The Big News: I’m Getting Published

Before I begin, let me just say that I am flabbergasted. Okay, perplexed. Astounded. How about… really really excited?

Some of you may know that I’ve been working on a YA Fantasy Novel (interim title: Silas’ Hill) for about five years now. I recently entered it into Fictionary’s Finish Your Novel Contest, and to my great bewilderment (okay, I used a Thesaurus for that one) I ended up winning. You can read the official announcement here if you like.

This means several things, which I have typed out here, partially to just see the big picture:

Pocket Change

today I did something selfless
believe me
even though I state it outright

I helped someone and
did it all for the pocket change
of knowing there’s a chance

Change

why do we try?
is it the possibility of failure that
lures us?
is it the game?
white or black, win or lose
good or evil
who cares?
we roll the dice

Daily Prompt: Foreign

On a whim, I checked the daily prompt and found myself instantly inspired by poignant reminders of my experience abroad – how no matter where I go, I am simultaneously always visiting, and yet constantly at home.

via. Daily Prompt: Foreign

in a word, i am
foreign in the culture i
call home
a backdrop of canadian swamp
shot through with tropics
where the jungles roam

where austrian roots and
lost romanian language skills have

The Tidal Zone

A memory of my last night standing in the salty spray of the Pacific before leaving for six months.

waves become kisses lipping at
the smooth skin of the sand gentle
at first rougher then rougher
until the surface breaks water
crests over the spray
knocks pebbles loose like little
teeth the tidal zone breaks open
rocks become breakers for the
waves

Wasserpantscher

My current writing needs some work before its ready to post, so here’s an old one for all you bilinguals.

wie der Wasserpantscher
and these other characters
book-smart, old-light, marsh-land
und in den Büchern versteckt
with weeds and mud and snails bedecked

[You’ll Never Hear Me Say It]

This is shaping up to be a week of strange juxtapositions. I had this poem ready to go Monday evening, but somehow couldn’t put the finishing touches on it until today. Boredom and distraction strike all too quickly, and yet, there hardly seems enough time in each day to get some work done…. Anyways, all this dreary stuff to say that last weekend was a delight, and so, for once, I’ve got a joyful poem for you.

You’ll never hear me say it, but I’m
glad.

part of me wonders:
what did I miss?
those few days spent together
turned to ten years spent apart
and yet, we are richer for it

Somehow our friendship survived
silence.

the death of a parent
the deconstruction of our families
the gentle growth of new life
friendships, bridges built
on a foundation once crumbling

You’ll never hear me say it, but I

An Austro-Canadian in Italy

Two weeks ago I had the amazing opportunity to join a group of Austrian blacksmiths on their journey to the world blacksmithing championship in Stia, Italy. This poem is a sort of culmination of the various interesting experiences I had there – from hole-in-the-floor bathrooms, to five-course meals, they sure had it all.

We drive into a game of Minecraft
pass anti-terrorist stations without a bother
(The bar lifts, no need for passports)
drive on, drive on through a European Philippines

Public enemy: public bathrooms
without seats, without that northern need to pay
no fifty-cent charge, no landlocked terrain
Order pasta without a word of Italian
like a multi-cultural sage stricken mute

Up, up, up the mountains
passing Lego cars, tiny as the collective imagination
The buildings all brick; the rock all sedimentary
Layers upon layers follow us into no-man’s-land

Dinner that day is traditional
Serve me once, shame on you
Serve me twice, shame on me
Serve me three times –
where did all these courses come from?
Serve me five times, we’re in Italy

Back and forth like the ‘scape
Hammers ring and people mime like pros
Before we know it the bus is loaded
beers before midday, Austrian cheers
prayers sung at mealtime, prost
the works

We drive back out of that Minecraft game
into the familiar expanse of Terraria

M.
Sept 1-16/17

Palace of my dreams (part II)

In truth, I’ve been writing this poem for
several months now, every few
days in my head.

I ascend the wooden stairways, go up
up through the heavy gate inset with a
sword, take two hundred (or so) steps
and begin again.

20 Feet/5300 Miles

Ascent: to rise and see your cares below
laid out like buds in blossom growing tall
no longer trapped by ice, yet blooming slow
those cares turn warm in summer, lost in fall

To Fall: descending from that highest perch
to muddling ground, where peaceful stories lie
they bask in fading sunlight, sometimes search
for answers to the seasons fading by

These Stories: in a word, more than a word
I tell them, though their purpose fades so soon
they clamor with the seasons to be heard
to rise and fall in cycles, wilt and bloom

so summer shrinks and fall begins to swell
our stories change; but do we change as well?

M.
Jun 29/17