A New Book of Poetry

At last the book went through the press and is NOW available on AMAZON! Please check out 14 Poems- A Collection by Nisa West on amazon.com and let me know what you think once you've read it. Thanks for your support!

Love in Light,
Changing Crow

Nisa's Blog

Nisa West has a new blog! Please visit it by clicking the link below and feel free to make long drawn out comments. It's always nice to hear what you have to say. Nisa's Blog

14 Poems- a Collection

Changing Crow Books is publishing a collection of poems by Nisa West. Nisa West est son nom du plume.

Please send me your information if you'd like to be on the Changing Crow & Co. mailing list. That way, you will know when all of Nisa West's books are released and available. She is currently working on a collection of short stories.

One does not become enlightened
by imagining figures of light,
but by making the darkness conscious.
- Carl Jung

Technique

An amateur waits for me each morning telling me, over and over, "You are a writer, so start behaving as one." I look to the amateur and respond, "Is that your professional opinion?"

As of late, I'm working on Technique so that I will have all my tools sharpened when inspiration comes. So when the Muse graces me with her Beauty I will be prepared.

A Poem From the Past

WHAT BINDS US

I cannot find you back in time,
From those days I slept away,
A flickering life that was tinkering
On the brink of being born.

There are only ruins now-
once temples, below a pyramid,
Our bodies buried.
Most likely your design.

Ages pass by,
Yet you are still hidden outside,
The gates of Oblivion,
Climbing the night to see if you can
find the one you thought was real.

In one dimension there is darkness,
Where submerging lilies take their start
in the blood pond beneath my heart,
I stare at twists of ancient links,
And gaze to chains of double helix.

In between cracks of stone,
I'm lulled away to find filaments anew
or something in the dust bowl of my skull.
Searching the imagination for subtle clues.

Encoded upon the spider's silver armor,
Intricate memories are woven,
And the slow itch builds.
The metallic flow rushing to the surface,

So slowly at first that it is mistaken
for a breeze- a needed fix.
Waiting in the wings for something
to flutter by.

Yet nothing has changed,
The ghost's ideals remain,
The patterns are all the same.

It's true I walked directly towards you,
That was part of the dream,
But you didn't see me turn
and fade back across the tracks.

The part where I dug the earth,
For something in bones to trace
the moment in solidity.
I found this female skeleton,
And she became my heir:

The breath that sparked,
The pulse with the heart,
The heart with the light,
The light with the body.
Beseeching the sky
to obtain redemption,

While the fiery flesh kept the illusion,
As to where the smoke signals snake through
Old spaces between connective tissue.
The longing marrow slowly tearing,
At what was trapped with bright creation.

Under my skin I feel,
Where coursing warm waters are,
Moving along faster by burning determination.
Heart rate quickening- yearning,
To see your toothy smile.

So what binds us you and I?
Beyond the freeing of static energy,
To the discovery of what is Truth,
Something beyond the thinking mind,
As it is meant to be from God,
In one's own right at birth.

And I wonder where you are taking me,
Now that I am alive.

-Nisa

What I Write with Others

When the dust settles over the clock- it looks different, as if Time has changed course and I've made my way back into my alternate reality. This is challenging, yet doable and getting easier with Practice.

Linear time keeps me in my mind. A mind with a thousand voices that are not mine. It sounds as if they are arguing in there, not agreeing on a damn thing.

Hell is a place of punishment, a place of fear, pain and suffering, a place where fire burns you. Human beings are already in hell. This is living in hell. We are living in hell: The fear, pressure, the stigma of memory, the heat in the body, the noise in the head, the sting in the solar plexus, the melting heart. I don't mind hell, my mind doesn't mind it at all. My thinking mind thrives here. The devil made me do it.

Thank God Spirit knows heaven. I'm there right now, in the present.

When the dust settles on the lens- I see clearly, isn't that image in the mirror you looking back at me?

You are beautiful.

Do you have any AngelBrainChildren from Heaven I should know about? I'd love to hear how you spend your time...

Write On,
Nisi

Writing with Others

As of late, I have been writing with others. Usually I write alone, so this experience is all brand new. Please join in on the bizarre behaviour by attending Writer's Group- Tuesday 6PM and Thursday 6:30 PM at the beautiful Encinitas Library. Share the creativity you possess!

Some clichés to avoid in creative writing- in case you were wondering, according to The Writer:

Any sweet little boy or innocent old lady who uses foul language, any bright, spunky heroine who is frustrated by sexist clods and prevails... until, one day, she has to be rescued by her father, brother, boyfriend, husband, ex-husband, grandfather, or witty gay friend... who's still a bit of a jerk but who is basically a good guy and probably ought to be given another chance anyhow, because, as we all know, there just aren't that many great guys out there in the first place,any iconoclastic, vulnerable, lonely and damaged postmodern hero or heroine who's searching for someone or something, or please God, just anything to believe in but can't surrender his or her hard-earned skepicism because he or she has got just too darned much intellectual integrity, and finally, the A-1, worst, most pathetic creative writing cliché ever: Personification! of any breeze, storm, body of water, cloud, fog, building, mountain, mist, swamp, tree, flower, flock, fish, portrait, planet, star, body part, farm animal, city, time of day, room, weapon, item of clothing, food, forest animal or Grecian urn. Such as: The despairing clouds wept tears that splattered my soul with despair.