Introducing Sandra Lyon Kramer “The Only Words My Soul Knows”

check out this amazing poet!!

Creative Talents Unleashed

The Only Words My Soul Knows

Introduction . . .

There are no mistakes in the universe.  Everything happens for a reason. These words are meant for you to read right now, where ever you are in your life.

My life tested me and made me stronger.  Even when I felt I was broken, I discovered courage, resilience, and compassion I did not know I had. In hindsight, then, no “negative” experience is actually “bad” and I am exceptionally grateful to be the person I am today.

I was born creative and I was aware early on that I was a little different.  I imagined, I read, invented stories and songs, painted and sang. As a girl who didn’t feel like she fit in, I was relieved that music gave me a place to land.  Singing gave me a community of people in choir robes, and as long as I was in their company, I belonged…

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New Release: “Rhythms of the Eternal Uprising” William Wright, Jr.

an excerpt from an outstanding book

Creative Talents Unleashed

Rhythms of The Eternal UprisingForeword . . .

He was supposed to be here before his birth in April 1991. He doesn’t know this. In the waiting area of life and death his flight was diverted to allow take off for another plane. Our grandfather. Then he arrived. He couldn’t know this, but after my grandfather’s departure, we were waiting for him. We needed him. We awaited his arrival like a promised gift, full of wonder and expectations. All our hopes for him to some degree must have made him feel uncomfortable, but we meant no harm. We just loved the guy. We watched him with over cautious eyes. Laughed often at his unexpected phrases. He was unique that way. He never tried to be funny. But when he was it caught you off guard, made you laugh, and it felt intimate. He was always catching us off guard. He didn’t converse much, but…

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Breaths

Life was a prologue
of vicarious pleasures
Imagination wreaked havoc
causing her breath to shutter
and take up the ballet again
measuring her bites in hours
counting steps, inhalations

Did they visualize her
behind smoked glass
hiding within cloistered walls
typing her words in the dark
reveling the intangible within
craving, anticipating, deflating
counting steps, inhalations

Twirling hair in fingers
dreaming in twilight
living in a filtered daylight
pasting her face for the world
steeling herself with false bravado
hesitation, trepidation, resignation

Counting steps, inhalations
Sometimes pausing
considering the epilogue
that inevitably will come
Counting steps, inhalations

Exhalation.

bricks-2569238_1280©Brenda-Lee Ranta
 

 

 

 

Unbound

womens-2333327_1920

‘Women, have long been prisoners to male projection.   We have been placed in roles as subservient, our equalled intelligence, our value – understated, our capabilities overlooked.

Women are the givers of life, creationists, critical thinkers, nurturers with an innate empathy.   We cannot be diminished by outmoded ideologies.  No more bound from our true essence, as though we are meaningless.’

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

Infamous depravity. (lyrics)

Be maniacal man or just simply insane
his lusty screams all sound the same
His words are tangled, his syntax gone
yet girls would swoon to his bullshit songs
his faded jeans, with knees worn through
from praying at the altars of every taboo

Tithes his money for ‘Our Lady of Scorn’
lights candles as alms, while viewing their porn
breached his own rules, becoming obsessed
writes songs as homage to those he undressed
still the girls will swoon to his bullshit songs
when the drinks are free and the nights are long

Picks his guitar, like a street side busker
he is shady and greasy, just a sleazy hustler
when the lights grow dim and he ends the show
spends his cash on the only things that he knows
His life is a stage, a well-played masquerade
when alone in the dark, he is simply depraved

A maniacal man or just simply insane
his lusty screams all sound the same
His words are tangled, his syntax gone
yet girls would swoon to his bullshit songs
his faded jeans, with knees worn through
from praying at the altars of every taboo

His life is a stage, a well-played masquerade
when alone in the dark, he is simply depraved

His life is a stage, a well-played masquerade
when alone in the dark, he is simply depraved

©Brenda-Lee Ranta