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 MEOW POETRY: Fun, Fabulous Feline Verse is an anthology of cat poetry written by established poets and newcomers. A collection of accessible and enjoyable poetry.
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"San Fransisco Bay Press is a small publisher with two offices - one located in San Francisco and the other in Norfolk, Virginia. We publish 8 to 10 books a year as well as a semi annual literary journal, "Lady Jane's Miscellany". We believe in publishing both established, critically acclaimed poets as well as newly emerging voices in contemporary poetry. You can find our titles below in our online bookstore, as well as on Amazon.com. Our books are also available from bookshops including Barnes and Nobles (in Newport News and Norfolk) as well as Prince Books (in Norfolk)."
Online & Print
Copyright E. P. Glixman
www.thedailygreen.com/
Journey Anthology includes work by Peter Krok, Mike Amado, Ed Galing, Halima Sussman, Helen Bar-Lev, Phillip E. Burnham, Phil Levy, Susan Tepper, Tom Sheehan, Elizabeth P. Glixman and many others.
"Our second anthology Journey is a huge success, in the eyes of the critics who have read the galleys and and I hope it will be with you and the public. We think it is a beautiful book inside and out. The content is thought-provoking, funny, luminous, mysterious and covers all the emotions and brings up important issues. It's beautiful to look at. It's beautiful to read."
Edward Gorey's drawings
God Particles is my introduction to Thomas Lux' poems. I am not sure how I feel about them. I do know that the title poem "God Particles" made an impression on me. I too wonder if God takes pity on us humans for our inadequacies.late August, before the harvest, every one of us worn down
by the plow, the hoe, rake,
and worry over rain.
Chicken coop confiscated
by the rats and the raptors
with nary a mouse to hunt. The corn's too green and hard,
and the larder's down
to dried apples
and double-corned cod. We lie on our backs
and stare at the blue;
our work is done, our bellies flat.
The mold on the wheat killed hardly a sheaf.
The lambs fatten on the grass, our pigs we set
to forage on their own—they'll be back
when they whiff the first shucked ears
of corn. Albert's counting
bushels in his head
to see if there's enough to ask Harriet's father
for her hand. Harriet's father
is thinking about Harriet's mother's bread
pudding. The boys and girls
splash in the creek,
which is low but cold. Soon, soon
there will be food
again, and from what our hands have done
we shall live another year here
by the river
in the valley
above the fault line
beneath the mountain.
God Particles
Houghton Mifflin
My grandmother as a young woman
People came to the U.S. seeking freedom of expression and economic opportunity in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century (THE SECOND WAVE: European Immigration from 1850-1920). http://www.memory.loc.gov/learn/educators/workshop/european/wimmlink.html
"In her poem The New Colossus, Emma Lazarus created what stood for years as an American credo. You know the words: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free..."
The words of the poem were engraved on a bronze plaque hung in the Statue of Liberty museum 20 years after her death. To many, the verse expressed the governing U.S. attitude toward immigrants: welcome. But today, a new debate over immigration is dominating the political debate."
Read the rest
| Not only have I carried and continue to carry the languages of my ancestors, but I have also many names. Because I was born in the United States, my mother named me Marjorie, like the character in Howard Fast's novel Marjorie Morningstar. In Chile I was called Margarita; at home Magita; and at the Hebrew school, Miriam. |
"Gabriel Garcia Marquez received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1982. He has written numerous books, including One Hundred Years of Solitude (I will never forget this story) and Love in the Time of Cholera. Memories of My Melancholy Whores, his latest novel, is a 115-page, strangely erotic, and spiritual masterpiece. The man is a great writer, but I don't have to tell you that."
Memories of My Melancholy Whores is about more than the relationship between a young prostitute and a ninety year old man. Read more http://www.eclectica.org/v10n4/glixman.html
E.P. Glixman
photo by a.coven
photo by a.coven
photo by a.coven| An Old Man's Winter Night by Robert Frost |
| All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on the pane in empty rooms. What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand. What kept him from remembering what it was That brought him to that creaking room was age. He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss. And having scared the cellar under him In clomping there, he scared it once again In clomping off; -- and scared the outer night, Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar Of trees and crack of branches, common things, But nothing so like beating on a box. A light he was to no one but himself Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what, A quiet light, and then not even that. He consigned to the moon, such as she was, So late-arising, to the broken moon As better than the sun in any case For such a charge, his snow upon the roof, His icicles along the wall to keep; And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted, And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept. One aged man -- one man -- can't keep a house, A farm, a countryside, or if he can, It's thus he does it of a winter night. |
| From "Mountain Interval", 1916 I bought this book of Frost's poems and B.A. King photos years ago. I often re-read it. I find it inspiring. See more of King's black and white photos at this link. |
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