Bio (in brief):
My work has been recently published in 2 Bridges Review, Barely South Review, and Yellow Chair Review. My poems have found their way into journals and magazines like San Pedro River Review, Blue Hour, Contemporary American Voices, and T(OUR). I am a recipient of the Richard Savidge Poetry Prize from the Academy of American Poets and Bloomsburg University. My chapbook Moons, Roads, and Rivers will be published later this year by Finishing Line Press. For a living I manage a small branch library in the Wilkes-Barre area, where I am fortunate to find myself the Editor of Word Fountain, the Literary Magazine of the Osterhout Free Library.
About My Poetry
I don’t usually publish my own poems, even here on the blog, partly because I enjoy celebrating and talking about a variety of poetry, not just my own, and partly because most journals and zines consider a poem found via Google to be “previously published,” and therefore undesirable for their purposes. Self-publishing isn’t part of my plan. Please understand that my personal choice on that matter is no reflection on anyone else’s desire to publish their own work (Read that as, “Please stop telling me I should self-publish”).
I will, however, provide links to my own works online, or links for you to find copies in print. On rare occasions I have featured a poem here if I felt it was uniquely fit for the Dad Poet blog.
So, Why the Blog?
The main purpose of this blog when I started it was to celebrate the things that bring me joy (with a view toward keeping my writing muscles limber), and that includes the best of the poetic tradition, both contemporary and classic. You’ll find many readings here, on my YouTube channel, and on my SoundCloud stream, of what I consider great poems by poets both dead and alive, usually not at the same time, however.
But if you are looking for original poems by me, I thank you for the interest! Please keep reading. My recently published poems will be found in the main blog under the category Recently Published. Whereas announcements about poems that have been accepted for upcoming publication will show up under Poetry.
A Rather Incomplete and Disorganized List of My Poems Available Online:
- “Advent,” a poem published in Barely South Review.
- Three Poems in Yellow Chair Review.
- In print at San Pedro River Review in Spring 2016 and Fall 2015.
- “Years Later,” published along with two other poems in the Tic Toc Anthology, which you can read online, or order in print from Kind of a Hurricane Press.
- Three poems in Contemporary American Voices, with featured poet Brian Fanelli.
- “God, Dad and Cars,” in the Blue Hour Magazine.
- Two poems in Word Fountain, Spring 2013.
- A Fortune Cookie Poem.
- And another Fortune Cookie Poem.
- A Found Poem.
- A few poems read at Riverfest, Sunbury, PA.
- Two more poems at Riverfest.
- Me reading with Melanie Simms and Marjorie Maddox.
- Two pieces I read at the Pennsylvania State Capitol Building.
- A silly poem for my youngest son, read at Faustina’s Gallery in Lewisburg, PA.
- Audio of me reading two of my poems on the air on WITF, Harrisburg.
- An old sonnet for my oldest son.
- My dear friend Ygor Raduy reading my poem “Decorum.”
- Playlists of a few of my original pieces: YouTube, Soundcloud.
- The old moon poem to which the following poem refers.
- And the gorgeous Frances Uku reading “Overvision:”
Overvision I wrote a poem once about my neighbors and the moon. Each brief line dropped into place as I let them break at their will. The syntax arranged itself just comfortably so. Years later I came back with more education and a better sense of rhythm. I thought I could improve it; make the lines more powerful, the innuendos more profound. But the new ink was too dark for the old page, and my good intentions discolored the moon. I’d awakened a befuddled old man and his angry, fuzzy- slippered wife (I’d forgotten that my old neighbors had moved away long ago). They wanted to know what the hell was going on—who was I? And what had I done to the sky? Too late almost to save it, I took whiteout to the street (the last bottle on the shelf at the all-night mini mart on that same block), dimmed the stars and ushered back to bed the little man and his grumbling wife. That globe of blood still had a pulse— thank heaven, and I let it return to where it had been; on page one of a college literary magazine simple and perfect, hanging low there in that early night sky.