The Story of Maktoob (“that which is already written” )

Sometimes we actually notice when we have been given a gift, that had our name on it.

Little Maktoob is one such gift.
About 2 weeks ago, I heard a small kitten crying in my backyard. My first reaction was,”I hope he doesn’t run into the dog” (a pitbull who has killed cats before)
and
“I hope it keeps on walking to the next house, as I have 2 cats already and really don’t want a third”
He cried all night and in the early morning light, I saw a scrawny grey and white kitty, in the low branches of a mango tree, right in front of my window.
I thought, poor thing, I wonder how he even got here?”
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                                                              Maktoob’s 1st Picture

I put him in a box and gave him some food that he gobbled up immediately
and brought him inside.
My plan was to feed him and look for a good home, even pay a Vet for a checkup and  deparisite him, etc………. that was before I learned the truth of his arrival.

Later we found a sack ripped open and 3 brothers and sisters scattered around the yard dead…killed by the dog. It was so shocking to me..an image I try not to let replay in my mind…..but by then I knew he was mine. He was destined to be  mine as he survived a massacre and “it was already written” that he would  live with us.. Maktoob!!
I won’t even dwell on what kind of heartless person would throw a sack of helpless kitties in a yard with pitbulls…but they obviously did that on purpose😢😠😔
Maktoob beat the odds. He climbed a tree! He is a survivor! He is ours and we will make sure his life is full of love and security.

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He has already started to play the piano(in the background:)

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…and use my face as his favorite pillow:)

Maktoob!!!

 


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Fat Cat (I Couldn’t Resist:)

Filmed from my bedroom-That’s a Chacalaca trying to eat:)  Enjoy!!

Posted in Machinima, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 19 Comments

You and The Moon

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You and The Moon

24 hours and counting down,
before the next full moon,
I find myself clinging to the “i’s”
and crossing the “t’s.”
The wind is a flute,
that plays from every direction,
the poppy fields wave in the breeze;
living life inside a poem,
is almost always beautiful
and almost always lonely.

If there were someone else to share this with,
I doubt that I’d be writing.
Instead, I would be tracing our figures in the shadows,
upon the castle wall,
walking with you holding hands,
the desert air so sterile and clean,
like fluorescent sheets in the moonlight,
blowing on the line.
Not one cloud to disturb
this moon,
this mood,
this moment
of pure love.

Poetry is just poor company,
a stand -in,
a rebounding second best.
Although it’s true my blood runs through each verse;
where is the harmony?
There’s no one now to share my breath,
I just breathe each one to stay alive
I take each step, to put a little distance
between me and your untimely death.
Nine years now and still you ask for one more poem
in a field of red flowers with the moon on high,
What can I do?….but acquiesce.

Old tears,
that have already been cried,
have no place running down my cheeks.
Go save them in big books
of pressed flowers,
that stale smell of faded perfumed lace.
Even if you are but a memory,
some nights, like this,
bring you back to the living-side.
It is never my idea…
I have done well enough without you;
no, its always you and the moon,
who start it all over again.

Karima Hoisan
July 22, 2021
Costa Rica

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ReCap & Recording of The Chelsea Hotel Reading -7-18-2021

KH@TCH

 “Thank you to Keyah Kyomoon for this composite ” 


Please Click this link to hear a recording of my Reading yesterday at the Virtual Hotel Chelsea: Recording
It was a fun reading with about 25 people at the venue and 5 more on the public stream.
I gave some shout-outs to my readers who I thought, might like to hear the recording!
I will include a few pictures and let the recording speak for itself… Thank you Sannie and
Natascha for taking pictures❤️

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                                               “Are you the lullaby of sapphire skies?” (photo by Sannie)

night bird_006Night Bird by Natascha
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The Lightness of Ramadan (photo by Sannie)

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I shrunk and was made into a table-sized performing poet:) (photo by Sannie)

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In the budding giant Lilly forest (photo by Sannie)

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My View of the audience gathering (photo by Sannie)
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      Good room shots by Natascha
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Sunbeam

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The early morning beam of light,
comes in my window to play…
It finds my crystals hanging in the window
and coaxes jets of color to paint my walls..
It passes through prisms tickling the rainbow
reds, yellows and blues until they run away giggling
and smash over my ceiling..

