The 2012 Levis Prize from VCU announced

The Department of English andthe MFA Program in Creative Writing at Virginia Commonwealth Universityare pleased to announce that
 Radial Symmetry by Katherine Larson
has been selected as the winner of the 2012 Levis ReadingPrize for the best first or second book of poetry published in thecalendar year 2011. The award is named in memory of the late Larry Levis,the poet who taught at VCU. Larson will receive an honorarium of $2000 and will be brought to Richmond, expenses paid, for a reception and publicreading on September 20th, 2012.

Katherine Larson’s Radial Symmetry (Yale University Press, 2011)was also selected by Louise Glück as the winner of the Yale Series of YoungerPoets. Larsen’s work has appeared in AGNI, Boulevard, TheKenyon Review, The Massachusetts Review, Poetry, andPoetry Northwest, among other publications. She is the recipientof a Ruth Lilly Fellowship, the Union League Civic and Arts FoundationPoetry Prize and the Kate Tufts Discovery Award. In addition to her literarycareer, Larson has worked as a molecular biologist and field ecologist.She lives in Arizona with her husband and daughter.
This year the Prize Committee would also like to recognize the outstandingbooks of two additional finalists, Anthony Carelli for his collection Carnations(Princeton University Press, 2011) and Brian Barker for TheBlack Ocean (Southern Illinois University Press, 2011).

The Levis Reading Prize is presented on behalf of VCU's MFA in CreativeWriting Program. Sponsors include the VCU Department of English, JamesBranch Cabell Library Associates, VCU Friends of the Library, the VCU Libraries,the VCU Honors College, Barnes & Noble @ VCU, and the VCU College ofHumanities and Sciences, with primary funding provided by the family ofLarry Levis.
We would like to express our sincere thanks to all who entered and thushelped to make this annual contest such a success.

For further information aboutthe Levis Reading Prize, see http://www.has.vcu.edu/eng/resources/levis_prize/levis_prize.htm,call 804.828.1329,or contact Katelyn Kiley, Levis Fellow, at kileyk@vcu.edu

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my first reaction is - oh joy, another inexplicable book about nature all metaphored to shit. Ifit has big words (SCIENCE words) it must be good.

Nominations for Virginia Poet Laureate 2012

Congratulations to Henry Hart, Sofia Starnes, and Patsy Anne Bickerstaff,

who were selected by PSV members as finalists for Poet Laureate

of the Commonwealth of Virginia, 2012-2014.  

Samples of their poetry and biographical notes have been sent

to Governor McDonnell, who will make the final selection

for the position this summer.

Stuff Going On for Poets

Local poets! Take note!!


River City Secrets
art6, 6 E. Broad St.
June 8, 7pm
The second Friday of every month we bring you a dose of poetry & rock n roll. Talented local wordsmiths kick off the night with featured readings, and the evening progresses with an open mic where all of the poetic persuasion are welcome to share a piece or two of their own. The night wouldn't be complete without the lyrical riffs of our rockstar-in-residence. Light refreshments are served for the whole, and your $5 at the door goes to support the gallery & our ongoing events there. Come out and get heard!

Poetry & Jazz Tasting
C'est Le Vin, 15 N. 17th St.
June 14, 6pm
On Thursday, June 14, we'll be back at local gallery and wine shop C'est Le Vin to sample the best of both new and established regional poets amidst the backdrop of live jazz and enticing wines. Randy Burton & co. of Super64 will be on hand to play some sets & lend their musical talents to the verses of any wordsmith so desiring. The whole is set off by C'est le Vin's enticing wine selection, gourmet delectables & gorgeous art exhibits. We "mini-feature" a wide array of wordsmiths from all experience & publication levels, giving them each 5 minutes to present a "taste" of what they do as poets, so shoot me an email (dottoressa.joanna@hotmail.com) if you'd like to be added to the list!
Workshop & Critique
Urban Farmhouse Market & Cafe, 1217 E. Cary St.
6:30-8pm
Small group critique and workshops continue! Thanks to all who came out get their inspiration on at the UF last month. As always, all of these sessions are open to everyone, completely free and held at the Urban Farmhouse Market and Cafe in Shockoe. June dates are listed below and specific details/assignments forthcoming on Facebook.
June 11-- small group critique
June 18-- small group critique
June 25-- performance workshop (Lance Kelley)

PROSE, POETRY, PIZZA!!

