Tag Archive for poetry

My Poem “Visitation” at US Represented

I owe a huge thanks to US Represented for featuring my poem “Visitation.” check it out here.

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My Poem “5/15/1984” Featured in Flapperhouse

Hey, look. Flapperhouse is featuring “5/15/1984,” one of my two poems from their Summer 2015 issue.

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My poem “Galápagos” is in the Summer/July issue of Calliope Magazine

summer-2015-coverGood news! My poem “Galápagos” is featured in the Summer/July issue of Calliope Magazine.

“Galápagos” was partly inspired by an article I read last year about Harriet, Charles Darwin’s Galápagos tortoise, who died in Australia in 2006. Yes, 2006.

The magazine will be available in print soon, but you can find the online issue here. (I’m on page 24.)

My Poems “5/15/1984” and “Red Planet” are in the Summer 2015 Flapperhouse

Check it out, lit-mongers. My poems “5/15/1984” and “Red Planet” are in the Summer 2015 issue of Flapperhouse.

I’m smack in the middle of reading my copy now, and as is always the case, there’s some excellent work in this issue. And I haven’t even gotten to my pieces.

(I’m on pages 39 and 40, by the by.)

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With All Credit and (Mad) Respect to W.W.

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky

Unless, of course, the day is hot,

In which case I’ll have found a spot

Indoors to keep me nice and cold

Or else I’ll die!

You might think me a lazy lot.

That’s as may be, but I’m the chap

Who’s having a cool, relaxing nap.

–JGW

A World War I Poet: Wilfred Owen

It’s unbelievable that one-hundred years ago today, Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia, effectively setting World War I in motion.

Here’s one of my favorite poems from that era, from a young British soldier named Wilfred Owen.

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
— Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.