Welcome to where I am, where my kitchen's always messy, a pot's (or a poet) always about to boil over, a dog is always begging to be fed. Drafts of poems on the counter. Windows filled with leaves. Wind. Clouds moving over the mountains. If you like poetry, books, and music--especially dog howls when a siren unwinds down the hill-- you'll like it here.


MY NEW AUTHOR'S SITE, KATHRYNSTRIPLINGBYER.COM, THAT I MYSELF SET UP THROUGH WEEBLY.COM, IS NOW UP. I HAD FUN CREATING THIS SITE AND WOULD RECOMMEND WEEBLY.COM TO ANYONE INTERESTED IN SETTING UP A WEBSITE. I INVITE YOU TO VISIT MY NEW SITE TO KEEP UP WITH EVENTS RELATED TO MY NEW BOOK.


MY NC POET LAUREATE BLOG, MY LAUREATE'S LASSO, WILL REMAIN UP AS AN ARCHIVE OF NC POETS, GRADES K-INFINITY! I INVITE YOU TO VISIT WHEN YOU FEEL THE NEED TO READ SOME GOOD POEMS.

VISIT MY NEW BLOG, MOUNTAIN WOMAN, WHERE YOU WILL FIND UPDATES ON WHAT'S HAPPENING IN MY KITCHEN, IN THE ENVIRONMENT, IN MY IMAGINATION, IN MY GARDEN, AND AMONG MY MOUNTAIN WOMEN FRIENDS.




Monday, September 15, 2008

Cheri L. Jones, Poet



A few weeks ago I met Cheri Jones at a four-woman reading at Osondu Bookstore in Waynesville (see 8/24/08 post). Her reading from her recently self-published book moved me a great deal, and I am happy to present some poems from that book, CHAINS.

For more of Cheri's work, I'd encourage you to go to her website (just click above on her name). You may either order her book from her or find it at Malaprop's and Accent on Books. Or urge your local bookstore to stock it.

********

meet Red . . .



Red's world ended in a gunshot.

That's when everything began.

The day his Pop died shot,

little Red became a man.



Evil exploded, whistled, popped.

Shocked Red felt its fatal blast.

Their wagon shuddered, stopped.

His father's life passed, passed fast.



Red heard sweet Willie's anguished scream.

Time slowed. Strength melted away.

Neighbor Frost (in Red's dream)

turned his horse, then sped away.







bliss



A lone jay wings

across the hazefiltered pink of dawn.

You can hear moss

growing in the lingering gray damp.



Cling to this moment of ecstasy

as it changes in seconds

and disappears forever.







ruminations . . .



Maggie hugged her knees

wishing she could ride

a big ferris wheel

up into those clouds

(cotton candy clouds)

and sticky her face

with sweetspun pink fluff.



Maggie hugged her knees

wishing lots of things.

Twilight descended.

She listened tensely

to hushed bickering,

looking for fireflies,

waiting for fireflies.



Their yard was all mud -

no grass, no driveway.

Their car loomed large there,

a shadowy threat.

In the car time dies.

After a prayer at

eighty miles an hour,

the blurred world whirls by.



While Daddy bellows,

". . . and He watches me,"

his rough calloused hands

grab, hit, pinch, twist, bruise,

welt, humiliate.

Is Dan's God watching

when the car swerves on?



5 comments:

voda txt said...
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mortgage restructuring said...

very awsome.

free mobiles game said...

what happened to the other one?

Tipper said...

Very powerful. Thanks for sharing her work with us!

Carrie said...

These poems/post were very moving and opened a door to a new light in poetry for me. I enjoy writing poetry and now that I have read your work, I understand now how to use imagery in my poems. I can see when 'the little girl wants to ride the big ferris wheel into the cotton candy sky.' I at times feel like that little girl. It's very beautifully written. =D