High School Reunion

Everyone gathers to hear the poets preen

on the source of inspiration:

how the athletes ran into

glass cases;

how the singer overcame

dead man’s notes;

how the clown croaked

on a moped’s swerving laughter;

how the skin of truth

peeled from our bones

as the noise of the streets

drowned our jail cell march.

Huddled over coffee and secrets

we agree only those without

stand alone.

That their haikus

lack the character

of conviction.

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Anonymity

Searching for anonymity

is dancing nude along desire’s paths

white moon to black sun.

A month in the whole enterprise

drifts like paper cutouts

mad men strung between the rafters

leaving sadists to admire

photographs of life

and naming them poetic

for the exposure

it never gave them

the memory of heat on bare feet

as he submerges.

Unveiling As Feathers Fall

As Feathers Fall eBook CoverThat is one gorgeous cover, no? And before you ask this, like all its predecessors, was crafted by the skilled hands of one Matthew Watts.

On Friday, March 20, the first day of spring will herald the beginning of the end of this chapter in the fantasy genre, finishing out The Haunted Shadows trilogy. It will be available via Amazon and its retailers in all associated countries, with print and e-book versions (theoretically, knock on wood, or faux-wood as this desk’s case might be) launching on the same day. PRE-ORDERS ARE ALREADY AVAILABLE.

Kick off the spring with a journey to a new world—because, let’s be honest, if your state looks anything like the Midwest, there’s still going to be plenty of snow when it rolls around. Thank you for all your support along this journey and I look forward to kicking off greener days with you—albeit with my heat being brought in the form of war, treachery, and the occasional bout of magical flame.

No drakkons were hurt in the making of this post. Or in the book.

…full disclosure: a few gryphons were, though.

See You in Grand Rapids

Just a few days from now, I’ll be off into the heart of Grand Rapids and the sprawling 2014 Festival of the Arts for some quality artsy time in Michigan.

Kent Country Dyer-Ives Annual Poetry Competition

Though there will be many events going on in the city all weekend, I’m going to be reading at the Urban Institute for Contemporary Arts (2 West Fulton, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49503) on Saturday. Events will range from 1 – 2:30 p.m., with a whole host of other poets and writers also participating. If you’re in the neighborhood, swing by the UICA and join the fun. In addition to creativity on display, there will also be free books, autographing, and witty banter. Not to mention art.

Plus, like I said, I’ll be doing a reading. With words and everything!

Poetry Readings, Interviews, and an Award to Boot!

If only one got a nice, comfy couch every time they had to read poetry...

If only one got a nice, comfy couch every time they had to read poetry…

Time to mark some calendars.

I spoke last week about a rather serious life update, and a huge professional milestone for me. Now I’m prepared to attach some numbers to the featureless and let you all in a little deeper into the fold of the Dyer-Ives award.

The Dyer-Ives Foundation was begun 50 years ago, an organization dedicated to building grassroots and neighborhood functions in the community. For the past 46 years, they have also run the Kent County Dyer-Ives Poetry Competition–an event divided into three different categories, for the young, the undergraduate and the young at heart.

My poem, Grand River, won first place in the adult side of the competition, and as a result I will be giving a public reading of it, alongside fellow poets, at the Grand Rapids Urban Institute for Contemporary Art (UICA) on JUNE 7, 2014, from 1 – 2:30 p.m. Dearest readers, are any of you from Michigan? If so, you’re more than welcome to attend–the event is free of charge and everyone is invited!

Additionally, my work is going to be published in a chapbook. Print copies of the chapbook will be made available at the reading (and attendees can get us to sign shiny copies there as well), but they’ll also be made available online in late May, if you feel like waiting.

This is the point where I say: but wait, there’s more!

This little poet is also going to be on the radio. If you can stand my voice for even more time, there’s going to be an interview with me on 88.1 WYCE at an undisclosed future date–once I’ve made those necessary arrangements, I promise you’ll all be the first to know.

What all this boils down to is that the month to come is going to be quite a ride; I’m excited, I’m nervous, but most of all I’m looking forward to what all of this means. For me, this is my first (true) step into the professional side of the poetic sphere. Published author was already under my belt, but now I can add published poet to the plaque alongside it–and that’s enough to swell this creative heart of mine with bliss.

Never forget where we came from, and the dream of what once was.

There are friends I could (and shall) thank for all this–friends that helped me come to this. My family has never ceased in its support. What’s more, I can extend personal gratitude to what once was One Stop Poetry, and the dream it had embodied; I learned a lot there, and I’d like to think it helped me hone my trade. Of course, one also has to extend a hand to Michigan itself–my beautiful, if troubled state, which has always been a source of inspiration.

But don’t think that any of the rest of you have been forgotten. If blogging weren’t worthwhile, if I didn’t enjoy sharing with you all, and hearing from you, and doing these silly things I do–I wouldn’t do them. You have all helped me grow, and I hope you shall continue to do so in the future.

Onward!

The Solitude of Frescoes

Silence among the frescoes.
From the grace of golden clouds no hand reaches forth;
the figure’s face, dripping beneath the memories
sustains the look without the weight that weathered.
In his eyes, the rain;
in theirs, a can without preamble;
in hers, a note  these halls no longer echo.
There are no borders, save the cracks time rendered
to resonate vogue vagaries into the earth beyond
where roots have seeped into the author’s boots
drinking up the vivification of his solitude;
drowning in the depths of isolation.