Submissions and Updates

electric press

Do you know where to submit?  There are a number of writing communities on facebook and twitter which post submission calls.  In fact the hashtag #writingcommunity can help you find some too.

I was asked by author and now publisher, Paul White, to submit to his new project called Electric Press.  It has just been published. I’m proud to say I have a short story and two poems within the digital pages.

 

 

I was also asked by Jack, from ReadLipsPress to submit (and to share the call for submissions) for Delphinium. Their annual Literary Journal. delphinium accepting submission.png

 

Finally, Paul White asked me to share his good news! The publication of his novella: A New Summer Garden.

A crime drama.

Sam was a down and almost out, NSGprom2.jpgwith little prospect for the future when he meets Rachelle, the beautiful wife of the philanderous Peter, the kingpin of an international criminal business empire.

When Peter catches Sam ‘in flagrante’ with Rachelle, he ensures Sam’s simple life becomes complicated.

What happens next takes Sam on a surreal path, where the only plausible outcome is for Sam to end up in prison or dead… most probably both.

You can find Paul at Ramblings from a Writer’s Mind

 

That’s it for now, beautiful people. Have a great day!

Old School Inspiration

Yuself Komunyakaa is one of my favorite poets. He writes about love and passion, loss and war – all kinds of war, including the Vietnam war in which he served many years ago. Although he’ll write about, he won’t talk about it.

One of the many mysteries of poets. Sometimes purging our pains in poetry is so much easier than clearing our mind with conversation.

I love reading poetry because it inspires me. Does it inspire you?

 

The Soul’s Soundtrack

When they call him Old School
he clears his throat, squares
his shoulders, & looks straight
into their lit eyes, saying,
“I was born by the damn river
& I’ve been running ever since.”
An echo of Sam Cooke hangs
in bruised air, & for a minute

the silence of fate reigns over
day & night, a tilt of the earth
body & soul caught in a sway
going back to reed & goatskin,

back to trade winds locked
inside an “Amazing Grace”
that will never again sound
the same after Charleston,

South Carolina, & yes, words
follow the river through pine
& oak, muscadine & redbud,
& the extinct Lord God bird
found in an inventory of green
shadows longing for the scent
of woe & beatitude, taking root
in the mossy air of some bayou.

Now Old School can’t stop
going from a sad yes to gold,

into a season’s bloomy creed,
& soon he only hears Martha
& the Vandellas, their dancing
in the streets, through a before
& after. Mississippi John Hurt,
Ma Rainey, Sleepy John Estes,

Son House, Skip James, Joe
Turner, & Sweet Emma,
& he goes till what he feels
wears out his work boots
along the sidewalks, his life
a fist of coins in a coat pocket
to give to the recent homeless
up & down these city blocks.

He knows “We Shall Overcome”

& anthems of the flower children
which came after Sister Rosetta,
Big Mama Thornton, & Bo Diddley.
Now the years add up to a sharp
pain in his left side on Broadway,
but the Five Blind Boys of Alabama
call down an evening mist to soothe.

He believes to harmonize is
to reach, to ascend, to query
ego & hold a note till there’s
only a quiver of blue feather
sat dawn, & a voice goes out
to return as a litany of mock
orange & sweat, as we are sewn
into what we came crying out of,

& when Old School declares,
“You can’t doo-wop a cappella
& let your tongue touch an evil
while fingering a slothful doubt
beside the Church of Coltrane,”
he has traversed the lion’s den
as Eric Dolphy plays a fluted
solo of birds in the pepper trees.