Poetry L & T:	How and why did you first start writing poetry, Tom?
Tom:	My computer dates the earth shattering event precisely. It was 13. 10. 95 and it was in course of joining the small group which was the precursor of the official East Grinstead Poets (nee Library Poets). I blush to look at the original but it was a good try and well received at the time.
Poetry L & T:	Who are your favourite poets?
Tom:	Yeats certainly, with a name like Riley and way back originally from Waterford, R.O.I., W.B. is a natural and fills a mystical gap in my rather barren agnostic soul. Elizabeth Barrett Browning for steaming passion and Burns for fun: I'm fond of reading poetry and prose in the vernacular being a devotee of Niel Munro and, having spent a huge portion of my working life in Scotland, I'm o'er fond of the place.
Poetry L & T:	You show a general love of (and skill with) rhyme in your work. In which ways do you feel free verse compares less favourably with rhymed, metred poetry?
Tom:	Oh dear! here we tread upon marshy ground. Frankly I don't understand it as, when trying to read it, it feels like rushing down a flight of stairs with some steps missing: surely poetry should be the music of words. The human mind requires order, and with the discipline of form and if appropriate the ornament of rhyme, reception by eye or ear of a well crafted piece should engender a mood of elation in the brain and an almost post-coitus like satisfaction. I have attempted the mysterious free form but thrice, and only one of these attempts I think can be viewed with any satisfaction i.e Halloween Midnight. Free form devotees often propose highly poetic subjects and sentiments but can rarely mount a credible defence of why their lines begin and end as they do: perhaps the fault is mine. It is a pity that the style is almost universally adopted by the commercial poets and it is an axiom amongst many of my acquaintances that if it rhymes or scans, don't bother to send it in for the big bucks competitions. I'm all for the singing line.
Poetry L & T:	I enjoy the mysterious atmosphere of your poem "Halloween Midnight", especially in the second stanza, where you "smile at remembered terrors of the flowering years"... what kinds of things used to scare you, as a boy?
Tom:	In the flowering years I was brought up in two orphanages, a devout and strict Catholic - see 'Sanctuary' - and I can assure you it is the finest cure for religion there is. It terrified me and I'm sure that the brutality exercised in that supposedly worthy end would fill the jails in this, more child caring age. All Hallows e'en of my school days was a hair crawling wait for the apparition of the roaming spirits and a dread of the eternal flames. Harping back to the previous question, I worked to no mathematical theory but in the finished article I feel the lines are comfortable with one another and are worthy of a public airing. If one lives in a house for thirty odd years one can walk about in its comfortable embrace with ones eyes shut, therefore when answering the calls of nature at night we have no need of light. The second condition for the poem's naissance was that although my convinced agnostic mind rejects a bewhiskered God that can be influenced by singing and grovelling to, my poor human heart, filled with love for my dear Suzy desperately longs for a here-after to make sense of the present. This sentiment is expressed in the line of the poem under discussion 'And long to hear the rustle of the grave clothes' The poem was inspired while answering, at midnight, the call of nature in pitch darkness on the eve of All Hallows. I've built myself a God, omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient, whose presence will appear in the next question.
Poetry L & T:	"Forever Yours" is a poem I heard for the first time when you read it out at a recent meeting of East Grinstead Poets. It's become a favourite of mine now. Did the inspiration start with one memorable line, or grow from several ideas?
Tom:	No not a line, but a fervent hope to continue forever the love Suzy and I share. It is my firm conviction that the universe is recycled periodically by the all pervading force of my Big G, Gravity and being sensible of a modification of Darwin's theories, I propose that the events that happen are the only events that can happen and therefore the whole social evolution will be as before, perhaps with minor modifications: comforting anyway.
Poetry L & T:	You received an award in the Scottish International Open Poetry Competition with your poem "A Morven flitting". I very much enjoyed reading that, and would love to know more about the historical story behind it.