Poetry stuff and I'm writing my memoir

Ed Lull, Virginia poet, is receiving a major recognition - The Emyl Jenkins prize from James River Writers!

Good thing, he really deserves it!!

I have officially started writing my memoir. I took a workshop with Doug Jones at the Visual Arts Center and am planning on more classes with him and others. At the West Virginia Writers Workshop at WVU in July I will be working with non-fiction.

Since my Aunt Margaret died at 98 this month, I am now the oldest member living in my family. Therefore, i carry the memories and can now write them down. Sure, my brothers and sisters may disagree with some of what I say but they can't prove any more than I can it is or isn't the truth.

behind and busy

poems poems poems- stories, too

gathering poems into workable manuscripts, working on music for church, dealing with a family that needs to get on with things...

I want to strangle a few people who cannot seem to quit meddling in my life and the lives of those I love-

I need a car

I need money and time to work on projects

I need emotional support

I need to help my children see how precious life is and how we can't let negative and hurtful people take that away

the usual.

my meditation is for balance and peace
my hands are open.

Guess who will be in two places at once?? The amazing Shann Palmer!!!

I'll be at the James River Writers Writing Show at 6pm moderating the panel for National Poetry Month, the winners of the JRW/Richmond Magazine annual contest

AND AT (actually my daughter will be in my place)

Springtime’s Rhymes

Thursday April 26
7:00 p.m.
Cochrane Rockville Branch Library
16600 Pouncey Tract Road
(804) 749-3146
All ages. Local poet Shann Palmer will
read her original poetry, followed by an
open mic where you can share your
own poetry or that of a favorite poet.

Refreshments provided by the Friends of the Rockville Library.

2012 Poem-a-day 13

Joyce

She was the kind of Texas woman
who didn’t have two cents to rub,
but if she could manage to find
a handful of shiny nickels, she’d win
enough at a slot machine in Vegas
to buy groceries for her family for a week.

I was walking with her when she conjured
a twenty from under a fist-sized rock
on Rincon Road in nineteen sixty-nine,
I rode shotgun when we had to pray
our way home on a shallow sniff of gas
in the worst rainstorm that summer.

She could puff a breath on her fingers,
then take out ten pins- ball scooting
down the alley like it was hypnotized,
ready to slam itself against the back wall,
she’d take sucker bets without a miss
for hours, even trick shots with a blindfold.

She lost only two things: me, to a yankee,
and her life in single hand. She tried hard
to let ride for another round of hold 'em
but cancer is the house that always wins.
When her will was read, luck wasn’t in it,
she must’ve used it all up in the end.

2012 Poem-a-day 12

something in the way

she moves into my line of sight
& takes the air out of the room,
the piccolo part out of my Souza.

It’s hardly enough razzamatazz
to make it worth anyone’s while,
least of all 1st trumpet, 2nd chair.

What’s a flourish without a high
scattershot melody hung out
over the brass-by-golly bravado?

An unfinished chord progression,
that’s what, Sherlock, parse the parts
get the blow going, toot sweet!

Stars and Stripes have been known
to choke even the most cynical heart
we like to tear up at the rallentando.

So keep your hands to yourself, sister!
Music may not be as tough as poetry,
but it’s what I’ve been doing, a long time.

2012 Poem-a-day 11

I'm removing 1-10 tomorrow night. Enjoy them now before they go back in the shop for detailing.

To everything

Tireseus walks the summer wall
naked before the fish and waterfowl.
He is whatever the wind decides.

