Sunday night I’ll be reading poetry with four of my fellow North Carolina Living Poets as part of the Fairfield University MFA Poets and Writers Live program. We’ll doing doing this online so join us on any of the following channels.
We go live at 8pm EDT Sunday, that’s 0000UT Monday.
In other business, this is your last change to submit a Sorta-Sonnet to Whispers & Echoes.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged fumfa, reading, show
They don’t care about you,
your beliefs, your body.
How will you vote?
While I knew Edge of Humanity would be publishing yesterday’s poem, this one was a surprise. My poem A Southern Farmers Market was just posted to the Poetry X Hunger site.
This poem was first published at the Dead Mule School for Southern Literature over ten years ago then last year I saw the World Food Day Special Call for Poems from North American Poets and since they were accepting previously published work…
And, if you’d like to hear me read it aloud, just click that Download File link above the text of my poem.
I am again honored to have a poem featured at Edge of Humanity Magazine. It’s called World Without Consequences and while I wrote it years ago, it’s just as relevant today.
In other news, the e-book version of the Social Justice Inks anthology is currently on sale at Lulu. Here’s a chance to read the full anthology for 99 cents. You can’t afford not to buy!
Day stretches out like a desert
too long — too long
sun grinding me down
I’m very proud to announce that my poem She’s A Jealous Muse has been posted to the Edge of Humanity Magazine website. Check it out! This is the only place you’ll be able to read it. And browser through the rest of their site. They always post the most interesting stuff.
All my ideas are lost
wandering this wasteland
I call a mind
(Don’t forget about that call for sorta-sonnets over at Whispers & Echoes.)
More puddle than person
drowsed and draped on a couch
fever builds antibodies
When We Were Puppies
We’d play Ball in the Hall
where I’d throw down the corridor
and he’d run full blast
catch it on the bounce
claws skittering against hardwood
then slam into the closet
at the far end and trot
back proud and joyful
He bit me once but it was my fault
after a Sunday dinner of steak
and potatoes we were in the backyard
he was working a t-bone
freeing the last molecules of fat
I was looking for my pocketknife
then I saw it open and near his paw
I reached in— not wanting him to get cut
With barely a snarl
his canines broke the thin skin
on the back of my hand
it hurt — in every way
disbelief at the blood
anger following pain
but he didn’t hold a grudge
something I still envy
We played Ball in the Hall that very evening
my hand bandaged— his tongue loose and panting
the tennis ball soaked
Posted in Poetry
Tagged bite, dog, play, poem, puppy