Tom:	The award is the most expensive piece of paper I own and it was like this. The competition was free and the winning prizes, in true Scottish fashion were not intmidating, so I thought this is for me. I am a member of the Downlanders Group and the current task was to write a poem concerned with the trauma of being dispossessed of house and home and coincidently, I was reading at the time and account of a sailing circumnavigation of Great Britain by Libby Purves entitled, 'A Summers Grace'. Libby had got to Tobermory and opposite at Morven was a memorial to the highland clearances, I think, known as the White Cottages. She discussed at some length the terror of being thrown out of ones home at any hour of the day or night and being forced to board grim emigrant ships for Newfoundland. I thought, this is the stuff of poetry and the result was well received, so I popped it off to Scotland. The many thousands of entries where whittled down to a few finalists by the Burns Club of Irvine, Scotland, and all finalists were awarded a 'Certificate of Excellence' and invited to pop up to Irvine to collect it and say your piece in front of an audience of finalists and friends. The popping up set me back about £200 but it was worth it just to say my piece in front of a knowledgeable crowd of about two hundred: applause is very addictive. The winning poems chosen by a professional were the usual free verse. Oddly enough the judge wondered why there were so few humorous entries, I'll try some giggles of mine next time.
Poetry L & T:	You have a love of the sea and sailing, which features in much of your work. Do you find you get some of your best ideas for poems while sailing?
Tom:	While one is sailing one thinks about sailing, the integrity of ones hide depends largely on keeping ones mind on the continually changing equation of wind, sea, and often on human endurance but, while swinging round the hook! Some fine stanzas have been produced while at anchor but rarely of sailing subjects. At least I've celebrated the magic of the thin grey line and the team work of sailing in the poem, 'Landfall', which describes a fairly average Channel crossing to Cherbourg.
Poetry L & T:	Are there any subjects you find difficult, emotionally, to write about?
Tom:	No. I've written on mental isolation almost to breakdown and rescue by the birth of my daughter but, tackling the desertion of myself by my first wife required the passing of some thirty years to see the incidents clearly and even extract some humour from it: at the time the desire was only to cut the fat cuckoo's throat and I didn't see it as the merciful release from a marriage going nowhere and the start of thirty four wonderful years with Suzy. I think the business is fairly covered in 'A Trying Time'. I always treat sex with some humour as I believe it's one of the funniest things a joking God has wished on us bipeds. I think I've only used the F word once and it made a very telling line.
Poetry L & T:	What do you think poets might do to make poetry more popular again, as it was many years ago?
Tom:	More poets should refrain from spilling their poetical intestines on the floor and try interesting simple forms and rhyme, the sonnet is a beauty. More quietly witty and humorous verse should be attempted; 'Cash' and 'A Late Knight' always go down very well when performed and above all, learn to speak clearly and address ones poetical remarks to the back of the hall don't mumble. Be proud of your babies and get that feeling across.
Poetry L & T:	Do you think that the Internet can sometimes encourage poets to become too solitary, rather than going to poetry groups?
Tom:	That's a very difficult question. The successful creation of a poem is a marvellous feeling and if shared with like minded people it is like that Shakespearian quality of the stuff that droppeth as the gentle rain, it is twice blessed. I cannot imagine a poet who only wishes to cast his work adrift like a note laden bottle into the sea, most poets, even those shy of the podium would give their ears to see their work in a decent anthology or magazine. Incidentally I publish my own little anthologies from time to time, it's great fun.
Poetry L & T:	Do you think poets should aspire to greatness, or simply write for the enjoyment of it?
Tom:	One should write for the sheer joy of the thing, I find the process exhilarating, and it also serves a very useful purpose at my time of life - the down slide to eighty - hopefully staving off the inevitable process of my brains turning to jelly. I've had reasonable success in local competitions and some publishing in national poetry magazines, but if greatness should be thrust upon me which I doubt very much, it will be a great giggle.
Poetry L & T:	Finally, Tom, what are your ambitions for the future?
Tom:	To get another poetry anthology out, to publish my illustrated short stories for children, to win that Scottish Open, and to stay alive.
Poetry L & T:	Thank you for the interview, Tom.

