you realize this, your heartbeat accelerates—firing more rapidly. Your breathing speeds up. You struggle to take in air. You’re not sure if you’re already running out of oxygen or simply panicking. You can feel the silent, blind weight of two thousand pounds of earth above you crushing down onto your body. Your legs are tight, anxious. Your body fights for more space… to move, to stretch out, to stand, to run. But on every side you are closed in. You know that out there, everywhere, there is air, freedom. A universe of wide-open space.
But not for you.
You scream. The sound is muffled by the box. The only one who can hear it is you, and you know it. And you remember, as you scream, that there is a very small supply of oxygen in the box. With each breath, you are depleting it, converting it into CO2.
You’re going to suffocate. And there is no way out.
That feeling of being closed in, of paralysis, of heart-racing suffocating hopelessness, is what a panic attack feels like. Just like being trapped in a coffin.
My patients say that this is how you will feel when you’re about to die.
When I try to imagine how Rebecca must have felt, 120 feet underwater with an empty scuba tank strapped to her back, I draw on this image.
* * *
Rebecca Forsyth was floating, weightless. Free as a bird. The feeling was otherworldly. And the view was breathtaking. Above her in every direction stretched a majestic canopy of bright blue. Looking heavenward, her eyes traced dancing beams of sunlight up and away until they converged into a round disc of shimmering white firmament. As she gazed downward, the world fell away from her—the bright blue and the light fading, everything becoming darker the further she looked. The only sound she could hear was the too-close, too-loud in-and-out of her own breathing, which she tried to control—relaxing, breathing slowly.
She reached up, pinching her nose, and gently blew, equalizing the pressure in her ears—the Valsalva Maneuver.
Scuba diving was something Rebecca enjoyed, to a point. She was no expert, though she was open water certified and dove several times a year. She loved the feeling of weightlessness. And she liked being able to explore the ocean without having to bob up and down for air. She’d never quite mastered using a snorkel—she always had trouble clearing it of water. Scuba was much more convenient. No bobbing up and down. That being said, she had not done many deep dives.
Today was different.
Alan, Rebecca’s husband, had talked her into diving a wreck. A sunken ship. It was all perfectly safe. Alan was an extremely experienced diver. A certified instructor. He had spent numerous summers working as an instructor and had logged hundreds of hours. In fact, he was the one who had gotten Rebecca into the sport.
The plan was for Rebecca and Alan to follow standard protocol and stay close to one another, buddy diving in case of an emergency. As Rebecca floated about 40 feet underwater, Alan was signaling for her to follow him down toward the wreck, which at its deepest was 165 feet below the surface. They weren’t planning to go down that far. The bow of the ship was at about 110 feet.
Although Rebecca wasn’t crazy about diving so deep, she reluctantly followed. They were on vacation, trying to relax. Trying new things to reinvigorate their marriage. After five years married, they’d hit a rough patch. They’d had some issues. Nothing insurmountable, she would have told you.
Part of their problems stemmed from the way they approached things. Rebecca was more conservative in her thinking. Alan was more of a risk-taker. Of course, for her to have chickened out of this dive would only have served to underscore the differences between them.
She checked the air pressure in her tank and noticed that it was dropping a little faster than normal for her, given the amount of time they’d been underwater. But, she knew that she was stressing over the fact that they were going to dive so deep, and she was breathing a little more rapidly than usual. She reached up and slightly reduced the buoyancy of her BCD, then gently frog-kicked her legs to conserve energy and air, following her husband down into the dark blue depths.
Rebecca swam about ten feet behind Alan and a bit to his left. The bow of the wreck still lay another 70 feet below them and hadn’t come into view. Rebecca couldn’t see it yet. She also couldn’t see that, in addition to the bubbles that drifted up and away from her each time she exhaled, a stream of tiny bubbles trailed behind her. Air was escaping from her scuba tank through a small leak in the line to her backup regulator. As she descended into the depths, the water pressure around her grew, increasing the rate at which air was bleeding from her only tank.
