Thundering Words Evoke the Living Soul is a collection of poetry by South African poet and author Luigi Spano that has something for everyone. Subjects range from crime in South Africa to conservation in the Gobi desert, from the thrill of high-speed track racing to the dangers of drugs, and from love and despair to the beauty of a night sky. Throughout all his poetry, the author’s faith and belief in God are clear, as is the energy he draws with connection to nature. Authentic, soulful, contemplative, and always hopeful, Thundering Words transports the reader through simple, vivid imagery and a tangible honesty to the place we all ache to be: closer to God and comfortable in our own skin.

It’s often been said, with some validity, that we teach what we need to know. So, too, we write what we want to read: in this case, the book that I wish someone had written for me when I was a young teacher just starting out. I began teaching in a British-style boys’ boarding school: all boys, all boarding—a trial by fire if ever there was one. I was fresh out of university, with a good MA but virtually no teaching experience and only the dimmest idea of why I was joining the profession. I had been told by someone I trusted that I had a natural talent for teaching, felt faint stirrings of vocation, and wanted to give something back after a long and self-indulgent education. Beyond that, I had no idea of what I was getting into or why. It was a strange Darwinian world of bad food, cold showers, harsh discipline, and cross-country runs, with other vestiges of British public school tradition, including bread pudding, corporal punishment, and daily chapel. Paradoxically, despite the strict discipline and institutional formality—the masters were universally referred to as Sir, and the boys addressed by surname—a great fondness grew between staff and students. We were, at the very least, honorable enemies reminiscent of Tom Brown’s School Days—at best, a boisterous family marooned together, more like Swiss Family Robinson. Something hilarious happened every day. The boys were irrepressible, despite our best efforts, and the charged, insular atmosphere of the school somehow produced the most extravagantly colorful personalities. I was always amazed at how the boys bounced back after a frozen route march or an exhausting exam week; it was the masters who showed the strain. Partly, we lacked the resiliency of youth. We were older in our bones, and our sinews had lost their elasticity. Partly, we followed an unrelenting schedule since, in addition to our teaching duties (including a half day on Saturday), we were required to patrol the dorms, supervise study hall, and lead all-weather outdoor adventures. Sixty-hour workweeks were standard, rising to eighty hours during peak periods. But we also suffered the natural consequences of an immutable law and a professional handicap, which I will explain.

It’s often been said, with some validity, that we teach what we need to know. So, too, we write what we want to read: in this case, the book that I wish someone had written for me when I was a young teacher just starting out. I began teaching in a British-style boys’ boarding school: all boys, all boarding—a trial by fire if ever there was one. I was fresh out of university, with a good MA but virtually no teaching experience and only the dimmest idea of why I was joining the profession. I had been told by someone I trusted that I had a natural talent for teaching, felt faint stirrings of vocation, and wanted to give something back after a long and self-indulgent education. Beyond that, I had no idea of what I was getting into or why. It was a strange Darwinian world of bad food, cold showers, harsh discipline, and cross-country runs, with other vestiges of British public school tradition, including bread pudding, corporal punishment, and daily chapel. Paradoxically, despite the strict discipline and institutional formality—the masters were universally referred to as Sir, and the boys addressed by surname—a great fondness grew between staff and students. We were, at the very least, honorable enemies reminiscent of Tom Brown’s School Days—at best, a boisterous family marooned together, more like Swiss Family Robinson. Something hilarious happened every day. The boys were irrepressible, despite our best efforts, and the charged, insular atmosphere of the school somehow produced the most extravagantly colorful personalities. I was always amazed at how the boys bounced back after a frozen route march or an exhausting exam week; it was the masters who showed the strain. Partly, we lacked the resiliency of youth. We were older in our bones, and our sinews had lost their elasticity. Partly, we followed an unrelenting schedule since, in addition to our teaching duties (including a half day on Saturday), we were required to patrol the dorms, supervise study hall, and lead all-weather outdoor adventures. Sixty-hour workweeks were standard, rising to eighty hours during peak periods. But we also suffered the natural consequences of an immutable law and a professional handicap, which I will explain.

Making comparison is in human nature. We constantly compare ourselves and others to somebody like ourselves—whether we want to or not. Poets and artists take this a step further and draw parallels between people and other beings or objects, such as animals or even inanimate objects. Or we compare the objects to people, attributing human qualities to them. But in the big scheme of things, this is not important: comparisons could really work both ways. Let’s say you want to compare yourself with a flower, so what flower would you be? On the other hand, if you are looking closely at a forget-me-not, for example, what type of person do you imagine? What really prompted me to write this poem was my long-term fascination with flowers. Contemplation of their amazing lines and shapes led to reflections on their imaginable characters and fates. What occupation or pursuit would each flower have? What lifestyle would it choose? How would it treat others around him? In short, what would happen if flowers lived by the same rules as humans? But that’s not all. Each one of us wishes for something. It happens sometimes that our dreams and aspirations become the main drive in our lives. They prompt us to action and make us who we are. Perhaps that’s how it should be. Only we as humans should be responsible for our wishes and for the effect they may have on us and others if they were to come true. It goes without saying—wishing along is not enough. We must actually do something to turn our wishes into reality. And if you are sure that your wishes are good and philanthropic, then go for it! The whole universe will be on your side. That’s what this poem is about, and I really hope it will resonate in your heart.

