Posts filed under ‘PUBLISHED POEM’
PUBLISHING UPDATE
At the beginning of the year I outlined my goals. One was to publish some of my previously published work.
I’ve been working on getting some of my published poems back out there and just found out one has been accepted by Still Crazy which is both a print and online publication.
I’ll give more details when it appears.
RADIO INTERVIEW
Here is a link to the radio interview I had yesterday,
I hope it gives you a chance to learn more about me.
Take care,
Walt
UPDATE CHAPBOOK
My consistent readers,
I have many projects currently in progress. I am writing another novella with Elmo as a reappearing character. The first time I’ve used a character twice, but I really like him. I’m also rewriting some old short stories and see if I can find them a home. Also, there is The Beast Awaits, my second novel which I hope to publish, someday.
But I figured ‘what the hell’ I’ll start something else, something where, for the most part the work is already done. I’m thinking of publishing a chapbook of poetry. A chapbook is more of a pamphlet than a book. The reason I am discussing this with you is that in the past some of the busiest days on my blog was when I was sharing my poetry. So for any that enjoyed these poems, could you please go to both of my poem areas, Published Poems and Unpublished Poems, and select the poems that you enjoyed or said something to you. I know this will take time but I would really appreciate the effort. I’ll get back to you with the poems that made the cut.
Thanks for your time,
Walt
HAPPY NEW YEAR
My consistent readers, and all others that might tune-in,
HAPPY NEW YEAR
I hope you all have a prosperous New Year, and more important, that you accomplish what you set out to do.
I must admit that I spent most of New Year’s Eve and part of New Year’s Day tuned to the SYFY channel. For years now they run a Twilight Zone marathon for the New Year.
I’m addicted to the shows. The special effects, what few there are, are laughable, but these shows were made before the age of computers when special effects were second to the story. The writing and story lines are so wonderful. I remember when I was a kid that short story anthologies of Twilight Zone stories were published, and I would devour them.
Well, enough about me, wrong. Me is why this blog exists. I am writing this piece to tell you of my upcoming projects, what you will see and my plans for this year.
Books To Go Now will soon publish two of my stories, Cat’s Eyes which is a horror offering and Second Chance a science fiction piece.
This year I will hopefully find a publisher for my novel, The Beast Awaits. The story concerns stem cell research and the environment. Who wouldn’t want to read such a work?
I’m also working on a novella which follows a character I created, Elmo, in his younger years. Elmo first appeared in a novella entitled Elmo’s Sojourn which appeared in the anthology, Curious Hearts, published by Mélange Books.
Finally, I will attempt to publish a chapbook of my poetry, all of which has been published on this blog.
There are also a host of short stories and another novel, Sweet Depression, which I hope to edit.
That is what I hope you have an opportunity to read and what I hope to accomplish this year. I hope life treats you well and we spend another fulfilling year together.
Walt
UNPUBLISHED POEM
My readers,
It’s been many years since this image etched itself into my brain.
I finally wrote it out.
I’ve got to give you something to occupy your time since my accomplishments have not been numerous lately.
DRIVING TO THE EDGE ON INTERSTATE FIVE
As the tires hum I grip the wheel
Through miles of barren landscape,
My wife, daughters make the sound of sleep
As the emptiness rushes by,
I am alone in this desolate land
With only my thoughts for company,
The San Joaquin Valley stretches along
This ribbon of road,
On the CD player, Jonatha Brooke
Sings her sad, soulful songs,
I am so far away from home
As the sun lowers behind the distant mountains,
Wherever I travel, or choose to exist
I long for the home
I fear I may never find,
There is something inside
That I do not understand
That will not permit peace,
A happy family is mine
But conflict and emptiness still possess me,
Forever alone.
PUBLISHED POEM
My poetry readers,
In my last PUBLISHED POEM article I indicated that that was going to be it. But I found another old poem, and there is a more recently published poem which I shall share at a later date.
