Can you tell us about yourself?
My name is Blaga, I am from Bulgaria but I live in Greece for the
past 10 years. I'm in love with the blue of the sea, the green of the eyes and
the purple in the rainbow, colors are magical and everything has a charm in its
color. I love traveling and I collect post cards, I believe that each place on
Earth hides a story to be told. The weird thing is that I was always a maths
person, literature at school was my least favourtite subject. Later I discovered
that I am good at learning languages and when English became sort of a descent
spoken language, poetry came out of nowhere. I write only for the past year and
a half and so far it has given me a valuable experience. My blog http://brokensparkles.
It's a way of expressing emotions through poetry that I wouldn't let out easily and of course I've met so many talented and friendly poets around.
We’re happy that you have been part of Poets Rally as a participant, also an official, what has driven you to where you are in this particular community?
I lack time lately and I can't participate as much as I would like to, but such communities give you the chance to share your work with people who think alike. You know that your poem read by a poet will be appreciated, valued, even if it's only for the effort you've spent ... Different people, different cultures and countries- what better way to learn about the unknown, than blending in a community with talents all over the world?
How long have you been blogging? Do you think being part of a poetry community contributes to your writing?
My blog will be 1 year old in 2 weeks and honestly, I am surprised that I kept it so far, when I posted my first poem last year it was like a joke and with no plan whatsoever how will all continue ... And yes, being part of a poetry community definitely contributes to my writing and I'm sure not only to mine. The challenges organized, the idea you get by visiting others ... it does hold a certain amount of the creative vision!
It started all with poetry, to me it feels much easier to express feelings in a poem. You can say so much in metaphors, keeping the reader entertained and still having your private emotions miles away ... I write short stories too, once in a while when I can't find the right words for a poem and I need to get it all out, then a short story pretty helpful to create.
Please share 3 to 5 blog links you enjoy reading most, give 2 or 3 sentences to tell why you love their creative process.
Jamie
Dedes is on the top of my list. Her blog http://musingbymoonlight.com/ to me is how a blog should
be. Offering a bit of everything, for any audience! And also Jamie has been a
great support to me, I value her as a person!
Inside the mind of a lunatic - http://deadpoet88.wordpress.
I like Sam's blog- Serca Trova- http://somehowpersonal.
Hugo Ramos poetry - http://hugopoems.wordpress.
Corina's Dragon
dreams http://dragonkatet.wordpress.
and Cherlyn's - Over a cup of coffee- http://cursemymetalbody.
How do you decide when a poem is good? Do you redo your own poems after they’re posted?
I know I have a lot to learn about poetry and writing, most of the time I'm sure when I go back to a certain poem, I'll probably find something to correct, but with time I hope I will get better.
Do you think music and poetry are related? Why?
Absolutely! To me music is a major inspirational source. Each melody can be a poem and by each poem you can create a music for the ears of the reader.
What issues are closed to your heart? Women’s rights, child abuses, etc.…name one…
There is so much misery all over the world. Women are abused, children are hungry without a roof on top of their heads, there are wars over faith and power .. and no matter when and where everything happens, usually the ones to suffer are the innocent souls. My heart aches for all the unfairness conquering the world, and one has to be made out of stone not to care about... watching the news every day has become quite a depressive experience, so for my blog I mostly keep the writing about love ...
What’s your other hobbies besides writing?
Most of all I like traveling, there is no comparison to what visiting other countries gives me, it's something that simply makes me happy!
Please list your blog links below, share 1 or 2 poems that represents best of your poetry talent…
Broken Sparkles
Usual, no flinch in the thick air of
sin,
everything stays on place
despite dozens of arguments between
sleepy mornings and lusty nights,
nothing have moved, nothing have faded away.
everything stays on place
despite dozens of arguments between
sleepy mornings and lusty nights,
nothing have moved, nothing have faded away.
Curtains still strain exhausted
light,
rays of shiver coming from outside
in the remorseful beginning of winters cold.
The blanket is there to hide unreasonable fears,
your body, to defend my innocence.
rays of shiver coming from outside
in the remorseful beginning of winters cold.