Before morning comes, the sun
predicts the day, I set the table,
prepare breakfast in tender light.

My journey has been full of magic
& visions, I only stopped to shower,
wash clothes, and break bread.

2012 Poem-a-day 10

Family Tree

I looked my brother up on google,
found his son is in jail for battery/
domestic abuse, he might be married;
far across the country in another world
where time stalls, my sister’s daughter
bounces checks and doesn’t pay bills.

We don’t talk at all, we five siblings
damaged by circumstance, memories
of welfare food and our passive mother,
a father who couldn’t keep his hands
off us, used the belt, fists, boots, fear,
to crush us under his influence.

Over the years we’ve passed paths
so infrequently I wouldn’t cross the street
to avoid them, I’d never know their faces
by sight, or be able to identify bodies,
barely know the names of their children,
where they shop, if they like arugula.

I’ve heard they are in touch, the four
who stayed to bury our parents. I ran
so hard I made a few bad choices
dwarfed by the one good decision.
I have no regrets, except my children
will never know who my family was.

I am an immigrant to a new land,
full of stories and artifacts, telling
what I think should be remembered,
little injuries concealed in anecdotes,
hoping genetics can be circumvented
by education and unconditional love.

2012 Poem-a-Day 9

Silhouettes on the Shade

fills the room over and over,
45 rpm stuck in replay set,
mom and dad argue about
cigarettes (nobody bought any)
dig through the kitchen trash
for butts long enough for a puff.

They don’t notice the music
or me, under the piano reading
a science fiction paperback
to the steady pace of shouting,
afraid of being noticed, or worse,
becoming the next target.

Stay in the shadows, little girl,
time will pass and so will they.
Blame may follow all your life,
but try to stay a step ahead,
and it’ll fade way before you do,
like a song from an old movie.

2012 Poem-a-day 8

The Nature of No

Understand the true fact of rejection;
of course, strength is the desired virtue
though often even the best scenario
results in little or no effect at all.

Do you need more information?
A loved B, B cheats on A, A forgives
again and again with diminishing returns.
B doesn’t get it, A doesn’t get it.

Even you and I get stale after too little
meaningful conversation, contact.
Misery can have a cumulative effect,
indifference becomes status quo.

Better to bar the door once it’s shut,
close the blinds, pretend no one’s home.
Wallow in whatever you must until
you can remember how to live again.

2012 Poem-a-day 7

no love lost

nor found in the fields of war,
these are the body baggers,
the silent ones who gather
broken soldiers when smoke clears.

oldest children do the job best,
they carry weight from birth,
guilt a familiar companion,
all their prayers tired out.

they don’t talk while they work.
try to forget when they’re done,
a good day is when the wind blows,
the sky overcast, clouds busy.

A bad day is when a new worker
can’t hold in the horror, gagging,
invoking a deity with every breath,
there are no gods here, no gods.

They work side by side till done,
lost in whatever thoughts they bring.
At night they toss in ugly dreams
clutching old letters tight in their fists

2012 Poem-a-day 6

Sweet Slumber

must be hiding under the bed tonight,
maybe it’s gone over the transom
in the next room, I don’t hear the kids
stirring anymore, only the rustle of wind
knocking branches against the windows.

Too cold for Easter Sunday 6 am service,
sunrise won’t come soon enough to warm
the brave few who’ll wake up early to watch
a fire built on the sidewalk near the garden,
we’ll light the paschal candle and run inside.

That’s where slumber will tempt, in the pew
with the lilies casting sweet spells of scent,
the candles flickering in morning shadows
as the sun’s fire rises over tall pines,
joyful alleluias sung, by God, with grace.

2012 Poem-a-day 5

Fanciful attraction

What a time it must have been, mamma,
when big cars full of cheap gas
took to the pavement, in the summer
you could drive about anywhere

in a halter top and linen shorts
with cuffs and ironed creases,
you were a pretty girl looking for fun,
face freckled, brown hair in a knot.