The following poem was published in the Clover Collection of Verse Vol. XII, edited by Evelyn Petry, in 1976.
I distinctly remember the birth of this poem. I once had a job in The Bronx while living in Newark. I would drive the New Jersey Turnpike every day, through the meadowlands and onward to New York. The meadowlands are not a particularly beautiful area. However, during my journey, I would pass a small dock with a moored sailboat. I began to realize that if I focused on only that gentle area, surrounded by saw grass, I could block out the rest of the world surrounding the scene. I could pick out points of beauty from a world of corruption. This is the poem that resulted.
CAMERA’S EYE
Camera’s eye catches delicate flowers,
Views the graceful of bee in pollination flight,
Spies the brushing of pollen – laden stamens,
Holds in time a scene most tranquil;
Yet does not discover the roadside trash,
The flower’s home amid mud and mire;
Does not smell the exhaust raining acid
On delicate flowers.
Camera’s eye gazes upon a child framed in a window,
Beholds the easy lean of chin in palm, elbow on windowsill,
Wide eyes looking out at the world in wonder,
Knows the innocent child – wisdom;
Yet ignores the window’s building,
Screens out the ghetto of rotted houses and dreams;
Undetected is the garbage – urine hallway
As the child sits framed in a window.
Camera’s eye seeks the tall dignified pine,
Witnesses early – morning dew set needles sparkling,
Inspects wildlife in arbor home,
Beholds sunlight filtering to needle – soft ground;
Yet neglects the smell and diesel smoke machines
Sumping and gouging the earth of its riches;
Does not display the bulldozer’s approach,
Turns away as the stately pine topples.
I am the camera’s eye
Seeing what pains me not,
Grasping flowers from mud and mire,
Rescuing the child from a rotted tenement,
Preserving the pine in dignified splendor;
All safe and secure in a scrapbook world
As the real world lays waste.
I was so tempted to change this poem, but all these published poems are presented exactly as they were published.
Once a work is published, the writer must step back and hope his work is appreciated for what it is, not what it might have been.
PUBLISHED POEM
My poetry friends,
This is the last of my oldies but, you decide what comes next.
Although I now live in a small town, I have lived in many large cities. I have witnessed the subject of this poem time and time again. I’m sure you have too.
This poem was published in Quality American Poetry, 1975-1976, Book III.
The anthology was published by Valley Publications and edited by William Lloyd Griffin.
SUNDAY PARK BENCH
Alone,
Rumpled newspaper in hand
Sits the old man,
Cold morning air sends a chill
Through a heavy overcoat,
Sunday morning light filtering
Through burnished leaves of autumn
Kindling thoughts of Sundays long gone,
Waking next to his wife,
The sound of children filling the house;
Now children grown – wife gone,
Sunday mornings bring only rumpled papers
On a park bench,
Alone.
PUBLISHED POEM
For some reason I have always had a fascination with Easter Island.
I’ve read about the island and became caught up with the struggles of two distinct populations and their undying need to build monuments. They decimated their forests to transport these magnificent structures.
I find it haunting that all this effort was going on while they had no idea that anyone else, outside their society, would see or appreciate this magnificent effort. Did they have the concept that there was more of the world?
I wrote a poem about these feeling which was published in 1975. The poem was published in the anthology, Best Poets of the 20th Century (another magnificent title and an awesome stretch), by Winston – Paramount Books, edited by B. Winston – Paramount.
EASTER ISLAND
Constructing sightless eyes no
one will see
They toil;
Probing rock with human fingers
They grope;
One – minded their effort approaches
uniqueness,
Years past witness human fingers to
dust,
Monuments remain to visit their labor;
Solemn stone faces looking out,
Pumice minds knowing an age of men
Possessing greatness long gone –
Deaf ears formed with stone axes,
Blood and sweat transformed
To monumental greatness;
Waiting on Easter Island.
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