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Editor's Letter, August 2004

Dear Poets, Welcome to the August 2004 issue of Poetry Life & Times (For those of you reading this on a mirror site and not poetrylifeandtimes.com, click here). This month's interview features Tom Riley, founder member of East Grinsted Poets (Ex Libris), whose rich, evocative poetry is often my favourite in that group. Featured Poets this month include Barbara Crooker, Guy Kettelhack, Jim Dunlap, Deborah P Kolodji, Richard Vallance and Jan Sand. Be sure to scroll down after reading Barbara Crooker's poems, to read the exciting news about her new chapbook, Impressionism.

In the Vallance Review for August 2004, Richard's Review No. 36 features the first sonnet in "Sonnets and Other Lyrics" (1917), a collection of 34 sonnets by Rober Silliman Hillyer. Fans of The Perils of Norris cartoon: now you can buy Norris merchandise for home and office, including a stylish wall clock, plus a new poets' journal with Norris on the cover and ruled pages inside for your notes and poems... Click here to visit the store, which is located at CafePress.com. More goodies will be added as soon as we design them! You can also buy merchandise with our Poetry Life & Times logo. My own poetry can be found mainly on AuthorsDen, these days. The links in the left-hand column of my pages include books and articles as well as poetry. Some of the articles give advice on making chapbooks, or finding publishers - and there is even an item on ghosts. My latest e-book: Worlds Inside The Head, is now available, featuring animated html poetry pages, short stories, video & audio recitals, plus pages in PDF format. Click here to scroll down to the animated ad at the bottom of the page, and click the link to find out more. The animation shows images from the CD. Any comments on this issue or back issues can be emailed to me on the link at the bottom of the page. Announcements are always welcome (brief if possible), you can also promote poetry books here. Poetry submissions should be in plain text in the body of an email, with a small jpeg author picture attached, also a bio, with the URLs of any ezines mentioned, so that they can be shown as links. This increases the chance of inclusion, especially for late submissions. Pictures are best at a maximum of 520 pixels across, otherwise they take ages to arrive by email, especially in bitmap or TIFF format. I recommend that poets click the submissions link on our main page, for full guidelines, and please, always use a spellchecker. Poets can submit previously-published work here. If another editor likes it, there's a chance we'll like it too. Best Regards,

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Click title below for this month's Vallance Review feature

Richard Vallance reviews sonnets, both classic and modern.

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Featured Poets this month include Barbara Crooker, Guy Kettelhack, Jim Dunlap, Deborah P Kolodji, Richard Vallance and Jan Sand. Many thanks to all contributors.

BARBARA CROOKER The author of almost 900 poems published in over 100 anthologies and prestigious magazines, along with 8 residencies at the VCCA; Barbara Crooker's work has made her one of Pennsylvania's favorite poets. She is the recipient of numerous awards and recognitions, including three Pennsylvania Council on the Arts Creative Writing Fellowships, five residencies at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, and a prize from the NEA. A three-time nominee for the Pushcart Prize, she was nominated for the 1997 Grammy Awards for her part in the audio version of the popular anthology, Grow Old Along With Me--The Best is Yet to Be (Papier Mache Press). More recent news - Barbara won the 2001 Byline Press Chapbook Competition with her book "Ordinary Lives". She has also had a brilliant new collection of poems published called "The White Poems" - visit the Irish site Electric Acorn to read three poems from this collection. A new poem "Wedding Blessing" published in Wedding Blessings a book of Prayers, Poems, and Toasts Celebrating Love, Marriage, and Anniversaries Compiled by June Cotner (Broadway Books, $16.00 hardcover, ISBN 0-7679-1346-9) Barbara also has a new book out by Pudding House Publications: Greatest Hits - see announcement lower down the page in this issue. See also publisher's websites for more on Barbara: Miller's Pond and H&H Press. To read our November '99 interview with Barbara Crooker - click here.