It probes my vase of lilies and says
You think you are orange?
Now look…
as I cover you in light!
This is orange my dear,
not that pale half asleep color you woke up with.
It capriciously fans over the stamens, carpels, stigmas,
making them twist and distort a bit
the stars of each flower,
their inner sanctums shine in the daybreak spotlight.

Who invited you in today?
Did the tree branches sway a bit to get
out of your way?
Is it all a conspiracy of the new day?
the sun in its perfect angle,
the leaves bowing their heads
so you can pass over them?

I surrender to your intent to wake me up,
with colors splashing over my eyes.
I don’t give in to the call of the pillow
that wants to pull me back,
drag me once again, into  the depths of Stygian sleep,

but instead, I smile, not annoyed and say appreciatively,
“Good morning sunbeam!”

Karima Hoisan
July 16, 2021
Costa Rica

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Nightmare in Yellow

Marinela Christel (Lonely Wolf)
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I met Lonely Wolf on a poetry site in 2004.

We became instant friends and she began sharing her poetry, some of it truly brutal and horrifying with me.I had never read anything like it and it haunted me.

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Book Cover Art by Lonely Wolf

‘In 2006 Marinela (Lonely Wolf) published “Communist Baby”
It contained some epic poems she wrote about being orphaned and surviving in Transylvania Romania and her forward she says:

“I was born in Transylvania, Romania, in a town surrounded by the Carpathian Mountains, named Sibiu. I spent my childhood in a childless environment, dodging the communist regime, successfully most of the time. I lost my parents and most of my relatives by the time I was a preteen, and my poetry and paintings back then, and even now, reflect the pain and longing for the missing loved ones. At the age of 18, I got married and was whisked away to America while communism was at its height in Romania. My experiences in two distinct cultures gave me a view of the world that at times might seem biting, but it is as honest as I see it. Memories linger, return, and disappear, yet I have learned a very precious lesson; we are survivors many times over. I want to thank you for reading my verses, and if I inadvertently offended anyone on my way to freedom of thought, I apologize.
Lonely Wolf ”
I only have this verse of hers, from the Surrender Series that I can share …. her book is out of print and I lost touch with her. over the years.

SURRENDER TO HATE

a little one in a communist country

Months passed and daddy didn’t shout.
Mom had no bruises, I went back to school.
Peace didn’t find me, I knew what’s all about.
Daddy had many women, behaving like a fool!

Communist slogans flying, sung in one loud voice,
First of May, parades to watch, yet not march in.
Daddy was questioned; at school I had no choice
But to stand in corners, not show my face, my sin!

I hated all his women, I hated all my schoolmates!
I hated empty bottles that mom left all around!
I hated all my neighbors who locked me out of gates,
I couldn’t reach my cot; to hate I did give ground!

My body shaking, cries muted, they shaved my head!
Hospital staff forcefully fed me, upon daddy’s request.
Saturday May morning, they found my father dead!
Mom cried, I cried for her; perhaps now we can rest…

No husband, no more father is such a crying shame!
Dressed all in black and starving worse than before
Mom met a widowed man; once more I was the game.
Pawn to be shifted, here and there; hate to the core!!!

It didn’t last too long before this dad was killed too.
I held his bloody neck and tried to pull the knife.
I woke up two days latter, washed off the sticky goo
And mommy was in black again, nobody’s wife…

No one set home, no school, no mates; a crazy kid!
Math teacher feeling my budding tits and skinny ass.
Please, help me God, no more! Whatever that I did
Don’t make me suffer longer, I’m just a scared lass…

I hate my body, just bluish skin and jutting bones!
I hate my mind, too petrified to say another word!
I hate my days, my nights, all filled with moans
Red, hazy lights, spread all around my gourd!

I hate this hate! I long for peace and gentle love…
Sleep won’t come, fear covers me in a frozen sweat.
That knife is big, I’ll fall and it will surely shove
Through hateful heart I’ve grown. That was my bet!