Rebecca followed after Alan, taking in the immensity of the ocean floor that lay before her. The vastness of it was almost overwhelming. She tried to focus on keeping pace with her husband, and on breathing slowly.
She scanned beyond him, hoping that the wreck would soon come into view as she gently kicked and followed. As they descended, they were following the natural slope of the ocean floor off the coast of the island. The seabed was spotted with seagrass, kelp, small fish, and here and there a lobster. She saw several lionfish as well.
Rebecca enjoyed fish-watching. Although, for her it was always secondary to keeping an eye out for sharks. The Caribbean is home to a great many species—nurse sharks, lemon sharks, reef sharks—which are generally harmless. But now and again, you will see more aggressive bull sharks and hammerheads.
Rebecca followed behind Alan, staying close, but she couldn’t help being entertained admiring the seascape. She regularly pinched her nose to clear her ears. After what felt like just a few minutes, a shape began to take form ahead of them. Alan stuck his arm out to his side and gave her a thumbs-up. It was the wreck. A few more kicks, and she could clearly see the silhouette of the freighter sitting on the ocean floor below.
It was a tranquil day and the water was clear. There was still very good visibility as they passed 100 feet, though at that depth the water filtered out most of the reds and yellows in the color spectrum. Everything was draped in shades of blue and green.
Rebecca and Alan were diving just off the coast of Providenciales in the Turks and Caicos Islands. The wreck they were approaching was the W.E. Freighter, a 100-ton ship that was purposely sunken just north of Turtle Cove to create an artificial reef. The plan for the reef had been for the ship to settle in somewhat shallow waters to create an attraction for recreational divers. The ship had unfortunately ended up much deeper than intended and required a bit of expertise to reach.
Once at the bow of the freighter, Alan stopped and gave Rebecca the “okay” sign. She responded in kind, indicating that she was fine. She checked her depth gauge and saw that they were at 110 feet, just what the guidebook had promised. Alan and Rebecca had agreed on the surface not to go inside the vessel. There was always danger of collapse or of getting trapped due to gear catching on something. There was also the risk of getting cut since what remained of the ship was decaying metal that tended to be sharp and jagged. A cut meant blood in the water. And blood in the water attracted sharks.
They hovered for a moment by the bow of the wreck.
As they looked about them, a small school of fish swam out of the boat through a hole in the hull. They were silver with what appeared to be yellow fins and tails, though the color was muted and dull due to the depth. Most were about two feet long. Rebecca recognized them as horse-eye jacks. They shimmered in the water as they swam past the husband and wife, less than three feet away. Alan reached out and touched one of the fish as it went by. It didn’t seem to notice or care.
Rebecca watched the school of fish briefly, then her focus shifted. Always scanning for sharks, she’d seen a shadowy movement not far from them—maybe forty feet. Whatever it was had whipped its body and quickly disappeared into the dark, murky distance. She kept scanning as the small school of fish swam away from them.
Suddenly, her peripheral vision registered a rapid movement coming from their left. She focused just in time to see sparkling glints of silver—a large barracuda rocketed in from the murkiness and sank its teeth into one of the jacks as the remainder of the school scattered. Thin wisps of black blood trailed behind the barracuda as it swam off, chomping and chewing on its prey. In the wake of the attack, the remaining jacks re-grouped and continued on as if nothing had happened.
It was not the first time that Rebecca had seen a predator make a meal of another fish. It never ceased to amaze her how an underwater scene could turn from completely tranquil to suddenly violent and bloody, and then return once again to the prior calm as though nothing had happened. She turned to Alan, who was shaking a hand back and forth as if to say, “Holy crap!” She gave him a thumbs-up in reply.
Rebecca continued to scan. Now there was blood in the water. And she was nervous—looking for sharks. As she looked around, Alan drifted a bit deeper examining the wreck. Rebecca was about to follow when a strange shape on the seafloor caught her eye. She felt her belly tighten and reached for her dive knife. She froze and watched carefully. Her patience was rewarded.