THE UNFINISHED WORK IN BLUE AND GOLD © Barbara Crooker will never be completed; no matter how hard I try to dress it up, shine its shoes, it can only approximate, never measure up to what's outside the window calling "over here over here" The sky, blue as the robes of Titian's Madonna, this gold, the leaves of the Osage Orange, it could come from Monet's haystacks, but that's not quite right either-- Maybe the gold is a solo by Charlie Parker, notes turned liquid in the autumn sun, maybe the blue is the implacable sky where Van Gogh's church at Auvers floats off the earth. On the tape at the Musée d'Orsay, he said, "I look for the blue." But you don't have to look hard, Vincent, my man, the blues will find you anyway, even on a starry night. I sail off in the blue canoe of the sky, let the sun turn every little hair on my arms gold, dip my paddle in the water, try again. From Impressionism by Barbara Crooker MAY IN THE ORCHARD © Barbara Crooker May in the orchard and all in full bloom, gauzy Degas dancers lift their limbs overhead, billow their skirts, white net and pink tulle, let them rise and fall in the susurrus of the breeze. The grackles swoop in tuxedoed in black moiré, scrape their rusty strings, tune up for the overture. The very air rustles its silks. It's opening night at the Ballet de Printemps: Applause, applause. Lift up your hearts, the world's in love. From Impressionism by Barbara Crooker AWAY IN VIRGINIA, I SEE A MUSTARD FIELD AND THINK OF YOU © Barbara Crooker because the blue hills are like the shoulders and slopes of your back as you sleep. Often, I slip a hand under your body to anchor myself to this earth. The yellow mustard rises from a waving sea of green. I think of us driving narrow roads in France, under a tunnel of sycamores, my hair blowing in the hot wind, opera washing out of the radio, loud. We are feeding each other cherries from a white paper sack. And then we return to everyday life, where we fall into bed exhausted, fall asleep while still reading, forget the solid planes of the body in the country of dreams. I miss your underwear, soft from a thousand washings, the socks you still wear from a store out of business thirty years. I love to smell your sweat after mowing grass or hauling wood; I miss the weight on your side of the bed. From Impressionism by Barbara Crooker EXHIBITION, PARIS, 5/99: LES NYMPHÉAS © Barbara Crooker I only wish to paint the beauty of the air. Claude Monet Today the air's heavy as the lead sheets the dentist drapes on your lap. The March landscape, colorless, leached by the weight of snow, has now receded, uncovering drab fields. How I'd like to travel back to Paris, last May, the Monet show, all that light reaching into the sky, each nuance of shimmer and shade, water and reflection, the changing shadows, the patches of sun. . . . Lao-Tzu wrote, Seeing into darkness is clarity, and there was Monet, half blind, his wife dead, the war raging, and the blue dog of depression following him everywhere. He kept on painting. Le Pont sur l'étang, 1899 The lilies float between two worlds, water and sky, contained by neither, anchored in mud. Some days, shadows deepen, outline the willows, the Japanese bridge, the green ovals. Some days, the pond catches fire. Le Bassin aux nymphéas, 1899 They drift in rafts, these white and gold lilies, each petal a stroke of light on the greeny pond, the musical notation of buoyancy. Nymphéas, 1907 Now the sky darkens, the water turns mauve and violet, the long sad hours of afternoon. The vertical trees and towering clouds are not in the frame, but fall reflected, in the horizontal planes of the pond. Which is water? Which is sky? Nymphéas, 1903 A spill of dark green, willow branches hang over the left hand corner, dividing air from air. Nymphéas, 1903 Sometimes the water is green jade; other times, blue bottle gentians, deep and wide as the sky, which has fallen into the pond. Le Bassin aux Nymphéas, 1904 The solid world, the floating world, the waking world, the dreaming. I drift from room to room, remembering the war that was always part of the background: In the trenches, on the blue serge coat of a soldier, a pink lily blooms, blood spreading its terrible gorgeous petals. Le Pont aux Nymphéas, 1899 And now the light reaches into the sky, lifts me, becomes a huge waterfall pouring across canvas after canvas. From Impressionism by Barbara Crooker OUT NOW! Winner of Grayson Books 2004 Poetry Chapbook Competition... IMPRESSIONISM by Barbara Crooker ISBN: 0-9675554-7-7 "Reading these poems, one does indeed step out of one's life and into a world of light, color, even odor and taste--and all so vividly portrayed in language that manages to cover both solace and delight." --Sue Ellen Thompson author of The Leaving: New and Selected Poems To order this chapbook, send a check made out to Grayson Books for $7.50, plus $1.50 for each order to cover shipping and handling. Grayson Books PO Box 270549 West Hartford, CT 06127

