Hieronymus Bosch, The Temptation of Saint Anthony
To start with, there is blue sky – though it might
as well be water, since you’ll meet more fish
than birds here, bearing mast and sail and crew.
From here, the saint is falling – and the eye
does likewise – onto terra firma. It’s
not for the faint of heart. An edifice
or two looms up like Babel. There’s a town –
thatched roofs on fire, a windmill, and a cell
that holds candle and crucifix. This is
the center of the triptych, and the saint
is back once more, with begging bowl. The two
side panels show him also: carried by
three kind souls; contemplating us and not
the naked lady who peeps out at him.
Around him, chaos. Out of eggs and fruit,
creatures emerge – dendritic, avian,
grotesque. A bird skates on a frozen pond;
a clothed fish swims by. Every creature here
seems self-intent, but come to tempt the saint –
to what? – a fall from reason? to the free
abandon of derangement? He remains
intact and uncorrupted as a Black
Mass plays out for communicants, and folk
process across this landscape. Not a thing
will turn him from his book and bowl – though he
may faint away, his mind’s intact. The things
he sees, he turns his back on. Like a saint.
John Claiborne Isbell
Since 2016, various MSS of John’s have placed as finalist or semifinalist for The Washington Prize (three times), The Brittingham & Felix Pollak Prizes (twice), the Elixir Press 19th Annual Poetry Award, The Gival Press Poetry Award, the 2020 Able Muse Book Award (twice) and the 2020 Richard Snyder Publication Prize. John published his first book of poetry, Allegro, in 2018, and has published in Poetry Durham, threecandles.org, the Jewish Post & Opinion, Snakeskin, and The Ekphrastic Review. He has published books with Oxford and with Cambridge University Press and appeared in Who’s Who in the World. He also once represented France in the European Ultimate Frisbee Championships. He retired this summer from The University of Texas – Rio Grande Valley, where he taught French and German. His wife continues to teach languages there.
Self-Portrait in Window-Light
the god of whatever stitches window-light to the wall–
hold it there a bit longer : fix sight to the eyes :
fear of missing my cue : I’ve always hated
showing up late to the horizon : minutes past :
the light already fading : barely perceptible in photons :
hitting the sheetrock & tile : I spent careful minutes
adjusting the tripod : slipping into shadow-memory :
did I linger too long
I woke in the night & couldn't sleep. I was whirring : trembling : unbelieving : god save my unbelief–
(whirr): the recurring question : to speak or die : in fractured shadow-light
(whirrrr): come out to my parents
(whirrr): frenetic speech : edges of a closed system : where chaos arises : watch it shatter
(whirr): & a knife becomes my tongue
(whirrr): another misspoken word : mercury silver-slippery : cutting the mouth
(whirr): after the holidays : after winter : after : after : after :
(whirrrrrrr): or not : or not :
(whirrrr): my brother warned : under no condition : I don’t tell much : neither should you
(whirr): the impression : care is conditional : perception becomes reality
(whirr): observation measured in impact : sight reveals a measure of light & form
(whirrrr): God : I am capitalizing
(whirr): a psalm of lament : my fingernails digging little crescents
liminal seams of light : near-edgeless frames :
quantize a particle, it waves : many stripes behind two slits :
in experimentation, use scientific method : if you aren’t a scientist :
method acting will suffice, likely : I became the quantized electron :
no, I became something small : small enough to split into :
a little frame of edges : spooled tightly within the camera :
that god of vacuous light : my unending disbelief in endings :
given two windows, choose both : given two questions, infinite answers :
given two of anything, say : thank you with your teeth :
when conclusions raised more questions : I left the light on :
I was caught between nothing : between everything :
but I knew the body : can only move forward :
& light : cannot return to its source
Kate DeLay is a poet from Tennessee. Her work centres on photography, light, and the observer effect–the idea that bearing witness has a quantifiable impact on the observed subject. Kate is currently attending the University of Alabama’s MFA Poetry program, where she is the Poetry Editor for Black Warrior Review.
The Write of Spring: Asynchronous Ekphrastic Microfiction Workshop with Meg Pokrass and Lorette C. Luzajic
A three-day intensive online workshop is coming up- ekphrastic microfiction with Meg Pokrass and Lorette!
