It’s been a while since I’ve updated, but if you follow me on social media, (which I highly recommend you do) you’ll know that my chapbook is almost complete! We have a title, my publisher and editors have polished it, and I just have my final checks to do before we take it to print. That being said, we’re doing some pretty unusual and cool things with its formatting that I think you all will be excited to see once it’s in print. I’m so excited to share this labor of love with all of you.
Speaking of labors of love, I’m currently going over the first round of edits for Catching Dreams that my publisher has sent over before sending it to the publisher. The first round of edits involves tightening up the prose, tidying up some redundancies, and just overall polishing it up. From there, it will go to the publisher’s editors, go through more editing, and then, hopefully, we’ll start drafting up a cover and it will – fingers crossed – hit the bookshelves in 2025!
I am so excited to share with you the progress of my journey. Also, while I have been away from my website, two of my poems were published in a local literary magazine called Perspectives. If you are interested in receiving a copy, please let me know and I can send you an autographed copy.
That’s all for now, but be sure to keep checking my website for more updates!
Love is a Ouija board for the lost souls and the damned — I will not surrender my planchette if it means giving control to the ghosts. I contain within me a cemetery with anonymous tombstone and nameless crypts. I thought mausoleums were meant to be quiet & this one is as loud as a burlesque hall.
You are a ghost & I cannot commit to a life of haunting.
Seances never felt like homecomings but I gave you my last dance – those nights always scented of clove cigarettes and nostalgia heavy like cologne –
I remember watching the moon cut through trees and thought myself a spirit drifting in & out of your life.
I’m writing absences where your heart used to lie, lacunae where stars used to soar. You were my sanctuary, & I thought I believed in forever.
None of this is broken, but sometimes, parts of me fracture.
Every time I try to write, memories of who I was or who I could be resurrect like Lazarus from a tomb.
My skin is barely hanging on my body & I have grown frail. My desires are no longer carnal, and my rage no longer violent. (She told me the years would soften me like overripe fruit, and I denied it like my hard edges have an advantage.)
Now, here we are at the gates and Peter interrogates me — he asks me why I harbored so much hate, but even if I have forgiven, I couldn’t be lace and be defined by my empty spaces.
I feel like I’ve ruptured, and a part of me will never be the same. I’ve said it before, so maybe I’ll say it again, a fabulist isn’t always a liar — sometimes, just a storyteller.
I followed this line until it fractured and you taught me about the fault lines I never grew up along. He asked me if I still smell like autumn, and people clamored to say hazelnut coffee or brittle fall leaves. I never knew who I was, only what others saw.
I couldn’t be lace. I read through the doctor’s notes and they all diagnosed me the same –
a tired cliché.
This isn’t Plath nor will it ever be, but the most I can ever ask for is someone to love me as I am, to take me into their arms, and not to simply tolerate – not to merely accept – but to cherish, to celebrate, to worship, & to love.
You gathered all these different parts of me, all the different eras, and you saw who I was reflected through each, and you swore you’d stay (as long as I didn’t push too hard).
I’ve been pushing people away for centuries now, and I’m tired.
This certainly isn’t the poem I started, but now that you see me clearly, tell me – will you be the one to run?
Carol Majola is a trained ECD educator, business management student, self proclaimed poet and author, and aspiring entrepreneur. She is passionate about community building and helping youth tackle social ills affecting them. Majola is advocate for issues such as bullying, GBV, and substance abuse. She believes that her purpose is healing and that words written or spoken are powerful to break but also heal and she found healing in poetry. To Carol, the two most powerful things are Love and words.
When did you start writing poetry?
I fell in love with poetry when we were learning about the history of our country when we were in school, when whites and blacks were separated during the apartheid era. And I fell in love with how expressive the writers of the “struggle” were and how they used the art to cope with their pain and loss, to communicate their feelings more eloquently. But it was when I lost my father at the age of nine, that I wrote my first poem.
What are your favorite words?
I am a lover so my favourite word is “love”.
My name “Carol” because it means “a joyful song”. I feel it explains why I love music so much.
Do you have a particular style of poetry you write? Have you ever experimented with form poetry? What were the results?
I do not think I have a particular style of writing my poetry, although most of my poems are in a similar structure. They are more expressive than rhythmic though.
I love words and playing around with words and therefore experimenting with form poetry was inevitable. My first exposure to poetry was form and studying poetry. With my work, I feel that form gave it more structure and allowed me to experiment with my rhyme scheme. Although the consideration of my lines and stanzas made it seem limiting in how I could express in depth, it did teach me careful consideration of my word choice.
April is Global Poetry Writing Month. Who are some of your favorite poets from around the world?
One of my memorable olden day favourite poet together with the likes of Charles Causley, would be a South African Poet by the name of “KEORAPETSE WILLIAM KGOSITSILE” who was not only a poet but a social and political activist who lived in Exile in the US in 1962. I love how he encouraged interest in Africa, African poetry and the practice of poetry as a performance art. Origins and Santamaria are some of my favorite works by him.
Maya Angelou has always been my favorite, as well as Rudy Francisco. I have my recent favourites who I have experienced through social media – Yaw Osafo (KINGYAW FROM GHANA) residing in the states and Hafsat Abdullahi (HAVFY FROM NIGERIA)…such powerful young poets.