When you met daddy, did you
go to Corpus Christi right away,
heart full of hope, have corn dogs,
and cold beer on the beach?

The war was over and plenty
was the word on everyone’s lips-
he was handsome, on the G.I bill,
full of adventure and laughter.

it’s not easy to think about
you as a young secretary,
smoothed-faced and careless
taking up with a sweet talker

like him, you didn’t worry at all
about someday and what if,
no one ever does in the beginning,
when the light dances on the water

making the moment look pretty good
even heading home with me in your belly
cruising north till the salty water
disappears behind a stand of lanky pine.

2012 Poem-a-day April 4

100% Dacron dream

an American fantasy, like that red Corvette
when you got back from ‘Nam summer of ‘69
stationed in Killeen, Texas a few hours
from Pasadena and the girl you stole
out from under your own brother’s nose.

Okay, it was metallic blue but sounds better red,
and he didn’t want to be stuck in a rut (his words)
so you showed up with comfort and kisses,
opportunistic fellow that you were, the lucky sort
who did three tours and never got a graze.

Dacron might not stretch but stories do, the way
memory gives in to best and worst scenarios,
prettier people, better times, but all I can recall
is the running toilet and your snores in the hotel
off Spencer Highway not that far from home.

If I’d known how to get to the sky, I would have
but the song hadn’t been written yet, and you?
You went blind in Napa Valley, while I learned
to sail on the Chesapeake Bay, sunning myself
under a multicolored spinnaker, unfurled.

2012 Poem-a-Day April 3rd

A Plate on a Stick

In constant rotation, it has one job-
don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall
dependent on someone else’s skill,
always ready to take the blame
when it crashes, the plate endures
blessed by the certain assurance
it will be caught whole in the end.
don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall
The rhythmic chant defines:
the spinners’s hands, sticks, plates
in symbiotic motion, unconcerned
with the inevitable pull of gravity,
the shudder growing to a wobble,
don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall
but everything does eventually.

Should I have locked the door,
begged you stay? Caught up
in the spectacle, I kept spinning,
thinking you would always be
there to catch me when I fell.

2012 Poem-a-Day April 2

Visitors

I’d ask you in but the place is a mess,
really needs to be painted, vacuumed,
the giant bolt of fabric for new curtains
lolls in the corner of the hallway,
uncut, a good intention mismanaged.

Say the expected lie “It doesn’t matter”.
We both understand you’ll tell someone
the scene: unfolded laundry on the chair,
the scattered Sunday paper, used dishes-
details you will align as if they were ducks.

Reconciled to this dynamical system,
it is a balagan with nuvobohemian flair,
exchanging traditional for quirky kitsch:
the two-foot decorated Christmas tree is iconic.
still up in April, unlit in deference to Easter,

Company never sticks, or is it the spectre
shuffling backwards toward the kitchen
who keeps the conversation indifferent?
Our grandmothers would be horrified,
kneeling women who scrubbed sidewalks.

I won’t bend my knees, not even to pray.
There are photos of when I was single:
candles in the bathroom, arrangements,
leaning out for love, they will lean that way
forever, you should have seen me then

2012 Poem-a-day April 1st

Here we go again!! crazy me, crazy, crazy me.  April 1st Day one:


hey dave

It’s been too many dead ringers since
serious words puddled in my throat
seeking your ear way north of Richmond
while I fretted about whether spilling
selected personal details down your shirt
makes sense.

Everything important starts
in common circumstance, then slips slopes
to land seat-first in a steady boat-
the point being thinking about
just talking with you
grounds me most days.

Twitter poems 7

I keep almost finished books
by my bed. Procrastination
may kill me, but in the end
I could have extra time to read.


In the night air,
planes chrrr overhead,
trains couple,
trucks shift
on the interstate.
Dreams take me places
without a sound.


Late night guests
chatter softly in my ear
hoping I’m listening.
This poem is written
in spite of them.
not minding either of us