These workshops in collaboration with the incredible, brilliant microfiction queen Meg Pokrass, founder of the Best Microfiction anthologies, are pure magic.
Click here for more information, or to sign up.
Skin in the Game: a Retrospective
after painter Joan Semmel
I move [over]
my own territory
partnered / alone
the same angling
so as best to inhabit
the cardinal directions
the short and the long
frame / room / role
I am in
the darker line
of each meeting
as it emerges
from the confluence
of two [or more]
By now my materials
are so familiar
as to be effortless
some might say all
[but not I] I love / live
color from the wrinkled
the broad or the narrow
brush big enough
for a goddess or a person
They offer me
and I smile
Janus-faced by nature
and holding them up
to my most recent
When not teaching, Devon Balwit chases chickens in Portland, OR. Her most recent collections are Rubbing Shoulders with the Greats [Seven Kitchens Press, 2020] and Dog-Walking in the Shadow of Pyongyang [Nixes Mate Books, 2021].
For more, visit her website: https://pelapdx.wixsite.com/devonbalwitpoet
Living within the Art: a Poet and Photographer Discuss Their Collaboration-Marjorie Maddox and Karen Elias
Poet Marjorie Maddox and photographer Karen Elias discussed via email Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For, their collaborative collection from Shanti Arts (World Poetry Day, March 21, 2022).
Here is that discussion.
Living within the Art: a Poet and Photographer Discuss Their Collaboration
Marjorie Maddox: Karen, as you know, our work together sprung from the Words and Art Exhibit for The Station Gallery in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. Might you discuss how you approached our initial and subsequent collaborations that ultimately led to Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For? For example, what was/is your process?
Karen Elias: Going back just a little further, the impetus for this project, for me, was discovering a heart-shaped stone on a beach in Maine back in 2018. The stone —craggy, with a deep crack running through its center—spoke to me immediately, becoming a symbol for the grief I’ve been feeling about the state of our world. As it turned out, this theme and its variations would also resonate with you, allowing us to put heart-centered “mappings” at the center of what would become a remarkably productive collaboration.
For the first piece we collaborated on—which was included in the Words and Art Exhibit you mentioned —I created an image for your poem “Treacherous Driving” about your father’s heart transplant. Directed by your references to the accident that gave your father a new heart, I decided to use a collage format, juxtaposing an image of a road-map with that of a blue snow-pack, suggesting the skid-marks and upheaval of a treacherous road. I placed the cracked heart, as both a target and a kind of resurrection, in the middle of that road. And though I made use of some red coloration at the edges to suggest sacrifice and mortality, I wanted that more central, bluely luminous patch of snow to reinforce your last lines: “while winter, a clear, blue thing, / wafted light.” For me, this was a deeply meditative process, looking for ways to make visual an experience in which something beautiful and life-giving arises out of a terrified icy skidding, stalling, coming to a dead-stop: the sacrifice of one life to make another possible.
For each of our subsequent collaborations, the process has been similar. I take time to live with your words, allowing connections to arise almost like dreams, and gradually the images fall into place.
Could you describe your own process? What makes possible the crafting of a poem from a visual image?
Marjorie Maddox: First, let me say that the way you describe the creation of that collage is beautiful and so much of what I wanted to convey in “Treacherous Driving.” Thank you for that.
Second, I like what you said about “living with” the words. My process is somewhat similar. When writing about your composite photographs, I’ve found myself not only “living with” but also “living within” the art. There is, indeed, a surreal quality to the process, like stepping into the narrative of someone else’s dream that suddenly becomes my dream as well. What is the story being told by image and angle? What might be the significance of the objects and their relationship to each other? Am I, as narrator, part of the story or an outside observer? And how does memory come into play? By free-associating, can I, as poet, allow the images to more strongly connect me to something in my own past, to someone else’s life, or to the world around me?
One of the great joys of collaboration is the unexpected turns that the work can take. As you mentioned, I have written quite a bit about the body, and especially, given my father’s unsuccessful heart transplant, about the physical and metaphorical significance of the heart. Thus, a number of the poems are autobiographical. However, inspired by your images, I also was invited in to other narratives: for example, the fairy tale of Snow White, the hunter, and a heart-shaped mulberry tree—or the heart-wrenching murder of George Floyd.
