Articles written by Zinta Aistars

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About me - Zinta Aistars

Zinta Aistars is the published author of three books. She is an editor and writer for LuxEsto, the Kalamazoo College alumni magazine. She has published poetry, travel essays, stories, and articles in the United States, Latvia, England, Sweden, Germany, and

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Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Dogs: 18 of 176
This, The Utmost This moment pressed between blank pages of unfilled days - what treasure here? Glitter of promise, spangle of hope, soft paunch of prosperity, scent of dreams on a breeze, warm, soft, furred, like the inside curve of a pet dog's ear, the moist nuzzlling of his fond muzzle. This is contentment. This is it, go... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Futility: 40 of 87
Lapsus Memoriae The week has been a long one, even the year, the decade, this life spanning nearly a half century but one. Rain gathers in the crook of an exploded Friday. We used to say: thank God it is Friday, day of release, redemption of all weekday sins, to be born into the weekend a squalling babe, innocent and clean. ... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Relaxing: 43 of 91
Be Still, Listen to Nothing The murmurs subside. For a moment, a moment only: stillness returns, the heart slowing into a molasses comfort, sticky sweet, slow, swimming in its own dark sugar. Even the breeze curls into its nest, circling upon itself, tail tucked in, ears folded back against a warm fuzzed skull. Even the eyes... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Cloudy skies: 88 of 164
Mother's Clouds Mother would insist: back home, across the expanse of ocean and gulf of time, the clouds had a different shape. They are, she said, a glowing white tower with the full soft curves of a woman's blossoming heart. They rise to the corners of the sky, she said, light as the fluff of a dandelion. They sail, she sa... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Dishonesty: 90 of 163
Hard Currency Were it in my power - I would renounce this day, steam it from its gluey edge where it peels away at earliest morning, dawn still too pale to identify as color or light, peppered already with quick, sharp sneezes of doubt: that its final sheet would remain tamped down like new, fooling, lie that it is, first pa... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Oppression: 57 of 98
Renegade Skin of sky pierced, scraped along its blue belly in steeled and needled protest against feet forever bound to earth. Instead this tryst with outer limits, envelope edges, elbowing the comfort zone, nothing but a padded and pretty rack of honeyed excruciation. Admit it: The heart longs for more. The heart weeps, the... More..
Travel > Travel Diaries & Adventures (Other) Travel experiences: Traveling to discover yourself: 31 of 48
Running with Ivy And why not 3 o'clock in the morning? I can do this. For a chance to spend even a short time in the U.P. the Upper Peninsula of Michigan I'll not only get up early, very early, I'd be willing to skip a night. But 3 a.m. will do, and so I fall out of bed and move in the general direction of the coffeemaker, w... More..
Arts & Humanities > Writing Resources Book recommendations for beginning writers and wannabe authors: 16 of 21
"Before We Get Started: A Practical Memoir of a Writer's Life" by Bret Lott (Book Review) When Bret Lott writes "I don't know" or "I know nothing" about the feel-your-way-as-you-go approach to the literary arts, he does it so eloquently that one can only say he "doesn't know" so very well. But he's right. Writing, art in gen... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Snow: 170 of 207
Winter Eyes A moment of stillness, silence, of frozen time with face lifted to sky for its kiss of slow floating white, melting on warm skin to a drop, a random tear, whether from heaven or human eye - and does it really matter? Missing your lips, their warmth, their light brushing over my face, I choose this sky - its billo... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Home: 149 of 171
Traveler's Mantra It won't leave me: this place of kept secrets and long ago keepsakes. It haunts. My orbit circles this haven like an old dog stepping out the parameters of his nightly bed, nose to the ground, pawing the dirt. Tread softly the sacrosanct; there are few such blessings remaining untrammeled and pure, braving ... More..