Author Archives: anthonyuplandpoetwatkins

About anthonyuplandpoetwatkins

https://www.goodreads.com/AnthonyUplandpoetWatkins born in Jackson, The United States August 04, 1959 gender male website http://www.lulu.com/shop/search.ep?contributorI... genre Poetry, Historical Fiction influences James M. Lancaster, Brenda Black White, Gertrude Stein, William Carlos Williams, and Al Filreis member since March 2011 About this author edit data As one of the most public lives ever lived by a private citizen, there is little about me that isn't already available at Facebook or Shelfari and countless other places. Poet, writer, construction worker, salesman, truck driver, climber into the attics of total strangers, father and husband, and all around one of the luckiest men on the planet. My luck continued with a win in the June Goodreads Newsletter Contest! What an honor! http://anthonyuplandpoetwatkins.wordp... Additional Influences: Bob Dylan, William Faulkner, Barbara Kingsolver, Gloria Naylor, Eudora Welty

50K MS (b)

A world away, kindred spot, hurricanes known by their real name: Death.   cool blue morning on decaying balconies-   plates of Trump approving Barbecue, fish that I wish not to know of what it approves-   there is no … Continue reading

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Refugee

(or cheap motel with Emily Dickinson, Mississippi Gulf Coast) The brain tired in its track runs stops and starts, though a splinter through a tree I persist.   Brain tired in groove willing death the body lives and struggles- busted-knuckles-bad-coffee- … Continue reading

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It is the Age

poets die, rock stars began to perish long ago there are no parents we are the grownups no one listens to us. We who have missed our mark wait only and mark the disappearances. Like a counting film played backwards: … Continue reading

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There was a Hospital

It sat out on the grasslands low and long, a wing to each side doctors and staff at leisurely pace   Not the stinking butchers we have here who chop off pieces for a dollar or two   kind chunky … Continue reading

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How I Forgot to Write Poetry

I don’t know what words mean too tired to write poems.   You work! Work is easy, hardly matters.   Don’t remember words noticing length of lines.   Notice shapes in fire, cannot smell smoke genetic disposition e-n-e in the … Continue reading

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The Challenge

Poem, home, cardboard box. Miami, nights aren’t too cold Though a few February nights air nears freezing as do I.   A dirty blanket flecked with waste, vomit, spilled food, dirt, grease from the ground sturdy box mashed in places, … Continue reading

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Cottonmouth Boy

Hershey kiss tattoos up both arms, eats cowboy bread, hums a bar of Red River Valley before losing the tune,   then says “red lights are just lights that used to be yellow.”   He has no bars around his … Continue reading

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