For the former, although you may not have had this in mind with your photograph Heart Tree, I was taken back to a childhood brimming with books and fairy tales, so many of which are haunted by dark woods. This association led me to more research on the story of Snow White and the hunter, which led me, in turn, to further associations (and word pictures) of escape, deliverance, mercy, choice—and from choice, hope. It’s a type of dance between the images we both are creating.
Your photograph Memorial for George Floyd is another such example. In this case, my way in to the photograph began with your title. When I first started writing, I wasn’t yet sure what the image in the photograph was. Was it a fence onto which someone had attached flowers as a type of memorial and onto which you had superimposed our touchstone of a cracked heart? Was it a grated bridge leading to someplace better? And so these images and questions—alongside your title—led me to Lafayette Square, the violent response to a peaceful protest, and the subsequent and infamous photo op at St. John’s Episcopal. (In hindsight, it was good that I didn’t find out until later that the photograph was of your patio table. The struggle to decipher and interpret meaning became important to the poem’s themes.)
Likewise, some of your images that focus on the environment--Mourning Song for the Earth, for example—prompted me to put into words my responses to and/or concerns about what continues to take place around us every day in the here and now.
Thus, I’m interested now in how your many roles—as a poet yourself, as a former professor, and as an activist—influence your photography. And, do you think, these influences enhance our collaboration, help us better “see into” each other’s work? For instance, because my father was a photographer and my aunt and daughter were/are artists, I’m drawn toward these art forms. Even though I’m not a photographer or painter myself, I’ve found that my experiences with these family members and their work influence how I approach a photograph or a painting?
What is your experience?
Karen Elias: I really like your pointing to the unexpected turns the work can take – and the joy that comes of that. So I'll take a little turn here myself to give an example. In working to come up with a response to your poem “The Long and Winding Road,” I was struck by your lines: “as you trudge / on this cracked-pavement / of a path that is your past / and future. . . .” And I realized, as I set a flattened heart-image against a photo of an asphalt road, that the cracks of the heart replicated and extended those of the roadway, revealing the life-lines of lived experience. So, in working with your poem, the heart took on an added dimension for me. Its cracks were no longer just the inroads a wearying world can carve into one's being; they also became all the long and winding roads we've walked, learning to bear witness.
So now to your questions. All of my past and present selves seem to be converging in this recent work—though it's much easier to talk about my activism than about my former academic identity. Sometimes I think the only impact academia has had is that it's given me—in retirement —the freedom to work creatively without having to pour those energies into the grading of papers! But, of course, that's not really fair. Credit must be given to the life-long training that immersion in academia offers in understanding the construction of imaginative worlds, raising questions along the way that you and I are able to play with in practice—not just in the lecture hall. You touch on many of these, Margie, and I think they can apply to worlds made of images as well as those made of words —though what gets asked and answered is determined by the limitations and possibilities of the medium we've chosen. Photography, for example, is, most simply, a way to record the so-called real world. But from the beginning, it has been more than that. The very act of framing involves aesthetic and narrative choices about what gets included and what gets left out. So that even a photo taken in raw camera-mode, untouched by the many creative interventions now available through Photoshop, is already being shaped by the narrative eye behind the lens.
Photography is manipulative, not just in the sense that aesthetic decisions are being made, but also in the sense that typically the narrative “I” behind the lens is allowed to remain invisible and therefore potentially unaccountable as a controlling force. All of which is to say that, in thinking about my own practice, I find myself intentionally moving away from any idea of photography as objective, while at the same time working to make explicit my own subjective agenda.
It's almost too easy to frame a shot of the natural world, for example, in a way that unthinkingly romanticizes it. In so doing are we essentially perpetrating an idea of nature that—in the face of climate change—needs to be considered a false narrative? Are we perhaps using this medium as another way to remain complacent in the face of a growing climate emergency? What choices can we make as photographers, as artists in general, to frame our nature-stories in new ways? Is it possible to use art to envision a new, complex, thriving world? What are the stories we're choosing the arts to tell? These are some of the questions I'm living with as I try to connect my art to my activism.
I notice, in reading these poems for our book, that you often lead us over uncharted territory. We trespass, leave behind old boundaries, travel under shattered skies, encounter fairy tales gone bad. I’m wondering if—in the construction of your imaginative worlds—there might be a similar anti-romantic element at play. And if so, what fantasies are being called into question? And to what ends?
