western author

Monday Poems
6:13 am
Mon August 5, 2013

"Thought Under Construction"

New Poets of the American West

There's no first stanza and maybe we should all go home,
since thinking isn't easy under any circumstances. And if

'home' is what's under construction? The work crew first
disconnects the stove, then turns up the radio. Omelets and broken

eggs, yes, but quiet and even the chips and cracks
were the script. Like the script of a one-note seasonal bird

when a chill moves over a lake. But not like the radio.
The first rule of construction? Destruction. Even the bees

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Monday Poems
11:15 am
Mon July 22, 2013

"The Velocity of Love"

Caught In Passing: Poems, by Zan Bockes

So still we sit
in chairs that mold our breathing,
frightened birds
with feathers slimed in oil,
fish in nets, bodies
pressed against the figure
of their deaths.
We haven't spoken
for an hour. Your last
word digs holes in the air and
hangs.

Beneath this weight, Father,
tell me I'm lighter than light,
that my love for you outruns
the spinning lance
of hate.

If I could speak,
I'd tell you it doesn't matter
how hate is as strong
as the other, how quickly
exchanged for love,

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Poetry
5:57 am
Mon July 8, 2013

"Nuthatch Sitting on a Bear's Nose"

Robert Wrigley, poet

Really just a small cast iron representation
of the latter, a bottle opener mounted
to the southeast post of the shack's porch,
a Christmas gift from my niece,
and nothing to be stood upon, not even by a bird,
except for the nugget of ice at the end of the snout
that gives it a place. Some think art is lost
on the beasts of field and forest. Not I.
The chainsaw sculpture of an eagle
I fashioned years ago and fastened to a stump,
was sniffed at at length before the coyote

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Monday Poems
10:55 am
Mon July 1, 2013

"Fourth of July"

Beautiful in the Mouth, Poems by Keetje Kuipers

If I have any romantic notions left,
please let me abandon them here
on the dashboard of your Subaru
beside this container of gas station
potato salad and bottle of sunscreen.
Otherwise, my heart is a sugar packet
waiting to be shaken open by some
other man’s hand. Let there be another town
after this one, a town with an improbable Western
name—Wisdom, Last Chance—where we can get
a room and a six-pack, where the fireworks
end early, say nine o’clock, before it’s really
gotten dark enough to see them because

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Literary Fiction
6:00 am
Wed June 26, 2013

Blythe Woolston's YA Terrorist

Black Helicopters, a YA novel by Blythe Woolston

During this program Chérie Newman talks with Billings, Montana, author Blythe Woolston about her new novel for young adult readers, Black Helicopters. First question:  "Why was terrorism an idea you wanted to explore with your writing?"

From the publisher:

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Monday Poems
6:48 am
Mon June 24, 2013

"Trot"

White Bride, poetry by Sarah Maclay

A loose translation, not yet quite a gallop, more than a walk: to be
literal is to be a little jerky, rider and horse not unified into that
smooth flight of sweet aching below the saddle, all feet off the
ground at once. Well, another hour goes by. You'll need it. But it
gives you the idea—lap slapping against leather or, bareback, the
soft hair below the mane, yet it's not a place you can stay for long,
breath beginning to move in response to the horse's footsteps—
even more involuntary, a quick exhalation, a little feat of being

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Monday Poems
6:37 am
Mon June 17, 2013

"The Voice of the Father"

Notes from the Journey Westward, poetry by Joe Wilkins

Often, as mother bent her slender back
to the fields, or pulled the bloody slip
of a lamb into the world,
I wandered the house,
studying motes of dust brought to life
by sunlight. I was looking for you.

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Monday Poems
10:49 am
Mon June 10, 2013

"Gathering Mint," a poem by Laurie Wagner Buyer

Graining the Mare: The Poetry of Ranch Women, edited and with photographs by Teresa Jordan

He woke quiet, ate potatoes and eggs
sitting alone on a cottonwood stump in the sun.

At noon he took a rifle, burlap bag, and handful
     of dried apples,
saddled the glass-eyed gelding, corralled
     the wayward mare,
whistled one long high note for the hound
     and was gone.

It was late the first summer, river running
     low, meadow grass tassels paled by wind.
I weeded the garden one faded row at a time
     while the goats lazed in barn shade
and the mare paced,
     nickering again and again.

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The Write Question
10:42 am
Thu April 25, 2013

Pam Houston Draws a Fine Line Between Fiction and Nonfiction

During this program, Chérie Newman talks with Pam Houston about her book Contents May Have Shifted, a novel which Houston admits is about 87% true. So why didn't she publish it as a memoir? Newman wants to know. The answer has to do with the public's perception of truth and, of course, publishing industry lawyers.

About Contents May Have Shifted:

Stuck in a dead-end relationship, this fearless narrator leaves her metaphorical baggage behind and finds a comfort zone in the air, “feeling safest with one plane ticket in her hand and another in her underwear drawer.”

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