AConjugal Suicide
Floating, barely breathing beneath the waters, In a bottomless ocean. Drowning, for I sold myself at the price of trust I recklessly handed over. Sun rays cast between my fears, Water covering my stream of tears, My wails muffled in the deep, Not even those shoring at sea Can see me, nor my weeps hear. I am dazed swimming in agony, In a sea a path to which I built With brick and mortar with which I tried to build my home That now lies desolate and forgone.
Jimmy Broccoli is a Library Branch Manager by day and a published poet by night with a mission to inspire his readers through imaginative poetic storytelling. His work has been featured in several publications and he released his first full-length book, “Damaged”, on Christmas Day 2021 and compiled the poetry anthology, “Spotlight”, released in March 2022. He enjoys walks on the beach and playing with puppies.
His poetry is raw and tells a story. When you read Broccoli’s poetry, you can feel the emotion of each poem as though you had written it yourself. His poems cut through you like the serrated edge of a knife and don’t hold anything back.
What does poetry mean to you?
I’m a narrative poet, so poetry – for me – is a way to tell stories. Sometimes I write autobiographical poems, sometimes I write fictional accounts – and, often, I write pieces that dwell somewhere in the middle of the two. Much of my writing deals with grief, raw emotions, loss, and death – so poetry, for me, is often a car crash – stories bleeding onto paper or across a computer screen, staining the carpet below. Poetry allows me to express what I would normally keep quiet or secret – it allows me to breathe life into the otherwise unanimated.
When did you begin writing poetry and what has your writing journey been like?
I began writing poetry at age 12 – but didn’t find my “poetic voice” until my early 20s. As an English major at University, I took an upper-level Modern Poetry class and fell in love with confessional poetry – Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Stevie Smith, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and others. My poetic style continues to be heavily influenced by the confessional poets of the mid-1900s.
Whose poetry would you say influences you most? In what ways has it influenced you?
In addition to the modern confessional poets, my poetry is heavily influenced by music – mostly alternative. The lyrics of Nine Inch Nails, Keaton Henson, Morrissey, and Sigur Ros have been more influential upon my writing than the work of other poets. All of these musical artists write highly emotional, powerful, and raw lyrics – exposing the often strange, dangerous, rebellious, extreme, and dark sides of life. It is within this world I usually write. I keep a flashlight handy.
What is your favorite thing about writing poetry?
Poetry, for me, is the escape hatch behind the bedroom closet that opens into a world similar to ours – but more magical and poetic. Writing as Jimmy, I get the opportunity to be someone else for short periods, while still clinging on to my regular identity and life. It’s often thrilling – and a lot of fun.
What is your least favorite thing about writing poetry?
As a side effect of writing raw, emotional verse, the process of writing a poem can take me out of living for several hours or an entire day. When I write very personal poems, usually filled with painful emotions, I become mentally crippled – it’s much like having a temporary mental meltdown – but knowing it will soon be okay. I go through this until my mind tells me, “Hey, it’s time to function again”. Then, I get up and continue with my day.
Tell me about it. It’s an exhausting process writing an emotionally charged poem. What’s your process like?
I never block off or schedule time to write – ideas come to me and – if I like the ideas – I find the nearest pen and paper or computer and begin writing. For me, editing is a constant phase of the writing process – I edit while writing the initial draft and will revisit the piece to edit for the next day or two. I read every line dozens of times – and every time I make a change, I begin reading the poem from the beginning. On average, the initial draft of a poem takes me 2 – 4 hours to write – while the extra editing time can be fairly short (30 minutes) or take a few hours to complete.
As mentioned above, the writing process – for me – can be a painful one – but it is also therapeutic. Writing is a way for me to shed my demons and get out the emotions that have built up over the years. Writing is a release for me.
Who would you have over for lunch of your literary heroes/heroines and what would you serve? What food and which drinks? Why? What would you talk about over the meal?
Well – if musicians who write beautiful lyrics can be considered, I’d invite singer Jón Þór Birgisson (Jonsi), from Sigur Ros, over for lunch. No other writer, from my experience, reaches the epic emotional states Jonsi brings to music and verse.
Both Jonsi and I are vegan – Jonsi is a raw food vegan – so I’d prepare a large vegan platter that included fruits, vegetables, and nuts or bring a Raw Food Pistachio Zucchini Lasagna. A picnic in the park would be nice. I’d bring a sauvignon blanc (white wine) for me and bring whatever he prefers for him. I’m certain we’d talk about him throughout the meal. He’s a fascinating guy and I know I’d learn volumes from him. He is a hero of mine and spending any time with him would be a high honor.
How has poetry changed you?
Poetry has made me more community-minded. I love being a part of the worldwide poetry community and am a member of a good number of poetry groups online. These relationships – often leading to friendships – inspire my writing and are very enjoyable.
His unshaven posture weakens He wilts into my arms as if we’re dancing A delicate dandelion stem exposed to hurricanes A falling toaster into bathwater With bubbles
He is crumpled paper and smeared ink Downturned blue eyes With confidence hung from rope Swinging from unstable rafters Looking down upon a chair with faded and expired paint
I build a fort
Marmalade bed sheets surround his symphony In stillness, I pronounce him king Fluffy life rafts in pillowcases Mix-matched blankets and couch cushions He sits in silence, thinking only in whispers
With evaporated tears, he falls asleep, handsome I hold my breath, then exhale diamonds My emotions spill upon the floor As I listen to him breathing -Jimmy Broccoli
Isabelle Palerma 