GUY KETTELHACK Guy Kettelhack is the author or coauthor of more than 30 nonfiction books. His poetry has been featured in Outstretch, Van Gogh's Ear, Melic Review, Triplopia and New Pleiades. A poem "Alter Ego" was selected as a quarterfinalist in the 2004 Lyric Recovery Competition and two other poems won awards in the IBPC Competition (January and May 2004). He lives in New York City.

Quid Pro Quo © Guy Kettelhack My mother died a year ago today perhaps right to the minute, now - four, five a.m. Perhaps I knew - I kept myself from walking to her bed that morning, waited until six - then padding softly out, and opening the door into her room, discovered she'd remitted her last payment - dark red glop from lungs coagulating on her face and breast - not long before. I called the hospice nurse to come to clean her up, prepare her for whatever had to happen to her next, and sat beside the thing she had become and, like a little boy who'd misbehaved, assured it I'd be good from that time on. From that time on I've been as good as consciousness in an infinity of unexpected circumstances would allow. And yet she pays me even now. She lent me being, then she let me watch her go. Avid, blood-warm, wide-eyed, poignant life is my part in our quid pro quo. Torch Song © Guy Kettelhack The spikes and threats of you - you flagrant public intimacy! - you beckon in the funky dark and shine a glaring light that shoots and parks abruptly in my face like some long loping sucker punch. You've got me when you want me for your breakfast, dinner, lunch. In countless instances - no matter what the distances - you suck me in with lidless eyes and snap your copper fingers, prise me out of loneliness to jump into your metal mouth. You school me in your north, east, west and south - degrees apart from everybody else's poles - and slip me into one of your slick holes in prep to fuck - and then abruptly chuck me out as if you hadn't stripped and pled with me to lie with you to die another little death - which others seem to get from you habitually and carelessly like post-sex cigarettes. At least you've got the grace to look the other way after you've split me, spilt me, laid me waste - the taste to throw a backward glance of sunset at me down a gilded Greenwich Village street when I have had enough of you to eat, and yet still yearn compulsively for more. You know I can't not flutter to you as you lift your lamp beside your golden, gaping, scary, molten, paradisal door. This Dark Love © Guy Kettelhack Williamsburg in Brooklyn's chic - a thousand reedy youths in black slip through its streets, art up the air with sweat and unconsidered suavity - the kind a thousand reedy youths in black do best. Dickensian warehouses - lofts now - sex-stained, black with ancient coal, grime that makes a soup of time and stews you in its fashionable bowl. How do I talk about the nights I took the L train here? Two years of trekking out in rain and cold and humid August air to see him, strip in front of TV blue light, watching 'Friends' re-runs and sniffing meth, by bits replacing everything with porn, and death? Why was nothing sordid? Why did this relentless repetition feel like being born? It saved my life, retreating from his bed: If he had loved me, I would probably be dead. In most ways life is better, larger now. But going back to Williamsburg to all these reedy roaming youths in black re-blasts the crack, the break. This dark love will always make me ache. Anne Francis and the Big Bang © Guy Kettelhack Anne Francis in "Forbidden Planet" had perfect tits: an extraterrestrial sweater girl embodying, entrapping fire and lust inside her girdle and her bra. Ha! The '50s were a pent- up time, but don't imagine you won't find the culminating human hunger there: we've never known an era when sex didn't permeate the air. What is this urge? How did the the Big Bang turn into the faux-naif shenanigans Anne Francis used to lure the '50s man to give up everything for her? The need to procreate? Blind cravings to let loose and celebrate? Like Anne Francis' bra, the universe amasses, then unloads. We are hard-wired to explode. Heartburn © Guy Kettelhack Under the weather, I spend time watching movies - happy the rain persists. Montgomery Clift plays a soldier who bonds with a nine-year-old Czech boy survivor of Auschwitz - blond as the sun and heartbreakingly lost. "Where's my mother?" the boy asks and Clift can't reply with the truth that he thinks that she's dead. It turns out she's not, but this turn of the plot leaves me hollow and trickling: the day full of rain is my head - and I cry with the truth that I know. My mother is dead. Why is grief such a shock? I suppose to survive we must block its downpour - for a while anyway til we heal. But the deluge of rain doesn't stop in the heart and after a time it must flood to the top of perception. Needed deception, til balance insists on redress. Meanwhile I'm a mess. I've got acid reflux - too much coffee and smoking - eating makes my stomach turn. No surprise, I suppose, this heartburn.

