Youmans (pronounced like 'yeoman' with an 's' added) is the best-kept secret among contemporary American writers. --John Wilson, editor, Books and Culture

Monday, January 07, 2013

Mezzo Cammin, again--

Six poems of mine are up at Mezzo Cammin, edited by poet Kim Bridgford. Below find a taste, the first three lines of each. Three of the six poems will be in The Book of the Red King, some day.

If you would like to read more of my poems, check the contributors' notes--mine has links to other poems in earlier issues. Recent in-print poetry books of mine are: Thaliad (just out, a post-apocalyptic epic in blank verse from Phoenicia Publishing in Montreal, with wonderful art from Clive Hicks-Jenkins); The Foliate Head (a 2012 collection of poems from Stanza Press in the UK, also with art--green men!--from Clive); and The Throne of Psyche (a 2011 collection from Mercer University Press.) See tabs above for more about each--available worldwide in hardcover, as well as paperback for two of the books.


Little Epithalamium

As soul and body join,
As God was born in flesh,
As Psyche married Love,

L-O-V-E

In glittering clouds of snow the Red King sits
And meditates, and the word LOVE is all
His mantra:  L’s the scoop that hurls his thoughts

The Bloodroot Fool

Corm-sprung
And nectarless,
Blown from another world,

Great Work of Time
The Alchemist to the Fool

This you must know:
                                     the world is a bright glass,
Reflecting all the universe

Spring in Fall                      

World new-washed with a raindrop on the tip
Of every yellow leaf, strung and hung
For miles into the distance . . . all dew and new,

The Sheaf of Wheat

Subtle, suffused light in the sheaf of grain
Is pale gold that’s almost silver,
Like, in a certain leaning light, the rain,

2 comments:

  1. Some truly wonderful things! I look forward to The Red King! I think it will be the best book yet!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks you, Robbi--I hope it will be a good one.

    ReplyDelete

Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.