McNally Robinson is publishing my 3rd book of poems

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https://www.mcnallyrobinson.com/home

I am here to make the announcement that I have submitted my finished manuscript and cover photo to my publisher, McNally Robinson in Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada. I am excited to finally get the MSS done and sent so I can now focus all my writing on my upcoming memoire. 


Stay tuned for the big news of the book launch date and the subsequent book signing events.

 

My sincere thank you to all my dear friends and amazing poets that helped me edit and work on my manuscript especially Deborah L. Kelly & Janet Kvammen. Thank you to the talented writers who wrote blurbs for the cover of my book:

~Lilija Valis
~Patricia Sandberg
~Ashok Bhargava &
~Nasreen Pejvack

 

She is vividly present among the refugees suffering, dying & escaping. She is with her ancestors, her mother, son, vulnerable girls & women, declaring her love & protecting; she is with the homeless & the revolutionaries. Her purpose is to “wake up your conscience”. She advocates a life of peace, love and responsibility, in harmony with the earth.
~Lilija Valis Award-winning poet

Iraqi refugee, Lozan Yamolky, confronts us in her poetry with passionate, powerful imagery of war-torn countries. She challenges us to listen and understand, issues urgent calls to action, then leaves us believing in our power to change.
~Patricia Sandberg Author of award-winning ‘Sun Dogs & Yellowcake’

There is a genuine silence between and behind Lozan’s words. She attempts to evoke what can’t be said or expressed easily. There is truth, light & strength in her poems because they grew from her memories of actual places, experiences & events. Like a skillful weaver she knits her dreams & visions to create a compelling & captivating collection of poignant & profound poetry.

~Ashok Bhargava President of Writers International Network Canada

A brave, mindful woman. Who better to portray the anguish of being a refugee than one who has tasted it. Lozan Yamolky’s poems speak from her own experiences, showing the cruelties that our numb societies allow to operate within war zones. Yet she also paints the love of woman, mother and lover in gorgeous colours.
~Nasreen Pejvack, Author of Amity, Paradise of the Downcasts, & Waiting

 

Here is a brief info about this amazing Canadian publisher:

McNally Robinson was founded by Holly McNally in 1981 in Winnipeg, Manitoba, with her partner Ron Robinson, who quit the book business a year later to pursue a career with CBC Radio. Robinson’s name has remained attached to the enterprise because at the time he left, McNally didn’t have the money to replace the store’s signage. Beginning with just one small corner bookstore, Holly and her husband Paul gradually built McNally Robinson Booksellers into one of the largest independent bookstores in Canada, spreading to Saskatoon and (formerly) Calgary. The stores host readings and book launches by authors from Winnipeg, Canada and beyond.
Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McNally_Robinson

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Poetry In The Park photos :)

Photos by Janet Kvammen
I was honored to be feature poet at Poetry In The Park on Wednesday July 4, 2018 in New Westminster, BC in Queens Park.
All summer long, every Wednesday, go to Queens Park 6:30-8:30pm at the bandshell and enjoy poetry & open mic

 

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Buy my books at Indigo-Chapters at Metrotown in Burnaby

I just got this from Indigo-Chapters at Metrotown in Burnaby, BC Canada

“I just wanted to kick off July by announcing that your book is officially available to purchase off our shelves! We will start by featuring them on the Best of BC wall next to the cash desk for the next few weeks.”

Spread the news & SHARE tell everyone please 

A poem: A Refugee’s Escape

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A Refugee’s Escape

~© Lozan Yamolk

 

 

Get me out of this sadness;

pull me out of this darkness.

 

Rid me of the miserable never ending bad news;

pick me out of the crowd of desensitized beings who no longer have empathy

for a suffering humanity.

 

Do something with me!

 

Launch me into the sky.

Shoot my body,

from the tip of my nose

to my toes,

up to the heavens.

Watch me fly away;

just let me go

until you see me no more.

 

Let me breeze past a flock of flying birds,

through the clouds,

past a flying aircraft,

and through arctic freezing air.

 

Let my body feel it;  let me be consumed

by all what I am surrounded by now.

 

Up above the skies I go.

I will not look down

until I am up … up … up there

where no one can see me:

into the infinite deep;

into the glittering universe;

into that place shimmering

with spectacular endless spots of light.

