Blog Post
Hi Everyone,
I am featuring a poet and dear friend of mine on my blog today. Please welcome KD Rose.
With a distinctive voice, K.D. Rose illuminates and embraces the songs of our lives. Revelatory and urgent, her poetry combines fearless beauty with the strangeness of an other, watching and bearing witness to the exquisite and heartbreaking world while embroiled in the intensity and passion of life’s dynamics. In turns ethereal, haunting, and brazen, Dream Poem invites the reader to the trance of what it means to be living today. For the first time K.D. Rose’s literary published poetry and hidden gems are gathered together in this bold collection. Includes a bonus section with The Essay “I Have No Voice and I Must Write”, and the short story “The Empath”!
About the author:
K. D. Rose is a poet, essayist, and author. K.D. was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in poetry for “There are Species of Stars Yet to be Seen.” K. D.’s book, Inside Sorrow, won Readers Favorite Silver Medal for Poetry. She has written books in multiple genres. Her poetry, essays, and short stories have been published in Word Riot, Chicago Literati, Poetry Breakfast, BlazeVOX Journal, Ink in Thirds, Northern Virginia Review, The Nuclear Impact Anthology, Stray Branch Magazine, Literary Orphans, Maintenant Contemporary Dada Magazine, Lunch Ticket Arts and Literary Magazine, The 2016 Paragram Press Anthology, Eastern Iowa Review, Bop Dead City, Santa Fe Literary Magazine, Hermes Poetry Magazine, Slipstream, Wild Women’s Medicine Circle Journal and The Offbeat Literary Magazine.
And here’s a taste of KD’s poetry…
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I saw the best minds of my generation
starved into servitude, strides for recognition
unheard by ears listening to another word,
forthright regals regaling unwittingly
about pond scum to bigger fish.
They moved with surety once but
never again, with age, their pages lost,
their songs unsung except to one another,
temple to temple all night long, cost
again by Burning Man and outre suave
signs o’ the times and Y2K like
the best minds produced exiles in rivers
damned by those who bar the crossings.
I saw the best women of my generation
struggle to become both woman and man,
fight against one another with tea cups and
soirees against reason for reasonable lives
and Jumbotron kisses raising daughters
who dare to bare in instagrammatic spheres.
They lost to no lunches and fast food,
diets and airbrushed mini malls, pork
size poker faces every day in halls
built for man-sized business balls.
Still in the fight that has become
meatballs at home only, lonely
to make ends meet with the hubby,
in hijacked housing ballooning
daily.
Sheritha Singh 