Marjorie Maddox: Karen, what an intriguing question—and perhaps an especially appropriate one on which to draw together the many threads of this conversation. Whether it be through photography, painting, or writing, the driving force of art, in my mind, is to discover (or uncover) truth.
I think of the famous Picasso quote, “Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth.” I also remember a T-shirt I once purchased at a writer’s conference. Emblazoned across the front was a saying attributed to the novelist Tim O’Brien: “Just because it never happened doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” I mention both when discussing with students literature’s impact on our lives.
Art, in its many forms, challenges us to re-see—to re-envision—the world inside and around us. As mentioned earlier, often this involves taking unexpected turns, moving into uncharted territory, and crossing over established boundaries—all on the road to discovery. As Joan Didion explained, “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see, and what it means.” I think the same applies to other forms of expression. Through art, we look past the surface and beyond the cliched and sentimental—not an easy, but a necessary task, especially when addressing such universals as love, grief, and nature. With ekphrasis—and in our case by alternating responses to each other’s work—collaboration expands insight, vision, and discovery.
For example, art allows us to reflect on and rethink the past and how this might affect our and others’ present and future. During our collaborations, yes, I gained new insights while writing about your work, but also when I witnessed your photographic responses to mine. You gave me a new lens with which to view my own writing. For instance, in searching for poems that addressed “matters of the heart,” I reached far back to the late 1980s to “Chiromancy,” a piece that examines an obsessive relationship. Because so much time had passed, I could now view the “love poem” from a more distant and objective perspective. Your ghostly images added a powerful and haunting layer. Together, poem and photograph de-construct the stereotypical symbols of hand and heart.
Interestingly to me, our collection Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For begins with a title that could appear as sentimental. And yet, when examined within the context of the book’s themes, the words Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For can suggest interaction, collaboration, and community, but also tension, role reversal, and crossing of boundaries. Likewise, these last years have pushed society beyond previous understandings of justice and safety. Not surprisingly, then, the no-longer-stone heart also cries out against domestic abuse, social injustice, and environmental crises.
The interplay of poetry/photography, real/imagined, spoken/unspoken often recognizes, confronts, and exposes false or flawed realities. That heart-shaped stone you found in Maine was, after all, cracked. I imagine that it was the crack that most intrigued and inspired us both.
I know that that heart and our collaborative process continue to inspire me. I see it in the way I look at objects and events in my life. I recognize it in similar themes as I compose poetic responses to a series of paintings by my daughter (www.hafer.work), layered collages that also question appearance and reality. The same concerns keep cropping up, the same questions about what it means to be human and living in this beautiful but flawed world. And yet each perspective gives new insight. Each unexpected turn leads to a different discovery.
I am so grateful that you and I were able to walk this path of collaboration together, inspired by each other’s work and a single heart-shaped cracked stone. Thank you for this gift.
Karen Elias: This has been such a rich discussion, Margie. I too am thankful for our work together. It’s been a real pleasure. May we continue turning in uncharted, inspiring, and unexpected directions!
A Description of the Book
In Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For a cracked, heart-shaped stone inspired poet Marjorie Maddox and artist Karen Elias to nuanced portrayals of love, obsession, grief, joy, loneliness, anger, protest, and hope. Looking backward to memories and forward to our responsibility for the earth, their individual visions combine to create a more expansive understanding of our beautiful, complicated world, a world constantly reimagined through the persistence of our fragile, courageous hearts.
About the Photographer and Author
After teaching college English for forty years, Karen Elias is now an artist/activist, using photography to record the fragility of the natural world and raise awareness about climate change. Her work is in private collections, has been exhibited in several galleries, and has won numerous awards. She is a board member of the Clinton County Arts Council where she serves as membership chair and curator of the annual juried photography exhibit.