The “Can” in K’anthology. One never really knows or realizes their full promise or potential until it is placed before them in the form of a gift or blessing. This particular gift came from God, was planted like a mustard seed of faith in the mind, and shines like a beacon of light in the heart. Every time one gives a small piece of oneself to another, no matter who they may be, it is enriching and enlightening. That is enough to inspire this writer to be what he has become. This is God’s way of telling him, “Yes, you can!”

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Ebony Horse Soldiers tells the stories of the Buffalo Soldiers in poetic fashion. The book is written about the history of African Americans in the military during the Indian War period. This is a subject that has not been properly explored by the national media.

The journey to "Somewhere Else" is easy to read straightforward light verse with illustrations reminiscent of the works of Shel Silverstein and Bruce Lansky.

Along the way you'll encounter Pirates, Mr. Perfect, and the unfortunate Mr. Schnee. You'll be warmed by Foolish Frank's Fire, get to see the great Computer Race, and solve the puzzle of the missing part in Incomplete. After meeting Billy on page #1 you will finish at the Ant Races on page #105 and each verse along the way will bring a smile.

Everyday situations are made absurd and the impossible is made to seem probable with style and wit to be enjoyed by all ages. Parents will enjoy reading these verses to their children as much as the children will enjoy hearing them.

Readers will see places, people, and things that may be familiar, but curiously different with a new point of view. They may even recognize themselves.

Over one hundred poems and illustrations to lift the spirit and have you smiling.

Reader's Comments:

"My eleven-year-old was delighted and wanted to read every verse to me. He couldn't wait to share it with his friends."
Stacey Wallman
Westwood, California

"What fun! What a refreshing view of people and life's simple problems and pleasures. for fans of Shel Silverstein-a must read."
Mary Peterman
Rockport, Massachusetts

"A great read-aloud book for both kids and adults. The illustrations are right on target."
Bobbi Beavers
Southberwick, Maine

"Wonderfully witty! I'm sure I know some of the characters. One or two might be me. Relaxing reading that put a smile in my heart."
Rita Wilson
Valencia, California

Piece by Piece Kiss me I may break Then hold me Piece by Piece In your arms So I may live again I wanted to create a sculpture that showed love. The cover shows my sculpture. Once I was finished, the name of my book came to me. I realized that love takes several pieces to make it work, just as my sculpture. Every day is not a bad day, and the sun does shine; all we have to do is believe. Thanks for taking the time to read my book.

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The “Can” in K’anthology. One never really knows or realizes their full promise or potential until it is placed before them in the form of a gift or blessing. This particular gift came from God, was planted like a mustard seed of faith in the mind, and shines like a beacon of light in the heart. Every time one gives a small piece of oneself to another, no matter who they may be, it is enriching and enlightening. That is enough to inspire this writer to be what he has become. This is God’s way of telling him, “Yes, you can!”

Making comparison is in human nature. We constantly compare ourselves and others to somebody like ourselves—whether we want to or not. Poets and artists take this a step further and draw parallels between people and other beings or objects, such as animals or even inanimate objects. Or we compare the objects to people, attributing human qualities to them. But in the big scheme of things, this is not important: comparisons could really work both ways. Let’s say you want to compare yourself with a flower, so what flower would you be? On the other hand, if you are looking closely at a forget-me-not, for example, what type of person do you imagine? What really prompted me to write this poem was my long-term fascination with flowers. Contemplation of their amazing lines and shapes led to reflections on their imaginable characters and fates. What occupation or pursuit would each flower have? What lifestyle would it choose? How would it treat others around him? In short, what would happen if flowers lived by the same rules as humans? But that’s not all. Each one of us wishes for something. It happens sometimes that our dreams and aspirations become the main drive in our lives. They prompt us to action and make us who we are. Perhaps that’s how it should be. Only we as humans should be responsible for our wishes and for the effect they may have on us and others if they were to come true. It goes without saying—wishing along is not enough. We must actually do something to turn our wishes into reality. And if you are sure that your wishes are good and philanthropic, then go for it! The whole universe will be on your side. That’s what this poem is about, and I really hope it will resonate in your heart.

Poetry that captures your imagination and paints murals of tormented souls, haunting pasts, and enlightened spirits. Whether it be the fascinating tales of the Evil Easter Bunny or the dark, twisted, and sorrowful mournings of beings, you will be transported vividly into a world where the pictures are as perverse as the words.

Poetry that captures your imagination and paints murals of tormented souls, haunting pasts, and enlightened spirits. Whether it be the fascinating tales of the Evil Easter Bunny or the dark, twisted, and sorrowful mournings of beings, you will be transported vividly into a world where the pictures are as perverse as the words.

This is my second book written about some more things in life that I have observed and have given me the inspiration to write about. There are some serious poems, some funny poems, and poems about the experiences that we have in life. I am hoping that I can bring a smile to people’s faces even if from only one of my poems. My first book was titled As It Is, so it is why this book is titled Still as It Is, which I feel is the appropriate title for the follow-on. I hope that you enjoy your read and manage that smile.