JIM DUNLAP (Rhyme Master) Jim is in the Marquis, Who's Who In America and will be in the Marquis Who's Who In The World in it's next edition as well. He is also in the Directory of American Poets and Fiction Writers. His list of publications include "Candelabrum", "Plainsongs" and the "Paris/ Atlantic"; and he is now (or has been) online at "Die Niderngasse", "Poetry Repair Shop", "Midnight Edition" and Poetry Life & Times". He is a resident poet, and an Alpha poet at the Poet's Porch, and has had about six hundred poems published to date. He has been in the Writer's Digest top 100 three times, although he doesn't usually enter their contests any more, as their entry fees have gone out of sight. However, he has decided to send a single poem this time. He is currently the newsletter editor for the Des Moines Area Writers' Network. Click here for Jim's website His work also appears online at: authorsden.com http://www.thepoetsporch.com http://www.aceonline.com.au/~db/ http://www.valmagnuson.com/ on Describe_Adonis in the Yahoo groups, poetryrepairs.com and in a number of other places as well.

Liberty In Shadow © Jim Dunlap A colossus, mounting horizons sere, she stands, brazen and courageous, The points of her crown glisten against a hazy backdrop of leaden air Her upraised arm presents a torch to light the world. Spotlights play across enormous breasts, outline the layered fall of her dress, and paint chiaroscuro bars across her brow. The frothy sweep of water limns a carpet at her feet, and the city buildings form a ragged wall surrounding her, burdening her, exploiting her. The shade of Emma Lazarus moans, bereft of hope. Yet this lady's standing still, her pride defies her enemies, embeds cold iron in her back, cries with her at trust betrayed, yet vain thus far her search for honor, though not wholly lost: Mankind’s hope, first Tuesday come November. written for a challenge on http://www.About.com "A Horse, A Horse, Of Course, Of Course" © Jim Dunlap "For horses, horse flies, For humans, shame",* But horses don't kill off The halt and the lame. It's apples and oranges. My, what a surprise. Horses don't deal in Deception ... and lies. Just stop and think. A no-brainer ... of course. To have a clear conscience, One needs be a horse. * from a poem by Jane Hirshfield My Unrealized Diary * © Jim Dunlap I’ve never really believed in diaries. They are too personal, and leave you too vulnerable. What happens if someone steals your diary? What happens if someone sneaks a peek? If I’d kept a diary when I was a boy, and my father had found it .. I might not be alive today. I know that God doesn’t answer your prayers. I prayed that my father would stop being a monster when I was young and naive. God must have chuckled at that one. He even half-assed answered it, 55 years too late. My father is no longer a monster, now that he is 83 (or so it appears now). He’s got religion and he’s a deacon in the local born again church. Very convenient, I must admit. Anne Frank did believe in diaries. Hers is famous throughout the world. It lays out the life story, short as it was, of a young girl who believed in goodness and in hope. I wonder if any of those victims of genocide had diaries similar to Anne Frank’s. I wonder if any one really cares. I’ve never really believed in diaries. But I’m glad Anne did.

