Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur

'milk and honey' is a collection of poetry and prose about survival. About the experience of violence, abuse, love, loss, and femininity. It is split into four chapters, and each chapter serves a different purpose. Deals with a different pain. Heals a different heartache. 'milk and honey' takes readers through a journey of the most bitter moments in life and finds sweetness in them because there is sweetness everywhere if you are just willing to look.

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This is a beautiful collection of poems. It's various line drawings are reminiscent of Shel Silverstein, but this is no children's book. The poems cover a spectrum of experiences and emotions, from abuse to finding love to breaking up. They are raw, real, and vulnerable. It is a prime example of how powerful and healing poetic expression can be. Rupi Kaur is my new favorite poet. Love this book.

Egghead: Or, You Can't Survive on Ideas Alone by Bo Burnham

Like a lost, twisted work of Shel Silverstein, EGGHEAD is an aggressively charming, hilarious and absurd book from one of today's most popular young comedians.

Bo Burnham was a precocious teenager living in his parents' attic in Massachusetts when he started posting funny songs to YouTube. More than 100 million people viewed those videos, turning Bo into an online sensation with a huge and dedicated following. Writer/producer Judd Apatow championed the young comedian, and Bo taped his first Comedy Central special at age 18, the youngest in the channel's history. 

Now Bo is a rising star in the comedy world, revered for his utterly original and highly intelligent voice. In EGGHEAD, his first book, Bo brings his brand of brainy comedy to the page in the form of off-kilter writings, thoughts, poems, and more. Teaming up with his longtime friend--artist and illustrator Chance Bone (real name)--Bo takes on everything from painful breakups to bald barbers. This weird and witty collection will have readers and fans laughing out loud and/or giggling quietly.

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My brother gave me this book for Christmas, because he read and liked it. If you knew my brother, you would know what a big deal that is. He was the type while in school who pretty much avoided reading the assigned books like the plague. I wouldn't say he hates to read, but he really only does it when he has to. Knowing this about him and the fact that he wanted to share it with me, certainly made me curious about this book. 

I had never heard of Bo Burnham and did a little research on him before diving into this book. He's a young comedian with a unique act. He combines comedy, satire, music, singing, and performance art to create something that I have never seen before. I found some of his material funny, and while I found his material to often be interesting, witty and quirky, I don't know if he's exactly my cup of tea.

I felt the same way about his poetry. It is creative, witty, and quirky. I found some of it to be humorous, but certainly not anywhere near side splitting. I thought the illustrations were interesting, but I don't know if they really added anything to the poems. Sometimes they didn't seem to go together at all. But maybe that was the point? I liked a few of the poems, but for the most part I wasn't crazy about them. 

Beware that this book does contain a lot of crude language and profanity. This wasn't necessarily a strike against it in my book. I don't believe that writers/artists should censor themselves for fear of offending others. It's just something that stood out to me and feel it's something that other potential readers may wish to know.

The work did have a Shel Silverstein-like feel to it (which it has often been compared to), insomuch as there was a poem accompanied by an illustration. There's a lightness to the poems and they were often about seemingly random things, which is also reminiscent of Shel's style. However, I think that Bo's poetry falls short of matching Shel's genius. While it wasn't my favorite, I can appreciate that Bo Burnham is a talented individual. Overall, this was just okay for me.

2015 Reading Challenge: A funny book  

Oh, Sleepur! by Marty Schoenleber III

Oh, Sleepur! is a collection of poems by the spoken word poet, Marty Schoenleber III, and if you haven't checked out his work, you need to! I first came across him when Colleen Hoover posted a video of him performing one of the poems from her book, Slammed. Curious, I checked out his website and other videos and became an instant fan.

His poetry is everything a good poem should be - raw, brimming with emotion, thought provoking, and inspiring. Poetry, especially slam poetry, is a true artform and Marty is a master craftsman.

Check out Marty's blog here: http://mereair.wordpress.com/

Check out the videos of Marty performing two of my favorite poems from Oh, Sleepur!

Mewzeeum Harts (Museum Hearts)

Push

This one isn't in Oh, Sleepur!, but is probably my favorite poem of Marty's and worth sharing.

Inventoree (Inventory)

Take a deep breath inventory
Of yourself
Do not count your hands or feet
Not your wandering legs or
Wavering arms
Do not take inventory of your clothes
Not of your favorite shoes or
Your special hat—not even your
Coat that you save for those cold,
Cold nights
Ignore your car—payments or paid off
Your home—apartment, trailer, mansion
Your work uniform—whatever that may be

Make emergency stops only
You are still several miles from
The intersection of contentment and identity
And you have not been there
In far too long
Do not take inventory of how you look
In a summer dress or a tuxedo and bowtie
Don’t count your history with
Drugs and alcohol
Don’t count your computer, your television
Or that collection of movies
Or albums
Or books that you’ve been working on
Don’t take account of your ability to curl
Dead weight
It’s just curling dead weight
Don’t count the number of visible abs
You have
Or your BMI

You are so much more than a body
You are so much more than possessions
Your body and belongings have not
Done you well to feel like you belong

Instead take inventory of your joy
You have some joy don’t you?

