Category: Poetry
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005: Listory
Once upon a time, I read that the perfect age for writing quality poetry is twenty-three. Apparently most of T.S. Elliot’s stuff came out then, the rest of his work being supposedly non-poetic. This resulted in 46 poems written at 23. These poems came out exponentially faster and faster before my 24th birthday on April 30th – and I had…
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004: How I’d like to be Remembered (as a Writer)
Once upon a time, I read that the perfect age for writing quality poetry is twenty-three. Apparently most of T.S. Elliot’s stuff came out then, the rest of his work being supposedly non-poetic. This resulted in 46 poems written at 23. These poems came out exponentially faster and faster before my 24th birthday on April 30th – and I had…
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50 @ 25 002: Black Market Milk
Once upon a time, I read that the perfect age for writing quality poetry is twenty-three. Apparently most of T.S. Elliot’s stuff came out then, the rest of his work being supposedly non-poetic. This resulted in 46 poems written at 23. These poems came out exponentially faster and faster before my 24th birthday on April 30th – and I had…
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50 @ 25: Another Epic Journey in Manful Poetry
Once upon a time, I read that the perfect age for writing quality poetry is twenty-three. Apparently most of T.S. Elliot’s stuff came out then, the rest of his work being supposedly non-poetic. Conviction from said knowledge resulted in 46 poems written at 23. These poems came out exponentially faster and faster before my 24th birthday…
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Noble Beast Transmedia to Publish My Work
Noble Beast Transmedia Publishing Company will publish the digital story Slice of Life around the middle of February. Fans of Kickstarter might notice the name of their up-and-coming transmedia app, Steampunk Holmes. For Slice of Life, a transmedia team was assembled by the fabulous author Ellie Ann: Consisting of the infamous Gary Morgan, comic artist the mellifluous composers Raphael Cutrufello and…
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The Strain of the Mockingbird
for him who has ears to hear I’m a mockingbird with no new song to sing said Webb. I wanted not to mock, but to mimic the mockingbird, mimicking-mock her when I over heard her song ring through the vale: I have no meteres, fresh offrians, nothing neowe for you to sing save patches of…
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On Reflection
I’ve never been one to slog through enormous philosophical tomes, but were I to ever trudge through something that thick, I think I’d pick Aids to Reflection by Coleridge. Don’t get me wrong, I would probably enjoy a conversation with diehard fans of Kierkegaard, Wittgenstein, Barth. However, I’ve merely sampled them like most of us—I’m…
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A Near-Death Experience for Poetry
Our nation’s in crisis and doesn’t even know it. “What are you talking about, Lance, of course they–” Not like that. The moment you ruin funding for the arts, the moment music becomes an elective, the moment you have more copywriters than poets, you start down into absurdity. The poets are always the first to…
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Free Lance Friday & Discounts!
Freelance ain’t free [except when it is]. It’s that time again–time for you shy or procrastinating or wary people to send your stories, poems, articles, research papers, opening novel chapters, book proposals, etc. and I send them back to you, line-edited, critiqued or written free of charge. It’s only this Friday, and it’s first-come-first-serve. Two…
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Pigs, Poems & Paradise
I’ve Doberman (one of you Literators) to thank for the sudden outburst in poetics. Forgive me if I don’t try and publish poetry these days–the time involved pays significantly less than stories, articles and freelance editing. I like to think there’s value in the mere act of crafting poems. And occasionally sharing them. Anyways, awhile…
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Twoem: A Twitter Poem
In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve taken a week to focus on poetry, to give her the limelight and to beg you not to ignore posts (by anyone, not just me) simply because they have #poetry at the end. In order to emphasize how important it is for you to search out “poetry” in the tag clouds, category…
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The Birds in the Floo
Last year, I rescued three jackdaws from out of my chimney’s vault One of their brothers’ body lay chilled in the midst of ash I carried them in gloved hands upstairs and out the window to the roof above my laundry room, gable for the world away from indoors I set birds three upon the…