David J Bauman

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, although I have contributed to at least one anthology that was published by friends. I consider that more of an indie publication, which isn’t all that far off from what most small presses do. I admit the lines are a little more blurred than they used to be. So basically, small presses are a yes for me, but being my own self-publisher is not. 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 on the main blog under the category Recently Published. Whereas announcements about poems that have been accepted for upcoming publication will show up under Poetry.

Here’s a rather incomplete and disorganized list of my original poems available online, in audio, video or print:

• Moons, Roads, and Rivers—my first chapbook from Finishing Line Press
• “Wednesday Want and Worship” at 2 Bridges Review.
• “Advent,” a poem published in Barely South Review.
• Three Poems in Yellow Chair Review.
• “Father” in print at San Pedro River Review, Spring  2016.
• “Elemental” in print at San Pedro River Review, 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.
• “Amish Fantasy” in T(OUR)
• “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.

Related articles

• “Proverbial Reconfiguration,” a Found Poem
• Soundcloud: Music, Language, and Poetry
• The Poetry “Debate” as an Illustration of Internet Discourse Failure