Count your friends
Count your love letters
Count the moments when it rains
And you have an umbrella
Count the last time you had strawberries
Count the start of every kiss
Count the paid off credit cards
Actually, count those twice
Because freedom counts for twice as much
Account for all of your freedoms
Take inventory of playing catch with your dad
Your last home-cooked meal
Account for the last time you rode a bike
When you didn’t think about exercise, you just felt the wind
Count the times you wrapped birthday presents
Count the smell of the last bouquet of flowers you were given
Count the last time you went to the zoo
And you swore, nobody ever fell in love with the
Animals quite like you did
Cause you have an eye for beauty
And you’re seeing it everywhere
Take a deep breath inventory of the beauty you have seen

And when you can’t seem to find anything that matters
To take inventory of
Count those dark moments where you still
Have the hope to rack your brain
To try to find a memory where you had joy
If you still have hope to try to find it
That is joyful
All on its own
Because I know they can be hard to find sometimes
Those things worth taking inventory of
But I have found the greatest of these things is love
Not the way I love Pulp Fiction and Casablanca
But the way I love my wife
And my father and my mother
And a good rescue
Cause that is what I’ve had—a good rescue
And life is sweet like honey
Not because it’s easy
And certainly not because I feel good all the time
But because I have found joy in a rescued life that I can hope in
When I take a deep breath inventory
I have to realize all I have is love
The rest will go away someday
But not my hope and joy and love

i carry your heart with me by E.E. Cummings

Lover's Embrace ~ Henry Asencio

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

6. Ode by Arthur O'Shaughnessy

WE are the music-makers,   

And we are the dreamers of dreams, 

Wandering by lone sea-breakers,   

And sitting by desolate streams; 

World-losers and world-forsakers,         

On whom the pale moon gleams: 

Yet we are the movers and shakers   

Of the world for ever, it seems.   

With wonderful deathless ditties 

We build up the world's great cities, 

And out of a fabulous story   

We fashion an empire's glory: 

One man with a dream, at pleasure,   

Shall go forth and conquer a crown; 

And three with a new song's measure  

Can trample an empire down.   

We, in the ages lying  

In the buried past of the earth, 

Built Nineveh with our sighing,   

And Babel itself with our mirth; 

And o'erthrew them with prophesying   

To the old of the new world's worth; 

For each age is a dream that is dying,   

Or one that is coming to birth. 

Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye

It's been awhile since I have posted any poetry, but I came across this poem the other day and thought it was beautiful and deserved to be shared.

Do not stand at my grave and weep 

I am not there. I do not sleep. 

I am a thousand winds that blow. 

I am the diamond glints on snow. 

I am the sunlight on ripened grain. 

I am the gentle autumn rain. 

When you awaken in the morning's hush 

I am the swift uplifting rush 

Of quiet birds in circled flight. 

I am the soft stars that shine at night. 

Do not stand at my grave and cry; 

I am not there. I did not die.

He Kissed Me: Poetic Worship by Tara D. Lewis

Today I had the privilege of attending a book release party for my good friend, Tara. She has joined the self-publishing movement and published a collection of devotional poems.

Tara has an amazing way with words and is a true example of a person who walks through life with faith. This collection of poems makes an excellent addition to any Christian's devotional collection.

Congratulations Tara - I'm so proud of you, and wish you all the success that you deserve!

 Tara's book is now available on Amazon.com. I have my copy...do you have yours?

Dive For Dreams by E.E. Cummings

dive for dreams or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots and wind is wind) 
trust your heart if the seas catch fire
(and live by love though the stars walk backward)

honour the past but welcome the future
(and dance your death away at the wedding) 
never mind a world with its villains or heroes
(for good likes girls and tomorrow and the earth) 
in spite of everything which breathes and moves, since Doom 

(with white longest hands neating each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds -before leaving my room i turn, 

and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow, 

dear where our heads lived and were. 

silently if, out of not knowable 

silently if, out of not knowable 
night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess 
(only which is this world)

more my life does not leap than with the mystery your smile 
sings or if (spiraling as luminous they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams, 
less into heaven certainly earth swims 

than each my deeper death becomes your kiss 
losing through you what seemed myself,i find 
selves unimaginably mine;beyond 
sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears 
yours is the light by which my spirit's born: 
yours is the darkness of my soul's return 
-you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars 

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

As Kingfishers Catch Fire by Gerard Manley Hopkins

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

I say móre: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is — Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men's faces.

Sonnet 22 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I had to memorize this poem in college...don't know what made me think of it today. Enjoy!

When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curvèd point,---what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think! In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Belovèd,---where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Here's one of my favorite poems from Maya Angelou. Enjoy!

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.