A sludgy-looking grey rock, which had apparently been laying low waiting for the barracuda incident to pass, decided that the coast was clear. Rebecca marveled as the rock changed color and texture, turning back into an octopus. The little guy half-swam half- crawled away, in the opposite direction of the barracuda. Rebecca smiled to herself. She loved those smart, creepy, eight-legged mollusks.
The octopus gone, she turned and saw that Alan had drifted about twenty feet away from her, deeper, exploring the hull of the wreck. He looked back at her and waved her towards him. Apparently, he’d found something of interest. Rebecca gave him a thumbs-up, and as she began to move, she looked down at her depth gauge.
Still at 110 feet.
They had agreed not to go below 130 feet, which was the official cut-off for recreational divers. Realizing it had been a while since she’d checked, she also took a look at her air pressure gauge.
Red.
A cold claw of panic squeezed Rebecca’s chest when she saw that the needle was in the red zone, between 200 PSI and zero. Almost empty. The gauge had to be wrong. She and Alan had both checked her tank in the boat. It was full then. And they’d not been diving that long—certainly not long enough for her to have used up a full tank of air.
She tapped on the gauge with a gloved finger. The needle didn’t move. Still red.
She carefully reached back behind her head with one hand to make sure the tank was fully open. Sometimes a not fully open tank would give a bad reading on a gauge. She turned the air valve in one direction and the flow of air stopped. Then she turned it in the other direction, fully opening the valve, and air flowed. She checked the gauge. Still red.
Rebecca looked up and saw that Alan had swum farther away from her, about thirty feet. And he was still moving. She fought down the panic and breathed out slowly: one-two-three-four-five-six- seven-eight-nine-ten.
Then in: one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten.
She had two choices.
She could try to ascend. If she did, she’d be abandoning Alan—leaving him at risk. She also had no idea if the air in her tank would get her to the surface. If it didn’t, she’d have to make a “controlled emergency ascent.” She remembered from her training what that meant. Possible decompression sickness. Possible pulmonary barotrauma—essentially her lungs exploding. And, of course, she could drown.
Her other option was to get Alan’s attention and return to the surface using his backup regulator—an “alternate air source ascent.”
She had to choose quickly. Given her options, Rebecca decided she had to get to Alan. She frog-kicked gently, trying not to accelerate her heart rate or breathing, conserving air, swimming down deeper into the cold sea after her husband. As she swam after him, she removed her dive knife from its sheath and used the metal ball on the end of the hilt to bang on her tank, making a high- pitched metallic clink clink clink hoping to get Alan’s attention.
Alan continued to descend. He was too far away to hear her.
She was still breathing. She still had air.
But her brain began to work against her. Fear gripped her throat like a noose slowly tightening. As Rebecca swam deeper into the sea, the ocean began to collapse in on her. Tunnel vision. Panic began to rise in her belly. She felt boxed in.
Trapped.
She fought the fear, trying to keep her breathing slow. Kicking gently, trying to get to her husband. He had air. He was only thirty feet away.
Life was only thirty feet away.
She began to feel desperation. To lose hope.
Is this it?
Is this how I die?
Alan didn’t hear the continued and more desperately rapidclinking of her knife on her tank. He wasn’t turning. He was swimming deeper, and she was barely gaining on him. She began to kick harder, knowing that her heart rate would increase. And her breathing as well. She had to get to him. He was still too far away.
Rebecca kicked and breathed. Kicked and breathed.
Kicked and…
…she breathed in, and three quarters of the way through the breath she hit a wall—it was like she was sucking on a rubber hose that was closed at one end. There was nothing. She was out of air.
She couldn’t fight the panic any longer. Sheer panic.
The feeling of being closed-in, of paralysis, of heart-racing suffocating hopelessness hit Rebecca Forsyth like a brick wall.
***
Excerpt from Life for Life by JK Franko. Copyright 2020 by JK Franko. Reproduced with permission from JK Franko. All rights reserved.
noorthebookworm 