I remember how we used to count paving stones
between home and school. Straps of backpacks
leaving marks on bare legs.
Your arm through mine, an anchor.
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Segments
Things I fight
The unfulfilled expectations of the people
who still tolerate my presence or are willing
to pretend for the sake of mutual friends or family.
Losing battles. Bottomless glasses and nights.
Rampant prejudices that feed on nitrogen
and generalization. The inflation of compassion.
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My first publication in Canada
What do tangerines and windmills have in common? I wrote about them in two poems that got published in DarkWinter Literary Magazine, a Canadian magazine. My virtual world tour is really coming together. 😉
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A magical evening of reading poetry in the forest
What an evening! Yesterday, I had the privilege of reading during a magical event, organized by local nature organization Natuurpunt at Kiewit (Hasselt, Belgium). Surrounded by ancient creatures unfurling their almost bare crowns above me. The rain provided a fitting background concert.
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Asphalt got published by The Poetry Lighthouse
“What a better way to understand one another in this world but by the glimmering sparkle that unites us in this lighthouse?”
These are beautiful words from the editors of the Poetry Lighthouse. My poem Asphalt found a wonderful home at this creative writing community.
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Asphalt
I followed the factory spills, the fumes
of Diesel cars banned from the city center
that gathered in carpool parking lots
like civil servants at a fire drill.
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Poetry for Palestine
I'm thrilled to share that my poem, 'Fatherland,' is featured in a special issue of Homeland, a magazine published by Livina Press (Louisiana, USA). This beautiful piece of art contains poetry, creative non-fiction, and essays from writers from all around the world, reflecting on the topic of homeland. All profits go to Palestine refugees.
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Blood moon and other microfiction
In the dead of night, she becomes a better version of herself. Her red pumps lead her to the little table in the corner where no one bothers her except for men who smell desperation. Bloodhounds.
There's one already. A somewhat older specimen, clearly still in denial. Ironed shirt, too much aftershave. Not her type, but hunger is the best sauce.
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Beyond these mountains
What lies beyond these mountains
rests within me, deep and low
an unspoiled valley
where mythical creatures
with unearthly motives
lead late travelers to their destiny.
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The Pointed Circle
My poem ‘What the universe wanted’ is part of issue 41 of The Pointed Circle, a magazine run by students and faculty members at Portland Community College.
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Leen writes 