What light beyond my window, shines
For here I stand a muse
Painted upon this faded canvas
My skin weathered, dried, and cracked
Beneath the summer sun
What statue carved in stone
Would stand as tall and proud
Beneath the sky so blue
No rustic words etched
Upon the parchment
Nor carved upon the stone
Would speak such truths
Beneath the sky so true
(Self-published. Please contact author directly to order.)
Enter the pages of diaspora in quiet introspection. Bathe your thoughts with subtle humor; synchronize your spirit-sense with history-in-heat; fall headlong with eyes wide open into
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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