           

Click here for August 2004 Featured Poets page 2 -->

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AVAILABLE NOW - Sara Russell's new e-book on CD ROM:     WORLDS INSIDE THE HEAD ISBN 1-878431-47-1 / Kedco Studios Inc., Las Vegas with poetry, short stories, videos, animations, music, wavs and 3D art throughout... Only $9.95 - CLICK HERE to find out more... or Mail us here at Poetry Life & Times.

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OUT NOW - CANADIAN SPIRIT VOICES by Richard Vallance... Photo © by Richard Vallance, 1993 (Northern Ontario) Canadian Spirit Voices is now available from Kedco Studios Press (Las Vegas, Nevada, U.S.A.)... in a full multi-media CD book, consisting of poetry, prose, the essay, original MIDI music and plenty of splendid artistic illustrations. The CD-ROM book is the equivalent of a hard-copy book in excess of 500 pages! For more detailed information on this book, please click here:poesieslaissezfaire.homestead.com.

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Humming Riddles in Naked Seasons Michael Paul Ladanyi's first full-length collection of poetry The Sun Rising Poetry Press $16, ISBN: 0-9755955-0-4. Distributed in paperback, release date: June 2004. Retailers: Amazon.com plus several large non-internet bookstores. Phone orders are now being taken at: 816-676-0122 for Mastercard and Visa. Michael Paul Ladanyi, Editor of: Adagio Verse Quarterly adagioversequarterly@yahoo.com The Bohemian Rag the_bohemian_rag@yahoo.com Poetry reviewer with Write-Away-Poetry Latest chapbook, Spelling Crows of Winter Available through Pudding House Publications Price $8.95

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To be released in 2004! An amazing new e-book published by Kedco Studios Inc. Curious? Click the picture link!

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Poetry Life & Times has wonThe Prix Poesie's laissez-faire Grand Prize for 2002
- thanks Richard!

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"Less trouble than men, less fattening than chocolate..." Q U I C K I E S - an e-book of erotic/humorous stories for women by Sara L. Russell and Patricia diMiere. Published by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press - ISBN 1-878431-42-0, $12.50 Original, funky and naughty, with twists and surprises!

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Poesie's Laissez Faire Foire Announcement Come Meet our Poet Friends! Check out the poetry sites of some of our friends and editors in Canada, the U.S.A. and the U.K. at: Rencontrez nos amis poétiques! Voulez-vous recontrez de nos amis poètes et rédacteurs de la poésie, qui demeurent au Canada, aux États-unis ou au Royaume-uni ? Meet my literary friends!  Rencontrez mes amis littéraires!

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The Crystal Rose © Ice Shard

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Val Magnuson Galactic Poet Award

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OUT NOW! CRYSTAL DAWN An exciting new anthology, by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press, ISBN 1-878431-71-9. Award-winning poetry, a full novel, 10 Shakespeare plays plus free photographs for any use. Contributors: Robin Ouzman Hislop - Richard Van der Draaij - Cara Alson - Gillian Stokes -Jasmine Dienes - Tyler Wiseman - Doctor C. S. Shaw - Vladimir Orlov - Monica Smith - Nick Zegarac - Aurora Antonovic - C. S. Snow - K. V. Davis, full novel. $9.95    Click here for more information, or to buy.

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THE PERILS OF NORRIS

THE PERILS OF NORRIS, #48 - Norris finally escapes!...

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