The blanket is there to hide unreasonable fears,
your body, to defend my innocence.
Box of cereal, half- full yesterday,
half- empty today,
begging for a date with skim milk.
No chance to succeed,
I’ll throw it again
seeing it old, not All-Bran,
crunchy and brown enough.
half- empty today,
begging for a date with skim milk.
No chance to succeed,
I’ll throw it again
seeing it old, not All-Bran,
crunchy and brown enough.
Dark blue dress, labeled with rigor,
saying proudly:
”I’m ready, I’ll cherish your feverish skin.”
The shoes, scratched from walking
Aladdin’s cave,
cup of water to feed the violets looking pretty,
sandwich of tuna and lettuce teases hunger,
seems again to fit the routine.
saying proudly:
”I’m ready, I’ll cherish your feverish skin.”
The shoes, scratched from walking
Aladdin’s cave,
cup of water to feed the violets looking pretty,
sandwich of tuna and lettuce teases hunger,
seems again to fit the routine.
Just sounds of broken sparkles,
follow as I go downstairs,
I hear the click,
loud, persisting appearance,
undressing me,
leaving me shamefully naked,
saying it’s never going to be the same.
follow as I go downstairs,
I hear the click,
loud, persisting appearance,
undressing me,
leaving me shamefully naked,
saying it’s never going to be the same.
Not my afterthought escaped to visit
another sweet embrace,
another golden prison.
Not after flicking flames of pink candles,
lit as a votive,
doesn’t show sparkling love, just
lust worth living …
another sweet embrace,
another golden prison.
Not after flicking flames of pink candles,
lit as a votive,
doesn’t show sparkling love, just
lust worth living …
people
they come
when the dust crawls
on street corners
when you need help
to inhale the ashes
left after demons fight
kindness offered
breaths undercover
making you a better man
a woman.
barely in charge, addicted
you accept them
when the dust crawls
on street corners
when you need help
to inhale the ashes
left after demons fight
kindness offered
breaths undercover
making you a better man
a woman.
barely in charge, addicted
you accept them
they hold you
when tears betray you
to let you know
there’s this salty taste of life
no proof of sound to register
the beauty of arms around you
in and out, up and down
the value of a friendly hand
matters in each second
in moments when you realize
you can’t have
the whole pot of ice-cream alone
when tears betray you
to let you know
there’s this salty taste of life
no proof of sound to register
the beauty of arms around you
in and out, up and down
the value of a friendly hand
matters in each second
in moments when you realize
you can’t have
the whole pot of ice-cream alone
they go eventually
with a promise to return
but only in your deep sleep
leaving empty
the guest’s cup of coffee
grounded on a shelf with bitter herbs
they come and go
like trains in opposite directions
like seasons changing the shade of the day
leaving you constantly sitting
on a cold bench at faraway metro station
with a promise to return
but only in your deep sleep
leaving empty
the guest’s cup of coffee
grounded on a shelf with bitter herbs
they come and go
like trains in opposite directions
like seasons changing the shade of the day
leaving you constantly sitting
on a cold bench at faraway metro station
They come and always go!
Royal Love
In the time of silence, when dimness
is all I see,
you can make me believe the world is maybe royal.
Across the bed with silk and mirrors, where lies my pride,
you may convince me I’m the last in the monarchy of lions.
you can make me believe the world is maybe royal.
Across the bed with silk and mirrors, where lies my pride,
you may convince me I’m the last in the monarchy of lions.
If the edges of my ivory gown touch
the ballroom floor,
you can turn into ashes my crystal crown, let my hair flow down.
And when the neon in your eyes set in flames my naive heart,
I can even let you call me a Queen, I can accept your endearment.
you can turn into ashes my crystal crown, let my hair flow down.
And when the neon in your eyes set in flames my naive heart,
I can even let you call me a Queen, I can accept your endearment.
But in mornings with coffee, when the
sound of traffic is all I hear,
don’t say a word, don’t send me orchid petals in envelopes.
When your voice is just an echo in the distance, I tremble under
the spell of my own world, for I can only be a lady, but never royal.
2 comments:
loved her support a lot.
she has been a gem to the rally.
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