The Page a Day Writers Group

Posts Tagged ‘poetry

I had a great time reading a few poems and chatting with the lovely folks over at Pretty Owl Poetry about art, words, process and creativity last night. My poem “thirst” appeared in their third issue along with a photograph that I took in Romania (cover). Thanks to Kelly, Rose and Gordon!



My new e-book is available for DL! Chock-full of sexy/scary short fiction and poetry, it’s a bargain at just $5.99. Buy now!

Good sex, like a good scare, can be hard to come by, and sometimes they go hand-in-hand. Just think of that lover who was just a bit too edgy and scared you a bit, but oh what lovemaking because of it! Sex can enlighten and enliven us as surely as it can ruin and humiliate us. It can open and close doors in our souls (“Erela”).

It can be our absolute undoing but in those vertiginous moments of falling apart, we often find a greater freedom, if only for a moment. She Alone Can Move Me”, “Flowergirl”, “I’m Yours”, “One Perfect Kiss”, “Poorer Sister”, “Rhapsody in Snakeskin”, “Turned Out”, “Celebrity Machine”, and many others.

LISTEN to an audio play of “Rhapsody in Snakeskin”

Kirsten Imani Kasai writes: “Pleasure is an art form executed in the medium of the skin. Pleasure is about sensory exploration. Touch, taste, scent. A look. A caress. A faintly wafting breeze of perfume. It’s about preserving memories (the sound of her voice in your head, the bubbling excitement that builds when kisses deepen, her heat as she writhes beneath you), but it’s also subjective. Eroticism is willing objectification and boundary expansion. Through surrender of self–whether physical or emotional–we become truly magical. True pleasure is the death of reason, a stripping away of all the scaffolding that shores up our crumbling facade. We are forced to confront the unsanctioned appetites of our imaginations. In the private world of lovers, we can delve into forbidden roles, submerse ourselves in themes of power play, absorption, loss of self, transmogrification, union, the dissolution of personal limits and the passionate commingling of souls.”

Some things are extruded, rather than composed. I suppose blog posts should be more thoughtful, but this is all I can manage these days, friends,—to sweep my thoughts into a pile and push them under your rug.

Fiction is my refuge
my flight/wings/home
—a paper wasp nest bound up about me—
tucked under bridge joints/rumbling highways
mud-daubed by cliff swallows
darkly sheltering
Fiction is the fount and spring
healing sulfur waters—caustic/spoiled
which burn going down/coming up
It is balm/salve/butter on my wounds
the scab-peeling tongue
licking and licking
to get to the raw
It is the leech/lamprey/worm
maggot words squirm
writhe in sores
teethe on decay
gulping/regurgitating dead dreams
all that is futile and infertile
Fiction’s the blessing,
the holy dip in rushing rivers
the magic sprinkle from strangers’ hands
the portal, the gate, the door
A pit. A pendulum.
Unspoken, unread
pinned by sharp serifs and stems
held captive by white space
bittersweet promise
longing for the blank page

–Kirsten Imani Kasai

Who are we?

The Page a Day Writers Group is a diverse collection of wonderful writers based in San Diego, CA. We've been meeting monthly since 2004. Our primary function is in-depth writing critique, marketing and brainstorming, but there's usually some wine, chocolate and ribaldry involved too. We write fantasy, humor, literary fiction, nonfiction, romance, thrillers and YA. Join us on our journeys to publication and the wonderland beyond!