Poetry of the People Featuring Lisa Spears

This week's Poet of the People is Lisa Spears. I first met Lisa at Aiken County Library for Art of Words. Her poetry blew me away. Since then, she has featured at Mind Gravy and I have heard her read in Charleston; I am hungry for more.

She teaches English to marginalized high school students in Charleston; her book, Releasing Birds, is must read material for those who have triumphed over the trauma of living - "At first, it felt sinful"

-Al Black

Lisa Spears is a poet who resides in Charleston, SC. Her debut book, Releasing Birds came out earlier this year. It is written in memoir fashion–giving a personal testimony to her journey and healing from traumatic experiences. Often images from her work are stark, yet painfully beautiful. Spears moved to Charleston from the Midwest to follow her dream of writing while living by the ocean. She also teaches high school English to students experiencing trauma. She can be reached at Follypoet63@gmail.com

 Hope to the Brim

       When grief for the world assails me,

       and words avail me none,

       and rockets rain in succession in day blind wars

       and the amputee and the orphans cry

       and a lone woman pushes the grocery cart filled with a home,

       and there’s a bad accident on I-78  

       and  an Aunt Ida is ill,

       and the family cat ran away,

       And all hope is at the bottom of the barrel,

       I must cleave hope to remain 

       steadfast and standing

       in my heart’s recall for,

       Somewhere a baker is whistling to the day’s fresh start,

       and geese are flying south,

       and a boy is rejoicing to ride a two wheel bike,

       and a sliver of light passes through the curtain,

       and a toddler dances with a kite and they are twirling,

       and seagulls frame the beach

       and a grandpa baits the hook,

       and sheets dry on the line,

       and a child makes a wish with a dandelion flower,

       and a niece is in remission,

       and fall leaves keep falling,

       and wild horses run so free,

       and Morning Glories frame a white front porch,

       and church bells ring come Sunday morn’,

       and the people thereof keep on singing

,

       And they keep singing,

       I keep singing,

       we keep singing,

       until we know the words again,

       filling hope to the brim,

       And the cat came home.

       Somewhere, the cat is home.

       

“ Adverbial Pause”

               Another boy was murdered by another boy

               today, I got the news

               when the principal calls

               at six p.m.

               on a Saturday

               it’s never good at my school. 

               Where they share lunch

               and high fives and still love

               when I bring candy.

               Now, I can’t teach them about adverbs

               how splendidly, gleefully, beautiful

               it could have been

               to turn sixteen.


 “The Crossing (Yam Suph & Almamanu)”

                                                  Jewish and Arabic translation

                                             

                            Deir-al-Balah used to glitter by the sea

                            there among palms

                            families sang songs

                            a fisherman could hear

                            upon the water

                            Today, for a son

                            the house a hollow tomb

                            to hold his Um (mother)

                            The boy will go now

                            on the far side of land

                            to find Ab (father)

                            at the line drawn in the sand

                            Following the rockets by night

                            a myriad of faces

                            eclipse in shuttered flame

                            A piece of bread

                            for a child 

                            with no name

                            Slipping past soldiers

                            towering like false gods

                            At dawn he runs

                            to the great divide.

                            There a girl is weeping

                            for a bright, blue dress

                            Bobbe (grandmother) she cries

                            Beyond the expanse

                            there is no sky

                           He reaches her hand

                           across the world

                           of every side

                           Herein lies a Holy Land.