I've written all of my life, beginning with songs (I played guitar)and short stories. I became serious about poetry three years ago, as an outlet for my grief when my wife died. I've come a long way from the confessional style that I began with, after reading the surrealists and especially Max Schomburg. As far as how I write, it seems to me that if I come up with a good first line, the rest just flows. If not... well, I have trouble. I don't believe in going back and editing much, I usually find that I've said what I want to in the way that I wanted without a lot of tinkering about.

2. How do you feel about dA as a literature community?

I think that DA has developed a fine literature community. I'm amazed at least once a day by the quality of the writing I see. It's a friendly place for emerging writers and poets to get feedback on their work. Without the encouragement of DA friends, I might not be writing today. The one problem that I've noticed is that people tend to shy away from extra-long work; maybe that's because there's so much to see in a day.

3. Do you still play guitar and write songs? Does music ever influence your writing?

I haven't had a guitar in years. I occasionally write lyrics, but I keep them to myself. Unless the reader can hear the melody, they can sound a little trite. Music definitely has an influence on my writing. as one of the examples I've given will show.

4. What would you consider your highest literary accomplishment to be?

Although being published in several magazines has been a thrill, I think my three self-published collections are what I'm most proud of.

5. What advice would you give to a beginning writer?

Just write! Write through blocks, write through pain... take everything that happens to you in life and use it as a tool. The only rule I have is to make sure grammar and spelling are accurate (unless you're doing something wrong on purpose.)

Poetry

Soft ParadeDown the darkened four AM streets
Morrison leads the Soft Parade
I've had enough beer for it to be all wavy
like watching a movie underwater

Bridges burn behind them
hearses falling off into the river
The string of bad luck and trouble is almost over
gone quietly in the early morning hours

Not with a bang or a whimper
only an extended sigh and the shake of a rattlesnake's tail
I watch as always from my window
feeling the dawn aching to come

"Soft Parade" by =Bark

DeformatoryI dreamed that I had wings, but I still couldn't fly.
They were chicken wings.
So I ate them.
Fifty-five years in the deformatory, I hear that
no one ever gets out alive.
I dreamed of a carnival, with big neon signs that read "Hope"
I think Hope was the name of an elephant, though.
They were making a movie.
I asked what the movie was going to be about.
They said Hope, or fifty-five years in the deformatory.
I sang them a song I'd been writing.

"Ninety days in the deformatory
Doorclosed hallways shriekbrained
Out on a Sunday summer night
The bars are all barred from inside

Bring me a volcano I'll drink down the fire
and blow s

"Deformatory" by =Bark

Prose

HeartI left my face in the parking lot, and flies carried it away. Standing faceless in my bedroom, I tried to think about sweet things besides you. I dusted off my glasses and looked hard into my heart, but it was as empty as the cobwebbed cupboard. Fry me up some feeling, let me drink some emotion; I'm dry as the proverbial bone, and looking for salvation. I never gave you a ring. The narrow path is closed now, and I've no other way through. Give me something that I cannot get for myself. Give me enlightenment, or at least hope. Stanly came knocking on the door, as faceless as I. We couldn't speak, but garbled to each other for a bit about shoes

"Heart" by =Bark

Quick Fire SketchA man walking. A dog barking. The man's head is on fire. The world is on fire. The fire is on fire. The fire burns unevenly down one side of the man's lapel. The man is naked. The man glows from within, red razor slash smile, concrete eyes. The man is gone, and a moon appears. It rises quickly and disappears. A tree is barking. The woman's eyes are taped with black electrical tape Xs. She looks for the man, then leaves with the trees. The fire has missed her somehow. The dog is barking at god. God is on fire. These words are on fire. You are on fire.

"Quick Fire Sketch" by =Bark

For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation

to be featured, please visit us at =DailyLitDeviations.

Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this special feature project!

~ The =DailyLitDeviations Team ~

_{Prepared by: =SilverInkblot}

6 Comments

The Saturday Spotlight for October 13th, 2012by =DailyLitDeviations

Journals / Culture / Interviews

Here at DLD, the need for special feature of artists who have received a DLD occurred to many members of the team over time. NOW we get to work and finally do just that!
Special thanks to the team members that have fought for this. Included you will find an interview with yet another wonderful deviant in the literature community.
Please take the time to read it and then go show some love!