Randy Stark

Hana

Emily Dickinson, writing about a flower: Except to Heaven, she is nought; Except for Angels, lone; Except to some wide-wandering Bee, A flower superfluous blown.   Except for winds, provincial; Except by Butterflies, Unnoticed as a single dew That on the Acre lies.   The smallest Housewife in the grass, Yet take her from the

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More Shop Talk

(Another in a continuing series of anecdotes and observations about the writing game.) Thomas Merton was recommended to me by two people when I was floundering. I read his autobiography, Seven Storey Mountain, and I even visited the monastery where he lived (though he had long since passed). He was an accomplished writer and young

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The High Cost of Living

The grasshopper jumps onto an electrified fence. Fireworks of flaming wings Flaming legs, Flaming head, Flaming abdomen segments   Igniting the dry grass like Meth-crazed bride with gown afire. Rocks pop like champagne. Trees come apart at the seams. When I am with you I am the grasshopper. From ¡Simpático Patio! I expect an autumn

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¡Simpático Patio!

My friends Timothy D. Brady and Terri Jenkins-Brady had started a publishing company, Write Up The Road, and offered to publish a book of my poetry. They designed the book and in September of 2005, Simpatico Patio! became my first published book, and yet it is the only book of mine still needing digitalization as

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