THE LICORICE BANDITS

A few things, briskly, between coffees:

Dreamed I was burgled, and in the process tied to a coat rack – with licorice rope. All that kept me from chewing through the rope (a very simple thing), and apprehending the thieves AS THEY MADE OFF WITH ALL MY FIRST EDITIONS, was my rabid abhorrence of licorice. So I’d no choice but to sit there on the floor, softly weeping, and watch them empty the bookshelves.

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Pleased to report that “Von Claire and the Tiger” – my tale of a wobbly professor who’s eaten by a Big Cat – has been named Story of the Week by Short Story America. Read it now on the SSA website (you’ll have to register, but it’s free), and next year in their paperback anthology/Kindle ebook.

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NOW AVAILABLE – the new issue of The Labletter, featuring my poem “Bev (of the Selfish Same Hills).” Why not pick up a copy?

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On the children’s front, read my new poem “Bat,” in the current issue of COLUMBIAKids; and look for a short story, “BeeGirl,” in an upcoming Bumples.

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COMING SOON – poems and stories in Highlights for Children, Ladybug, Quarterly West, Antigonish Review, Feathertale Review, Wascana Review, and plenty of other reviews.

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Gotta run. My coffee needs me.

THE GINGER CAT

WHEN I LOOKED in the mirror last night, this is what I found staring back at me:

Not a very soothing experience. Of course, I was dreaming; but that hardly lessened the shock of it, at the time. The oddest part of it is – I don’t even own a Ginger Cat.

Spooky.

 

The new TRANSiTiON is out, featuring 3 of my poems, and as many doodles. To order an autographed copy, contact me. For a limited time, all orders include free hair. What more could one ask for?

 

 

MUFFINS, AND OTHER STUFF

HERE’S a portrait of my dotty auntie, who I – and several bystanders – had the recent pleasure of watching eat, with a teaspoon, an oversized dry blueberry muffin. She then wolfed down the butter, like ice cream. I very nearly choked on my own muffin – which I ate with my HANDS, thank you very much, like a civilized person.

HERE’S a shot of the charming ladies of the Nibs Writer’s Group. Brave souls, every last one of them, putting up with my nonsense for over 3 hours. The tarts were delicious.

FEEDING children to tigers isn’t to be encouraged, I suppose; but it makes for splendid fiction. Read “Twylla and the Tiger” HERE (p. 26), and when you’re finished, vote for it HERE (registration is free), if you’d be so kind. I won’t share any of the prize money, mind you, if I win. But I’ll think of you, as I cash the check.

PLEASED to be on the board of A cappella Zoo, for the next little while. Why not send us your submissions?

 

 

 

WATCH for poems and drawings in upcoming issues of Quarterly West, Feathertale Review, Antigonish Review, Wascana Review, Transition, Highlights for Children, Ladybug, Columbia Kids, and one or two dozen others.

COMING soon – a dead celebrity, brought back to life to recite one of my poems (then promptly die again). But until then …

VANISH!

 

THE IRREPRESSIBLE HEAD OF PIERRE ELIOTT TRUDEAU

A LITTLE EXPLANATION is required, here. Some years ago, I found – in a dumpster outside a government office, of all places – a hollow bronze bust of Pierre Elliott Trudeau, Canada’s bratty 15th Prime Minister. To someone who cares nothing for politics – a penny opera for crusty old buggers, I’ve always thought – it’s a wonder I didn’t pitch it right back where it belonged. But something about the bust, cheap and ill-made as it was, struck my fancy, and I wound up taking it home.

For the last 5 years, it’s leered down at me from its perch on top of a bookshelf in my office. I’ve avoided eye contact with the bust as much as possible during that time, to the point that I seldom – that I never – notice it anymore. Strange, then, that I should have a dream about the thing, last night.

In my dream, I was walking into my office, coffee in hand, when I became aware of a voice in the room. I saw no-one, but looking up became aware that it was the bust of Trudeau talking. It was reciting one of my poems – “Ra-Tom Wakes in the Afterlife” (about a mummified cat) – and not in its present, but an early, discarded draft. And I was so horrified to hear the poem with all the warts intact that I began violently screaming, waking in time to hear the echo of that screaming bounding down the hallway, like a rhino, outside my bedroom.

What fun!

JUST RELEASED – The new issue of knowonder!, featuring my story “Twylla and the Tiger” – a cautionary tale about the dangers of feeding children to zoo creatures. The practice has one or two merits, I’m sure – but still .… You can either order a copy, or view it for free online (which would be so like you).

　

JUST RECEIVED a strongly-worded note from an American children’s magazine editor, declining a poem of mine, “Gruff and Fum-Fudge,” on the following grounds:

1) Today’s children really don’t know what a “sonnet” is.

2) The whole this is obviously a sexual allegory.

This is a little baffling, as the poem – clocking in at 49 lines – is decidedly not a sonnet; and try as I might, I can’t find any trace of allegory, sexual or otherwise, in the quest of two dummkopfs to find a runaway kite.  In the golden days, I suppose, the town dunce grew up to be a trash man, or the mayor.  Now he becomes a magazine editor.

 

 

THE FACE-TAKERS

Dreamed a coterie of rich old ladies, and the occasional dandy, were employing black market catburglers to steal the faces of the young and beautiful.  The last were abducted, and drugged, their faces surgically removed, then dumped, faceless (but very much alive, sadly), in back alleys.  Then the crones would replace their own wrinklly faces with the smooth young ones, telling friends they’d simply “had work done.”

I caught onto them, though, when I bumped into a dowager with the identical countenance of a recently abducted friend.  I woke up screaming “Face taker!  Face taker!”  It was delightful.  I suppose it would make for a good story.  A little pulpy, though.  We’ll see …

Not much else to report.  But watch for my new children’s story, about a girl who’s fed – by a witch – to a tiger – in next month’s knowonder! magazine.

RIP MME

This is Madame DP, who I first met in Bristol when I was – 11, give or take.  I was pretty fond of the old girl, despite her restlessness, and fake pearls, and pasted-on grin (grinning while she ate, even – no easy thing).  Saddened to learn that she has, now, officially, passed on; though she must’ve been 100, if a day.

But seriously, I’m glad she’s dead.

A few points of business.  It looks as if my novel-in-poems MAVOR’S BONES - which won’t officially be published until next fall – can presently be ordered and printed on the spot via the new-fangled Espresso Book Machine.  There aren’t many of them in the world just yet, but if you find yourself at any of these locations, why not order a copy – and watch it be printed, bound, and dropped into your hands in four minutes flat – still warm!

Not much else to report just yet – but look for new poems and drawings in forthcoming editions of Quarterly West, Labletter, Wascana Review, Transition, The Egregious, Highlights for Children, Ladybug, and others.

I have to go now.  My coffee needs me.

APPLEDOOM

WHAT HAPPENS when a disappointed, if a practical man turns his rage into pure atomic fuel?

Appledoom, a CBC Radio production, is now available as a free download. The poem is read by Geoff Whynot, and produced by Kelley Jo Burke.

6 IN STICKMAN

Six Rolli originals – artworks, this time – in the new edition of The Stickman Review.  Why not take a look?

1. Shakey

2. The Orange O

3. Mirror 2

4. Confessional

5. M. Fish

                                         6. Morty San