Toast’s Update – Shortlisted, Fundraiser and Articles!

Hi Friends, a few cool new things happening in the next month or so!

  • I’ve just been shortlisted for Penguin Random House Write It fellowship!!! I am submitting the full manuscript on the 20th of May! A big few weeks of writing and editing ahead. I am so excited and grateful for this opportunity!
  • From 23rd to the 26th of May, I will be doing a fundraiser called ‘Pen2Paper’ for Story factory where I will be raising $300 to help students gain access to the agency’s creative writing workshops! Support me here!
    I also have been interviewed by Arnold B. Spencer. It was great time and he asked some really interesting question. I talk about my poetry, Dungeons and Dragons and why I drink water while I write!
  • Autumn, That Bastard is almost complete! However, due to the intense editing I am doing both for the manuscript and university, I will be delaying the next few poems until end of May/beginning of April. Grey House will be released next week with an updated release schedule.
  • I have contributed and created an article about Writing Queer characters in the Writing Community Newsletter! Check it out here and subscribe to it!
  • I have just finished and sent off my article for D.I.R.G.Ezine. The zine will be ready for publication in the coming months so stay tuned!

Thank you to all of those who have kept up and been engaged with me throughout this time! May will be a slower month for content in terms of blog posts, but many big things are happening!

Stay awesome!

‘Grey House’ – Poetry Sneak-peek (Autumn, That Bastard)

‘Grey House’ to be released Friday this week!

Exciting things are coming up! If you haven’t seen already, I am a part of a fundraiser called ‘Pen2Paper’, helping marganlised youth access creative writing workhops!

Support me here!

Follow me on twitter @Seductivetaco

Like my Facebook page @ Christoast Thoughts

Deity – What the Heck am I Rambling About? #8

Today we breakdown ‘Deity’, the 8th poem of the Autumn, That Bastard poetry collection. ‘Deity’ ponders not ‘who made the universe’ but rather, ‘who made me’. This is poem is in the Autumn that is the construction of my beliefs, values and my spiritual identity.

You can find Deity here before moving on!

Before I delve further into what I am rambling about, I have recently signed up for a fundraiser where I will will be writing 6 poems over a writing filled weekend to help get young people who are disadvantaged get into creative writing workshops! Donations of $15 will get you a PDF version of the 6 poems as a thank you!

https://give.everydayhero.com/au/christoast

But Onto Deity!

In my Author’s Comments section, I talk about how these religions have moulded and constructed my values. However, in here, to continue with the theme of different interpretations of the same poem (as mentioned in ‘There, We’re Whispers’), I am actually using the deities named as representations of events and figures in my life.

“Home was only around when he showed his radiant face.”

The allusion I reference, to the compliment of the face and the reference to Cronulla is my boyfriend. Where all the trains meet is allusion to Central/City stations where me and my boyfriend have tended to meet up at. I liken it to God (shout out to Ariana Grande who does something similar with ‘God is a woman’) as God has been a consistent influence in my life.

“I found Buddha once in the closet of my mind.”

This is a reference to developing calmness to override instinct in my daily interaction. I have become more inclined and reflective in daily interactions since, and many of the typical values expected of Buddhism I have grown to appreciate.

“My teeth were hot and I was sick of faded rainbows.”

The comment about Vishnu and Hinduism, is a comment on polytheism which is an allusion to me emerging on the gay scene and experiencing the community. The faded rainbows imagery metaphorically represents the transition of acceptance from straight to queer.

“In a field scorn of ignorance; that White powdered most.”

In honesty, I have never considered adopting any other spiritual belief apart from my current view point, which is kind of agnostic. I have critiqued how western society (‘White’) has been so exclusionary towards Islam. The broken encore is a reference to how I will try to remain an ally for religious freedom, but how western society has probably heard my arguments before and engaged in this debate numerous times.

Are there any lines that piqued your interest? Let me know on my social media or in the comments below!

Other poems of the collection:

The Penelope Complex
There, We’re Whispers
Leviticus

Pen2paper Fundraiser Challenge! Donate to Help Young Voices!

I will be doing a fundraiser in May to support young voices!

I discovered the wonders of creative and imaginative writing when I was in Year 4. It changed my life to gain the ability to start telling wondrous tales, about the adventures my little toy figurines would go on – even if it was to myself. I appreciate what Story Factory (a non-for-profit creative writing centre for disadvantaged youth) does and see first hand the improvements in young peoples voices from the inner-city and Western Sydney area.

Please support my goal of $300!

I will be writing 6 poems from 6pm on the 23rd of May to 6pm the 26th of May in this Pen2Paper challenge. All poems will become available as a pretty PDF for donors as thank you to anyone that contributes $15 or more!

Please consider donating here!

For more information about Pen2paper:
https://pen2paper.org.au/

Thank you to my first donor, the wonderful James Teng!

https://give.everydayhero.com/au/christoast

Deity (Poem)

Website Version with Author’s Comments Here

By Christos Floratos

 

I happened upon God once where the trains all meet.

Some untethered opera,

Some backwater near Cronulla.

Home was only around when he showed his radiant face.

 

I found Buddha once in the closest of my mind.

A certain harmony followed my shut eyes

Where charity chanced my unsullied temper.

A gleam into a thought that was most aqua, and of eucalypti.

 

I thought I saw Vishnu by the pond on my street, once.

Their gaze, of all of them, critiqued my bones.

My teeth were hot, and I was sick of faded rainbows.

But they all accepted… eventually. Smiled… forever.

 

I once pondered Allah,

In a field scorn of ignorance; that White powdered most.

Five pillars untouched yet unfound.