Professor of English and Creative Writing at Lock Haven University, Marjorie Maddox has published 13 collections of poetry—including Transplant, Transport, Transubstantiation (Yellowglen Prize); True, False, None of the Above (Illumination Book Award Medalist); Local News from Someplace Else; Perpendicular As I (Sandstone Book Award), Begin with a Question (Paraclete Press), and the collaboration with Karen Elias Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For (Shanti Arts)—the story collection What She Was Saying (Fomite); four children’s and YA books—including Inside Out: Poems on Writing and Readiing Poems with Insider Exercises (Finalist Children’s Educational Category 2020 International Book Awards), and A Crossing of Zebras: Animal Packs in Poetry; I’m Feeling Blue, Too! (a 2021 NCTE Notable Poetry Book)--Common Wealth: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania (co-editor); Presence (assistant editor); and 650 stories, essays, and poems in journals and anthologies. For more information, please see www.marjoriemaddox.com
Elias and Maddox are engaged in an exciting, mutually inspiring project, combining poetry and photography in creative collaboration. Their work has been exhibited at The Station Gallery (Lock Haven, Pennsylvania). In addition to Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For, collaborations have appeared in such literary, arts, or medical humanities journals as About Place: Works of Resistance and Resilience, Cold Mountain Review, The Ekphrastic Review, The Other Journal, Glint, Masque & Spectacle, Open: Journal of Arts and Letters, and Ars Medica.
Endorsements for Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For
“Via an original and provocative tapestry of contemplative prose and intimate imagery, these two artists take both reader and viewer on a journey laced with personal experiences that ring true with the song of universality. This sojourn reminds us it is possible to witness the Cosmos in a drop of pond water or in the surface texture of a weathered fragment of granite. The wonderfully reductive nature of both word and picture herein remind us that less is most often more, that the unadorned will sometimes bring us to that place where greater realizations dwell. In this realm the poet and photographer have combined talents and successfully set a stage for quiet contemplations that are both worldly and private. Opening one's heart is indeed an act of bravery and love.”
artist Greg Mort, http://www.gregmortcollection.com/, internationally recognized artist with work in many prominent private and public collections, including the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, the Smithsonian Art Museum, and the White House
“What enchantment to discover the heart—that most ancient of symbols—in the strikingly fresh and poignant depictions of these exquisite poems and photographs. The pages of this collection fall open to so many of our stories, both individual and collective. The hearts invoked from fairy tales that beat deep in our psyches are joined here by heart transplants, by the national tragedy of George Floyd’s heart stopped by cruelty, by hearts quarantined in windows, and by a cracked stone heart mourning the Earth. These poems and photographs inspire and reflect one another, magically creating the lub-dub of a single heart beating. Reading Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For, we hear our own hearts speaking and being spoken for.”
Judith Sornberger, author of Angel Chimes: Poems of Advent and Christmas
“It is often said that taking photos teaches us to see, and here, Karen shows us that love is everywhere if we just open our eyes. Marjorie’s thoughtful, heartfelt poems take all our grief over darkness and loss and expose it back to the light.”
Lorette C. Luzajic, artist, writer, editor of The Ekphrastic Review
In Georgia’s Studio
If it weren’t for the blackness of the door
the building would be invisible, lost in the sand
made of the earth, buffed by the wind, another dune
in the desert.
If it weren’t for the thickness of the adobe, the door
wouldn’t resemble black holes in the sea of tan
that is a mountain in the sky, home for painting
the heart of the earth.
If it weren’t for the blueness of the sky, the eye of God,
the heart of hope, the Ghost of her life, her place
of peace, of patience, of parting with busyness and noise
she couldn’t end her days in a garden of life.
Jackie Langetieg has published poems in literary magazines: Verse Wisconsin, Ekphrastic Review, Bramble Blue Heron Review. She’s won awards, such as WWA’s Jade Ring contest, Bards Chair, and Wisconsin Academy Poem of the Year. She is a regular contributor to the Wisconsin Poets’ Calendar. She has written five books of poems, most recently, Letter to My Daughter and a memoir, Filling the Cracks with Gold.
So excited about the latest TERcets podcast episode. Have you discovered TERcets yet? The Ekphrastic Review podcast is the brainchild of our wonderful contributor Brian A. Salmons. In this episode, featured are Siobhán Mc Laughlin, David Meischen, and Angie Contini.
We are so thankful to Brian for his hard work putting these podcasts together. He creates an amazing session each time and features authors in their own voice. Don't miss the new episode or the archives. Click here to hear more.
Volcano of Desire
When we are together
I am gentle as a dove in your hand.
A supernova of leaves blossom above us,
while a magma of love
overflows the moonlit night.
