If the wind is right
you catch a bit of highway drone, maybe;
like some truck, hauling it up toward Newport—
or a sunset chainsaw,
snarling, but far away.
it’s only crows; almost always
My poem, Sundress, is up today at Red Wolf Journal as part of their 2015 Spring Issue, featuring poems with the Here Comes The Sun theme. I hope you’ll stop by to check it out. I’m grateful to editors Irene Toh and Tawnya Smith for selecting and publishing my work.
You can find the poem here: SUNDRESS
And it’s not too late to submit for the spring issue. You can see the Guidelines, and access the (ongoing) issue HERE.
(The story of my literary week)
He Writes Schlock; Wisely Deletes It
Don’t waste your time. Visit Call Me Cate at: SHOW MY FACE
Because it’s lunchtime, and because he’s a writer, he takes a writer’s lunch, twisting the truth when he writes because he believes that truth, untwisted, is far less fun to read; that the straight line from fact to fact, while short and direct, is also predictable and, often, boring.
He gives the pathetic parking lot seagull eagle feathers, lets it soar awhile, then allows it to swoop down on the placid asphalt lake to pluck out a french fried salmon before catching an upward thermal and gliding back to its perch at the apex of the mountain’s golden arch.
All the cars parked around the lake look like spaceships, and he knows that some of them are; knows that some of their absent owners are still out there somewhere, floating around, weightless. He has driven his own pickup to the moon, determined it to have neither atmosphere nor ambiance, but he only reluctantly considers re-entry.
All things are alien to him now. He is a stranger in his own land.
13 Literary Near-Misses
1. The Snobs of Kilimanjaro
2. The Way Of All Flush
3. Gorilla Mockingbird
4. All The King’s Meds
5. Go Sell It On The Mountain
6. The Sound and The Furry
7. The Bun Also Rises
8. The Naked and The Read
9. Sometimes a Great Motion
10. A Farewell to Harms
11. Finnegan’s Wait
12. Lord of the Fries
13. The Postman Always Brings Rice
You can’t miss if you visit Call Me Cate at: SHOW MY FACE
The snow is only a paper snow today, only a
story of snow outside the window, and the snowdrifts
I pass in the hallway are only paper snowdrifts.
Today, though, there’s imaginary sunlight.
I bask in it in bed from ten til noon, a new man
in a new year under the same old imaginary sun.
The sky today is a painted sky
and the imaginary sun is only pinned to it
the way a child pins a paper dragon to a bedroom wall.
Outside, I can see the air moving. I watch it
through the window, but it remembers the snow
is only paper and rushes away, forgetting to bite.
Others at: POETRY JAM