I had only a broken encore to share, nothing they hadn’t heard.

 

Once, I was one with the dream time.

A flurry red and black dots that

linked me from Dharug, Eora and Ku-ring-gai.

Some stories weren’t mine to keep, but mine to know.

 

I concluded, upon a time.

Sitting on dragonfly-ridden fields,

That a singularity was never enough to consider.

How these worlds birthed a supernova,

 

A conflux now limitless, enshrined in shine.

 

© Christos Floratos 2019

There, We’re Whispers – What the Heck am I Rambling about? #7

There, We’re Whispers‘ is the first poem I wrote in the ‘Autumn, That Bastard’ poetry collection. Originally titled “There Were Whispers” I revamped and remodelled it to focus on place rather than time. With that said, this type of poem I am more interested in what my readers perceive of it. I have mentioned ‘death of the author’ before, but this poem well and truly is a representation of that in the sense that I do not want to cast an image of what I think it is about.

Wooden Walls

Grey Jungle

Their doorstep

Humble Abode

Descriptions of place within the poem

Something really interesting I found is talking about why I changed the title so last minute. So ‘There Were Whispers’ focuses on time and ‘There, We’re Whispers’ focuses on place and individuals. Throughout the poem I refer to various places, but ‘humble abode’ denotes feelings of kinship and a homey feeling that has caused problems for the voice.

What are these problems though?

No, it is not that cold snap,
Nor is it that summer’s shimmer,
The houses left tender – just a whisper.
In howls of the past; here they entrap.

Rhyming Example

If you notice, the poem rhymes, stops in a peculiar place, keeps going and then ends without a rhyme. This is to symbolise rhythm with life once a previous assumption/pleasure is challenged. That we stop to think about it, try to move on with our lives but the activity/thing becomes irreparable moving forward.

Moving onto the last stanza, I want to talk about how it completely changed and how that affects the final meaning. Originally, it was meant to be:

There were whispers

and I was afraid.

Pre-production Last Stanza

Other than being a total rip-off ‘The Walking Dead’ comic issue, it felt like it did not serve the rest of the poem. Being afraid is only apparent if you make a few leaps and jumps over rivers of confusion in the poem. Being shameful is relevant with people asking who he is, the ‘spitting lights’ which casts imagery of him being lesser, the contrast with being salvation but also being Satan…

There, we’re whispers

And I followed that shame.

Published Last stanza

But as I say, I am a big fan of what people think! Do let me know what you think in the comments, social media, or even emails!

Thank you to everyone so far who has given comments and their thoughts on my writing! It has been a blast to read!

There, We’re Whispers

Website Version Here

By Christos Floratos

In grainy corridors calling distant lights

Where shadows erect pillars of blight,

The wooden walls beg down upon me,

And here I am left quaking at its fee.

 

No, it is not that cold snap,

Nor is it that summer’s shimmer,

The houses left tender – just a whisper.

In howls of the past; here they entrap.

 

Arsonists of hate and weavers of sorrow

They gather like dying moths to flickering toilet lights.

“Isn’t that him?” They whisper and spray,

With their stuttered voice and eyes disarray,

 

Like Satan is on their door step and all they can do

Is whisper and point at him.

The farmer of salvation dug deep in mud yet

No one utters a word to him.

 

Neon lights echo a howling gale through the grey jungle

Flashes flash as Utterers utter

“Tell us more.” They demand then hide,

However, they’ve been blinded by their gaze to the blaring sun.

Yet here I am in this humble abode,

Ants follow and sheep’s tune to anode

For you see,

It all came with one simple mist…

 

Because of those whispers

And those damn spitting lights

It shook me here in this necropolis disintegrating

And all those sheep are going,

And here in the back of the cities I must confess,

 

There, we’re whispers.

And I followed the shame.

 

© Christos Floratos 2019

This is one of those ‘death of the author’ poems I alluded too that would come in this collection. I am so interested in what other people think this poem is about, so shoot me a message on my social medias or leave a comment below!

Other poems of the Autumn, That Bastard collection:

When Winter is Expected (Poem)

By Christos Floratos

Website Version Here

By the rocking chair,

Birds and wrinkles have brought her.

By the river,

Lilies grow and summer shimmers on top.

 

Her eyes are washed with cerulean;

Of the stream and the moss afloat,

Of hybrids of delphinium, iris and hydrangeas,

Of afore her eyes, the girl’s yellow dress and the sky above.

 

The girl runs through the grassy field ahead.

Unchained she is a madman. The poor insect she tramples.

Yet in excitement she goes and goes, and doesn’t stop, oh no.

Where does the horizon end she ponders?

 

Her smile turns to ploughshares; the girl runs off.

At every glance from the girl, she can’t help but turn aside.

She has a bouquet prepared for the girl, with a card

 “Go and go, before the horizon is met!”

 

Adjacent the girl, was the river.

Her feet drifted to the side, parallels were an expectation.

She got lost in the grass, high as her. 

No false mower to cut her down, a maze she’ll burn.

 

When her feet are oiled again,

And her gears tune in motion,

Perhaps she will follow the girl

And maybe the flowers won’t rot in her hands.

 

Up, up, titanic like the Southern Cross.

The girl is fading into the grass, skipping to the rhythm of her soles.

A smile is broken for her, vaguely.

Run into the sun that sets, swallow the light.

Savour the warmth, for winter is expected to come.

 

To that horizon where she presumes the girl wondered,

She places the bundle, arranged full of bulbous colours.

The rivers ran off, cowering from this line.

She lets the weeds catch her, so she can watch.

There as it dried out, she stares just to watch the flowers die.

 

© Christos Floratos 2019