Your Love Sees Through Me
Blue kisses in the night
lift me to new heights of passion
where birds take flight
over a field of black and white checkered dreams
into a constellation of light.
Sleeping Dogs Lie
Memories dog me nightly.
This is the incontrovertible dogma of dreams
keeping me hamstrung and unable to flee
from dogs or dilemmas
that leave me helpless on my pillow.
Larry Oakner is the author of several books of poems, including SEX LOVE RELIGION (Blind Tattoo Press) along withthe chapbook, The Canticles of Private Lucius Swan, (Pen & Anvil Press). His poems have appeared recently in Red Eft Review, WINK, The Oddville Press, Pink Litter Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, Lost Coast Review and many others. Oakner lives in New York.
Edward Ferrand holds a degree in fine art from Pratt Institute in NYC. He has worked as a graphic designer, art director, illustrator, museum program director and art educator. He currently pursues his interest in painting. He divides his time between northern Colorado and San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.
House of Cards
No chatter from these four, nor a smile.
My children build a house of cards to wile
away an afternoon. Their listless eyes
reflect cascading loss and compromise.
Their Papa died, imprisoned without cause
by Bolsheviks who scoffed at Russian laws,
looted and burned our beloved country home.
I’ve painted this in blue monochrome;
I found an unused tube of Prussian blue.
We face the choice of decent, healthy food
or oil paints. I’ll start quite soon to sketch
on paper, with cheap charcoal or pencil, and fetch
what cash I can. I’ll work with speed and prayer.
This painting holds my love and my despair.
Barbara Lydecker Crane
Barbara Lydecker Crane, a Rattle Poetry Prize finalist in 2017 and 2019, has received two Pushcart nominations and several awards for her sonnets. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Alabama Literary Review, Ekphrastic Review, First Things, Light, Measure, Montreal Review, Think, Writer’s Almanac, and many others. She has published three chapbooks: Zero Gravitas, Alphabetricks, and BackWords Logic. Her book of sonnets about artists and portrait paintings, entitled You Will Remember Me, will be published by Able Muse Press.
A rectangular window opens in a flat black wall, large enough for the head of a spotted giraffe, if the giraffe were kneeling, that is, and if it were contemplating the yellow sky that partitions the upper half of the window from what is below. Below, an oblique triangle of green retreats at vernal low tide into the lower left-hand corner before the onslaught of a fiery orange desert. Only a silhouetted cone, at the right-hand edge, rises out of the desert, above the horizon and pierces the dominant sky. A chalk-white spire surrounded by pastel blue and mustard colored towers crowns the cone's peak.
If you look closely at the uppermost border, you will see that a confluence of moisture has formed and given birth to a teardrop near the far right side of the frame. The tear stretches downward, its sphere enlarging as its root diminishes to a mere point. It breaks away and a breeze carries it across the yellow sky.
Look! On the other side of the frame, another tear falls and is caught up in the same current. The two converge, wrap themselves about each other and form a sphere. But they do not dissolve within the sphere. The white of one contrasting with the black of the other preserves their fluid identities. And, if you look closely, you'll see that an eye has appeared in each. The one following the other.
The sphere, rotating, floats out of the window towards the crest of the cone. They navigate the desert, rise to the summit of the cone, float over the spire and weave among the pastel-coloured towers. A window in one of the towers opens. They enter. Inside, paisley embroidered pillows lay upon a bed covered with a rose-coloured spread.
The window shuts behind them and they feel themselves separating. Their eyes widen and strain to bond with their stares. Mouths form and search each other. They join, cling and struggle to stay together. Then, like two petals, they peel apart and fall onto the mattress.
There is a table and chair next to the bed. Do you see the goat cheese and pomegranate on the table? Do you see the knife?
Mark Russo's stories have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, New Reader Magazine, 34th Parallel Magazine, Literally Stories, Potato Soup Journal, Spillwords Press, Knot Magazine, MacQueen's Quinterly, South Florida Poetry Journal (SoFloPoJo), Grey Sparrow Journal and Squawk Back. He graduated undergraduate School at the University of Cincinnati; worked as an engineer, then managed a machining facility in Ohio; studied Law at the University of Maine School of Law; and, for the past 20 years, practiced Immigration Law. He currently resides in Goose Rocks Beach, Kennebunkport, Maine.
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