The Ectopic Epiphany - Poems and Essays
My second collection of poems is, I believe, a more mature perspective, as it should be. The book is broken up into five sections: Thought, Family, Creation, The Writing Life and Everything Else, each headed with a brief essay summing up my thoughts on the theme of the section. The title poem headlines the first section, creating a disturbing realization about the power of the right thought at the wrong time.
While some of the poems are more light-hearted, many crystallize a moment in what was, in all honesty, a tough year for me and mine, for many reasons. 2010 has proven to contain many pleasant surprises, albiet few solutions. But the release of The Ectopic Epiphany certainly shines as a highlight of the new decade in my mind!
Buy this book at CreateSpace.com
While some of the poems are more light-hearted, many crystallize a moment in what was, in all honesty, a tough year for me and mine, for many reasons. 2010 has proven to contain many pleasant surprises, albiet few solutions. But the release of The Ectopic Epiphany certainly shines as a highlight of the new decade in my mind!
Buy this book at CreateSpace.com
Sanity is Boring - Verse and Prose From an Interesting Mind
This is my first published poetry collection. It contains poems and song lyrics from a 15-year span in my pre-"trying to be a real writer" days. Just compiling this book, I felt the catharsis other poets have described in their most inspired moments of writing. It really sparked my imagination and got the juices flowing for more poetic output over the course of 2009. The work is still ongoing, but will be available for purchase upon completion. Below are some excerpts from both works.
Buy this book at Amazon.com
or
Buy this book at CreateSpace.com
Buy this book at Amazon.com
or
Buy this book at CreateSpace.com
My Very First Official Poetry Publication (besides my own book above)
Below is the electronic version of the A Brilliant Record magazine, which contains three of my poems, "The Wake", "Us" and "Memory". I'm on page 13. The overall quality of the poems included is quite high, so I'm really proud to be a part of it. Enjoy!
| a_brilliant_record_winter_2009.pdf |
As My Wife Reads the Reader's Digest Aloud
She reads of teachers, incompetent, racist,
Paid for years by tax payers’ money,
Unwilling, unable to teach for their own
Empty heads and hearts.
She laughs that sad laugh, knowing our children
Will soon enough Feel the icy
showered baptism of man’s schooling,
Not knowledge, facts.
She reads of signs, slaughtered English,
Printed reasons for foreign views
Of America the Beautiful,
The tired, the poor, the nescient.
She sits quiet as the magazine
Mellows in to a less chaotic thought train,
Its passions subdued behind higher word count,
Meanings filtered, stretched
And I filter my own written words
Through years of life unlived,
Days of hours lost, of minutes squandered,
And wish only to crystallize the sound
Of thoughts shooting through fingertips
To keys then to cursor, then back again,
To linger a quiet moment inside
Empty heads and hearts.
--excerpted from "Sanity is Boring", (c) 2009
Elixir
Should I confine
In drops of time
The gifts received and undeserved
It would, I think
Comprise a drink
To quench the fiercest thirst
To satiate
And fill the plate
Of the most insatiable appetites
To gently sting
And spread my wings
To lift on borrowed wind, to flight
May I recall
Before I fall
The liquid that bubbled life
And heartily share
That blessed snare
The devoted warden formed, my wife
--excerpted from "Sanity is Boring", (c) 2009
Split-Second
Fish-tailing on the Thruway, I have time to think:
What did I do this morning?
Why did I say that to you?
I could have said it gentler.
I could have kept my anger inside.
I could have breathed in for just one second.
Why did I leave like that?
I could have waited a moment.
I could have let you turn around.
I could have closed the door slow.
Will you forgive me?
Rolling over on the Thruway, I have time to think:
When was the last time I said I love you?
Why do I always assume you know?
I could have opened my mouth.
I could have said it quickly
I could have pecked your cheek.
Why do I assume I'll have another chance?
I could have gone to work late.
I could have finished my coffee.
I could have held your hand.
Will you forgive me?