by lonely wolf

Author’s Comments:
“I am sorry if this is disturbing to some. It is the purging. To this
day nobody really knows who killed my father. He was found incoherent
in his hospital duty room on May 6th and the idiots took him to
another hospital to save him . He died on route. We lost the
government subsidized housing and ended up living in the streets,
under bridges. Mom met a very nice man while working. They got
married. He was killed by someone in his native village. Mom and I
went there in the middle of the night, in time to say goodbye, I
fainted and didn’t wake for 2 days, forgotten in a corner by the
grieving family.Mom started to drink just before daddy died. She was
never sober after the second husband died and never wore anymore
color, just black. My father had many mistresses he used to bring home
and kick me out when mom was at work. I never said a word, because I
didn’t want ,Mommy to get mad and get beat up again by him. My eyes
grew hooded, my trust diminished to zero. An unmarried or widowed
woman, back then, was a disgrace and something to be spit upon. Never
mind a child without a father!All the adults were nuts, the communists
were nuts and because of my father who was anti communism I was
ostracized. I was living in a world of nuts and they were calling me
nuts. A 9 year old. I had to live up to labels, so my stepfather’s
knife was the solution. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, still
don’t… Now, they were right! I was nuts! To be continued…”

In 2005 I wrote this poem Nightmare in Yellow” I share it with you now, because I have never written anything like it before or after. I literally felt almost possessed by her history when I wrote it. I gave it to her and she was very moved.

Nightmare In Yellow
for lonely wolf

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Now, a child’s point of view
I peer out from deep inside
stricken, numb, impotent, dumb
for I am not a child
and these are not my eyes.
If I had a box of crayons
the only one I’d chose,
is the sunlight stick
with small black bands
to draw her as she grew

Yellow is the color of the cowards
certainly she is not among them.
Her hero’s gait against her fate
gives witness to her strength,
the skinny posturing bold and straight,
her tight lipped gaze not winsome.

Yellow is the color of the foil wrap
which held the lilacs tight inside their vase,
and from that child’s weeping rims,
I see my mother’s saddened face.
Her mothers broken limbs produce in me,
confusing imagery of time and space.

At her hapless mother’s breakdown,
baton twirling guards march with the band,
while my mom makes a leap from her wagon,
scotch and water with ice in her hand.
But we are still a long time away from
the Gypsies helping hand
or the straggly girl lifting weights
and drinking booze
a knife held tight,
as protection in her land

I come alone to hug her,
to quash the memories of lunatic nights.

Staring from her upstairs window
she paces back and forth,
the yellow in her eyes now waxing bright,
from so much misfortune,
locked inside uptight.
Back and forth her bony haunches lead
her pacing moves her out the door ,
I’m there too her glitter eyes hook
mine to hers and she to me
and we proceed to scratch and pick
our scabs and open sores

I am now in an unwanted sequel
to a terror tale I’ve already seen
and there’s nothing normal about this film,
forming on the dishes to be served,
horror at its crudest and most real,
like the film that forms on the deadened eyes
of the more than one unfortunate
whose soul now in its hell- hole
rots and squeals.

Yellow card
what’s hers what’s mine
who knows
who even cares.
We hold hands to authority’s sneers
while we’re being beaten and rebuked
We swim breast to breast
upstream then down
and comb each others hair
Brush the longs strands, vigorously
separate the satin from the puke
and now we stop and rest and then we share
two
dead father’s who winked from beyond their graves
two
misfiring hearts
in two
malfunctioning mothers
A book of Edgar Allan Poe
too big
for these little mourner’s hands

and two
stolen swigs of beer
by a nine year old who shudders
While the poor fat rabbits and sheep
of her yellow-jaundiced nation
bleed in the flooded streets
another trick gone bad
in the hands of the crazed magician,
Surreal it’s so unreal!
Yellow flags adorn the palace wall
too much heartbreak
too much drain
abuse, then rebirth
from childhood’s pain
I am not sure what visions are mine at all!
As I crawl through her grey days
her fur now surrounds her,
the communist hallways
of infamy
no longer compound her
Free,
she roams poetic country sides
speaks out, a must, no muzzle she abides.
Beautiful face, her purge of soul, God’s grace
In many ways always alone
I whisper, “Destiny,”
Angry yellow eyes that linger long into the night,
Read to me your poem at this bedside,
come and haunt me”

*Dedicated to my fellow poet Marinela Christel (lonely wolf)

Karima Hoisan
2005
Karak Jordan

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Karima Reads Her Poetry Live @ Virtual Chelsea Hotel SL

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                                   Poster by Natascha Randt
Hi everyone,

I will be doing one of my rare, live on stream, readings this coming Sunday, July 18th at 12:15 pm-12:45 PDT
For my WordPress Family🤗 You can hear me on my internet stream
It’s a good hour for those in Europe and The Middle East,.
I invite anyone who can set an alarm clock and actually be online, this day, this hour, to tune in here on my Internet radio stream.
This Link will take you to my public page Karima’s Stream 
The stream is offline now and will be until 12pm PDT on Sunday
July 18th.

