Heidi Lanino

Heidi Lanino

The Creative Process' mission to celebrate the transformative power of the arts deeply resonates with my practice. As an artist, I strive to explore the boundaries between the real and the imagined, the visible and the hidden, fostering introspection and a connection to shared human experiences.

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J. Pennards-Sycz

J. Pennards-Sycz

The creative process is deeply important to me because it is the very essence of humanity—an international language that transcends barriers of culture, age, and circumstance. I witness daily how creativity fosters joy, understanding, and connection in my workshops. Art has an incredible ability to heal, offering solace and expression where words often fail. It’s a process that reminds us of our shared humanity and innate ability to create beauty, even in the face of challenges.

WANDERER

WANDERER

Eden, as an idea, is woven into the fabric of human existence. The idea of home and sanctuary cross cultures. Navigating across seas, through forest, over mountains, along sandy shores to collectively reside as a longing in our hearts. In my Eden, I walk the labyrinth of a unique place, a water world sparkling in nostalgia of her decadent past. Sunlight greets moonlight dancing along the tide, keeping me buoyed.

 i imagine john ashbery reading my book instead of dying; inanimate stranger; since the world is war

i imagine john ashbery reading my book instead of dying; inanimate stranger; since the world is war

By John Compton

i imagine john ashbery reading my book instead of dying

john ashbery laid my book
on his desk, his face
aligned with the cover.

his fingers stitched neatly,
binding his hands.
his eyes extending their reach.

he sat, soundlessly,
listening to david, in the other room,
gather produce for a vegetable soup.

the pantry door creaked gently,
dropping a poem into the air.
he breathed, a subtle groan—

the sound of preparing.

john lingered at the title page,
letting the poems simmer:
a breath caught in his cheek.

he slid his finger across trainride,
met the corner of the page,
& turned to “felicity.”

he understood the mathematical equation
referencing a blowjob.
his smile creased like a dog-ear.

●●●●●

inanimate stranger

i scout a pocket
to inhabit. the room
renders listless. 

my mind distends with displeasure.

every second trickles. water
slurs through the glass.

air is soaking
with the smell. in the road

the dog is as heavy
as my pen.

he is a chattel
of my imagination. a meager
creature to the yellow

lines. the chatter behind me
becomes anonymous.

a girl shrieks. her flushed
face speaks
for her humane mouth.

//

a man
kisses a lady
in a photograph.

their white frowzy hair
speaks depths

about their happiness.

●●●●●

since the world is war

writing poetry
reincarnated
his country.

he records new cities
while watching
buildings
become rubble.

he sounds out
gunfire,
turns the music
of warheads
down.

he witnesses
children die—

he watches mothers
weep, ripped apart, then
die.

he scrutinizes men
with power,
wanting to be gods,
becoming gods.

//

he tries to ignore
the corpus mountain
that accumulates
outside his window

because in his nightmares
ominous stares
haunt him—

dead eyes
never close—

there, the deceased rise.

John Compton (b. 1987) has been writing poetry for over 22 years. He is a gay poet who lives in Kentucky with his husband, Josh, and their dogs and cats. His latest full-length book is my husband holds my hand because i may drift away & be lost forever in the vortex of a crowded store published with Flowersong Press (Dec 2024); his latest chapbook is melancholy arcadia published with Harbor Editions (April 2024).

The Creative Process is created with kind support from the Jan Michalski Foundation.