Dying on the Thruway, I have time to think:
Will you forgive me?
--excerpted from "Diary in Verse", unpublished.
Monotony
This same alarm clock shrill disrupts the remnants of the last difference
This same gray road of cars speeding to places no one wants to go
This same lot filled with self same cars and trucks and vans and frowns
This same elevator pausing unnecessarily to delay the inevitable in agony
This same hallway pocked with coffee stains on carpet, with smears on paint
This same block of fabric-lined aluminum holding up the tools of boredom
This same call or e-mail or memo or meeting or emergency or disaster
This same call to home, “fine, and you? Be home by six. Love you too.”
This same swollen, tired conversation over coffee, water cooler, conference table
This same rush hour war to be the first to make it to the red light, to the slow down
This same quiet crunch of gravel as the headlights sweep the front porch of my world
This same yawning, pain-suppressing, drink or book or laptop or television
This same setting of the alarm clock to make sure it disrupts the remnants of the last difference.
--excerpted from "Diary in Verse", unpublished.
She reads of teachers, incompetent, racist,
Paid for years by tax payers’ money,
Unwilling, unable to teach for their own
Empty heads and hearts.
She laughs that sad laugh, knowing our children
Will soon enough Feel the icy
showered baptism of man’s schooling,
Not knowledge, facts.
She reads of signs, slaughtered English,
Printed reasons for foreign views
Of America the Beautiful,
The tired, the poor, the nescient.
She sits quiet as the magazine
Mellows in to a less chaotic thought train,
Its passions subdued behind higher word count,
Meanings filtered, stretched
And I filter my own written words
Through years of life unlived,
Days of hours lost, of minutes squandered,
And wish only to crystallize the sound
Of thoughts shooting through fingertips
To keys then to cursor, then back again,
To linger a quiet moment inside
Empty heads and hearts.
--excerpted from "Sanity is Boring", (c) 2009
Elixir
Should I confine
In drops of time
The gifts received and undeserved
It would, I think
Comprise a drink
To quench the fiercest thirst
To satiate
And fill the plate
Of the most insatiable appetites
To gently sting
And spread my wings
To lift on borrowed wind, to flight
May I recall
Before I fall
The liquid that bubbled life
And heartily share
That blessed snare
The devoted warden formed, my wife
--excerpted from "Sanity is Boring", (c) 2009
Split-Second
Fish-tailing on the Thruway, I have time to think:
What did I do this morning?
Why did I say that to you?
I could have said it gentler.
I could have kept my anger inside.
I could have breathed in for just one second.
Why did I leave like that?
I could have waited a moment.
I could have let you turn around.
I could have closed the door slow.
Will you forgive me?
Rolling over on the Thruway, I have time to think:
When was the last time I said I love you?
Why do I always assume you know?
I could have opened my mouth.
I could have said it quickly
I could have pecked your cheek.
Why do I assume I'll have another chance?
I could have gone to work late.
I could have finished my coffee.
I could have held your hand.
Will you forgive me?
Dying on the Thruway, I have time to think:
Will you forgive me?
--excerpted from "Diary in Verse", unpublished.
Monotony
This same alarm clock shrill disrupts the remnants of the last difference
This same gray road of cars speeding to places no one wants to go
This same lot filled with self same cars and trucks and vans and frowns
This same elevator pausing unnecessarily to delay the inevitable in agony
This same hallway pocked with coffee stains on carpet, with smears on paint
This same block of fabric-lined aluminum holding up the tools of boredom
This same call or e-mail or memo or meeting or emergency or disaster
This same call to home, “fine, and you? Be home by six. Love you too.”
This same swollen, tired conversation over coffee, water cooler, conference table
This same rush hour war to be the first to make it to the red light, to the slow down
This same quiet crunch of gravel as the headlights sweep the front porch of my world
This same yawning, pain-suppressing, drink or book or laptop or television
This same setting of the alarm clock to make sure it disrupts the remnants of the last difference.
--excerpted from "Diary in Verse", unpublished.