For all you, that might not be able to hear it live, I will record the reading and post it here the next day.
Camel journeys over the Atlantic Ocean are very tiring:)  I hope to arrive in New York, the night before and be alert and at my best by
Sunday at 12:15.

Those of you avatars in Second Life, here is the address to be at:
Virtual Chelsea Hotel
For Those who have never seen me perform, I use music and imagery for every poem…it’s my thing:) I really hope you will enjoy what I do!
Feel free to ask me for a teleport before I start to read;
I would be happy to pull you in.

Looking forward to seeing you all there..at this cool and historical venue in our own Second Life.
Try not to miss this one
Love and hugs,
Karima

Posted in Announcements, Live Shows, Poems, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 15 Comments

“Float” The YouTube

Hi everyone,

I am sharing a YouTube that I just made today using a poem and soundtrack I wrote back in 2012. I think very few of my readers and friends were following this blog back then, so I decided to make a few screen capture clips of the actual world I built back then on Kitely Virtual Worlds on Demand ( https://www.kitely.com/virtual-world/Karima-Hoisan/Float ) and make it as a YouTube.
This same soundtrack and my voice play automatically when you first land on the Float Virtual World. Dale Innis designed some random scary boats that when you sit on them, go off in any direction and can meet anything swimming under the water. They also tend to sink the more you ride them. Very desconcerting and truly frightening!

This is me at my Goth -Scary side, that I love to do now and then:)  Please play the YouTube and let me know if you felt the mood..muaaah  Could you feel what a true nightmare that would be?
Full Screen and turn up the sound…I wrote the music too (yay me:)😊

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Cut To Fade

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Cut To Fade

<<*>>

Propping my head in the window,

the afternoon light dips and sways,

my hands caress my prayer scarf,

my chin is tied and trussed;

Now it’s

steady as my gaze.

     A black gauze hood flaps behind me…

I am so tucked away inside 

not even the breeze

can reach in there

and find me,

a prisoner in my 

arid wake-land.

Cut to fade,

End of days.

I’m now the pauper princess

trapped in my second story tower.

I tap the minutes on the sill

the shadows darken on the hour.

The sun escapes in one quick swoop

which brings 

the muezzin’s haunting call

and streaming on my cable connection,

Leonard Cohen groans about his fall. 

I have two good eyes

that can see so far

and have cried a thousand tears,

just a few for me,

but

many more for humanity

over 30 years.

Cut to fade

End of days.

I have my poetic lifeline

tied up tight inside my head

and

I am clinging to

the knotted sheets

of tangled words

to keep from going dead.

I watch a drab bird fly away

I sense the jailer’s footsteps

in the hall

I would trade all electronic gadgetry,

my jewels and high class pageantry,

for one successful launch in life

for one rebirth right here and now,

one swan dive in free- fall

Cut to fade
End of days.

Karima Hoisan
March 3, 2001
Karak, Jordan

* This is an older poem from another lifetime:)

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“In One Puff” Featured on MasticadoresUSA

Dissolving and Becoming_n

This beautiful  acrylic painting, Dissolving and Becoming, by my dear friend,Jan Betts, is the featured image for my first poem, published on MasticadoresUSA, Director re crivello, Editor, Gabriela Marie Milton.

“In One Puff” was first published on my site in March.
I am so pleased that Gabriela invited me to submit for their website and to have chosen this one, as their featured poem today.
Gabriela is one of my personal favorite writers and ever since I discovered her here on WordPress, I have been a fan:)
For those who have not already seen it, I hope you will enjoy it. I chose this painting of Jan’s because in many ways I feel my muse in it:)
Likes and comments on their site is very appreciated. This is a new site to help broaden the readership of poets and short prose writers…let’s give it our support!!
You can read it here: https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2021/07/05/in-one-puff-by-karima-hoisan/
It also tells how you can submit your poems and short stories…I hope you will ❤️

*I invite all of you to visit Jan Bett’s Art Blog…It’s amazing!!! https://www.janbettsart.com/

Posted in Announcements, Poems, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 33 Comments