Atlanta’s LGBT Authors

AtlantaMost of you know I’m from Atlanta, though I don’t come out of my hidey-hole often. There are many very talented LGBT authors in Atlanta and the surrounding area, and this is just a handful. If you know of an author not listed, please leave their name in the comments so readers can check them out. ~ B.

Listed in no particular order. [Read more…]

As Streetlights Come and Go – Animated Gay Love Story

Every once in a while someone sends me something really cool. I love art of any sort, so when this video popped into my inbox I was instantly enthralled. It’s simple, yet speaks volumes, which all great art does. Thanks to AJ Powers for creating and sending this to me. 

 

Streetlights come and go.
When the snow falls, will you touch my lips?
If cars drive past, do we stand together, motionless?
A fire beneath our feet. I see these mistakes, and a bee has lost its wings.
The mailbox is starting to get mad, the phone doesn’t answer me anymore.
Midnight rush hour, goodbye summer breeze.
The spirits are present. Can you hear them?
They want to know about us.
So will you run with me? The rails are covered in rain.
Can we write our will across the sky?
If this is what it means, can we jump?
Do you know where to land?
In the stars?
Or in the sea?
Why don’t you look at me?
I’ve been looking for you.
This darkness helps me see, and here it is.
Don’t look at yourself that way, I love your wings.
The sound of droplets bouncing from pamphlets, and your eyes just won’t let go.
To the beginning of all this, we stand at the edge of our balcony, red drapes illuminate your skin.
If you can see this far into the sun, grab my hand and nothing will stop us.
I can’t say I understand, but this will never end.

The birds will talk, and the trees will watch.
Do you know what it means to never stop?

If you are not the one voice

If you are not the one voice
for those with no voice,
then,
there is only silence,
and their endless suffering…

Introspection

writer,

What do you see?

A bass player laying it down?

A pirouette in mid motion?

A child throwing a tantrum?

A fisherman reeling in the big one

he always talked about, but lost….

 

Day of Silence

Day of Silence

Credit: Jan H. Andersen, http://www.jhandersen.com

When I asked for someone to speak for me

there was silence

When I buckled and fell under the weight of words

there was silence

An army of likeminded people appeared behind me

but stood in silence

And so my hunger for love became so great

that it was silence.

 

For those we have lost~ B. Shire

Poetry Month – Poetry and Prejudice

poetry monthAs many of my reader’s already know, I’m a great fan of poetry. I even dabble in a bit of it myself, though I will be the first to say that my own poetry sucks. I need to stretch my fingers a bit more when I put words on paper, which is why I have such great respect for a wordsmith that can do in ten words what it takes me in ten thousand.

I read all kinds of prose and poetry and it doesn’t have to be a specifically oriented in gender, ethnicity or race. It just has to be good; it has to touch me and evoke something from within myself that makes me stop and wonder why I have not noticed this before.

But honestly, there are many times when I think that the words we commit ourselves to, both in our writing and our reading, are hindered by the labels we put on it. Or should we blame marketers and publishers who value easily labelled societal segments for being neat little cubbyholes of potential sales and profit?  That would be a bit too easy, wouldn’t it? It would be all their fault, and not our own ingrained prejudices and petty bigotries that we don’t let out to the world or, often, comprehend within ourselves.

Poetry exposes those gilded crimes, like good prose. It opens us to new possibilities and worlds, new ways of thinking, it keeps us breathless, pent up, internalized until we can stand it no more.  Save with our tears and our sorrow and our joy. It shows us the chair in the forest of words.

Poetry has that effect. Because that’s what its for. For change and progress and evolution.

For the soul; the one that beats, the one to come, and the one that has passed.

 

Photo credit: H. Keller

 

Thinking – a poem

poetry, writing, brokenI am thinking…

I am thinking how words turn in your gut
how they twist and rust

I am thinking how angry feels
gnawing through the skin of hope
hooking into blue desires
trying to keep hidden
so that it can wretch
when least expected

I am thinking how compassion walks
strutting in when anguish calls,
how someone called ‘nancy’
and the boundaries of my heart
found their end
and gave me voice

I am thinking thoughts
are
just thoughts,
the yellow crypt
we hide in
when action seems too far.

The Blues – A poem

writing, poetry, author

It’s about the movement of ice

a clot in the silent rain

A thick brown stink

seated in the chest

Denied loneliness

that stings rancid with longing

The hot sum of a too high price

The Advocate – a poem

Those you have turned from

I have held their hands

Those you have demeaned

I have wiped their tears

Those you have silenced

I have become their voice

Those you have buried

I will help to live again

 

Fear

poetry, fiction, writer, writingrendered like a stillness

in the eyes

where it flashes

its teeth

a full skeleton

under all we do