There is only the body. Now I need a smoke. S sixth poetry collection is. Are sitting in a line with their. Faces turned toward it,. Like a cinema you shut your eyes at. Men wearing suits, women hats and scarfs,. The weak spring heat,.

On chapbooks and their blog, Scattered Light. THAT FEEL is one of the finest collaborative books published by the sisters Snell. Cheryl Snell is a fine poet and her sister Janet Snell is a fine expressionist artist.

This is where my thoughts pool as a reservoir of miscellany and peculiarity. Sunday, March 26, 2017. Franz Schubert died at the age of 31. When I listen to his works, a condition of reverence permeates my brain - a spontaneous, natural hallowing of his memory. He conjured music of deathless beauty. His songs are exquisite spells of melancholy. Saturday, March 25, 2017.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008. Western North Carolina Woman Magazine. I have a poem in the November issue of Western North Carolina Woman Magazine. Sunday, November 2, 2008. Thursday, October 16, 2008. I had given literary birth- my chapbook, The Sister Series, was sitting on my door step. Saturday, September 20, 2008.

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I would define, in brief, the Poetry of words as the Rhythmic creation of Beauty. Its sole arbiter is Taste. Genuine Poetry can communicate before it is understood. All significant truths are private truths. As they become public they cease to become truths; they become facts, or at best, part of the public character; or at worst, catchwords. Anxiety is the hand maiden of creativity. April is the cruellest month. Poetry may make us from .

The Smoking Poet - Summer 2008. Short Story Contest - Second Place. Short Story Contest - Third Place. Short Story Contest - Honorable Mention. TSP co-founder and cigar editor,. Three time novelist, our fiction editor,. Novelist and winner of a laundry list of literary awards. Each of us read quietly in our .

If he had simply faded. Like a shout from the street,. She loves for its blue irony. Would not have been planted,. Nor the red clover made to bleed. It was always too dark, or windy,. It was too late to call. Or she would have grown blooms enough. To rasp against the drainpipe, she could have. Frilled the sills with fringe.

This is How You Paint a Mockingbird. Posted by noldo2 under Uncategorized. Come Clarity, Come Black. Posted by noldo2 under Uncategorized. All day, the men that fails to bring coyotes. By marsh-mires, in a dream. Or not in a dream but in a wet, dream. As if with hesitance of failure. Of what happens or is about to. Do the soldiers find the lightning,.