 

I see nothing above me or around me

but the sparkling

–         wow!

 

I will not stop until I get there.

 

When I arrive,

I will float weightlessly.

 

Nothing is happening here:

not a sound,

not a motion,

nothing moving but my arms spread like wings.

 

I am here.

I am free.

I am flying.

I am at peace.

 

I look down and I see the peaceful blue planet.

 

Here, I forget the pain:

the darkness of hearts

and the cries of innocents.

 

From up here:

I do not see blood.

I do not smell gunpowder.

I do not hear the explosions.

I do not feel the lifeless bodies of my people scattered around me.

 

Then I remember those who are in the dark;

not from lack of light,

but from the lack of love in their hearts.

 

For those blinded by the idea of harming others

believing it will somehow bring them peace;

it will balance this world;

it will bring them victory.

 

Oh, how I wish I could take

some of this peace I feel right now

and transport it into their hearts.

 

Oh how I wish darkness would

wonder,

search,

want,

peace and love

which will make them lay down their weapons.

 

Oh, how I hope the darkness

does not pass the shadows

to their offspring,

or the offspring

of those they harmed.

I hope they all search

and find how easy this is:

how peaceful;

how comfortable.

 

 

I opened my eyes

to the feeling of cold mud beneath me,

rain pouring though our torn up tent;

my wet clothes

and a soldier pointing his rifle

into my face

while ripping our tent wide open,

shouting at us:

 

“Get up and move out of here.

 Get going.

 

Out!”

~© Lozan Yamolk

Poem from my debut book: I’m No Hero
Published in 2016 through Silver Bow Publishing

Contact me to get your copy.

Photo of one of my beautiful sisters, Viyan Janela from Kurdistan 1992

Feature Poet on Wed. Apr. 11, 2018

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I am a feature poet on Wednesday, April 11, 2018 – 6:30pm to 8:30pm at the Rippling Sonnets: Open Mic Poetry Reading in North Vancouver, BC Canada. 

RIPPLING SONNETS is an evening of open mic poetry reading. Hosted by Una Bruhns and Deborah L. Kelly. Drop ins welcome.

Location: Lynn Valley branch, North Vancouver District Public Library.

Address: 1277 Lynn Valley Rd, North Vancouver, BC V7J 0A2

More information at nvdpl.ca.

http://www.nvdpl.ca/event/rippling-sonnets-open-mic-poetry-reading-0

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Willow Manor in Maple Ridge

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I am invited to be a guest poet at one of the nursing homes in Maple Ridge where I used to work as a Care Aide for few years. It will be nice to visit the fun bunch and share with them my poetry.

 

On Wednesday February 28th I am a guest poet in Maple Ridge showcasing my books and reciting my poems.

Beside working there and freelanced as a Senior Companion, I also was their Arabian Dancer/ entertainment gal. oh, ya. I even once made it to front page in the local papers.

I miss those fun days and it will be fun to go back again.

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https://chartwell.com/retirement-homes/chartwell-willow-retirement-community

 

No More Poetry

No More Poetry

©Lozan Yamolky

She ripped and tore all her poems from her note books.

She removed all poetry books from her shelves;

tossed them all with the scattered torn up papers
into a barrel; lit a match to it all.

She vowed to never write another poem as long as she lived.

She watched the poems as they were consumed by the fire;

turned her back to the burning inferno,
and walked away slowly.
From the bellowing smoke,
a figure in the shape of a poem appeared.
It looked as if it almost touched the ground by the barrel,
and just stood there;
then turned around and looked at her.

She turned to look at the burning poems,

saw the figure then slowly walked towards it in disbelief.
The poem bowed its head in sorrow
and begun to speak.
She listened as the figure,
the living poem spoke to her.

“You need me!

You cannot live without me!

What are you going to do?

When your heart breaks?

When you lose someone you love?
When you see innocent people suffer?
When you see injustice in this world?
When you fall desperately, hopelessly in love?
When you hold the tiniest newborn in your arms?
When you are in such pain no one can understand?

When you witness the unspeakable, heartless cruelty man is capable of?

When you hold the lifeless hand of someone whose spirit just crossed to the other side?

Tell me, what are you going to do without me?

You need me!” the poem said.

They both sat on the ground,

watched the fire burn…
and they both cried.

 

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