Under a Chip … A Pringle?

Boone had his shirt close around his neck and a handkerchief half over his face to shut off the mosquitoes. They made a steady buzzing around his head, for all that he and Jim had built a smudge and bedded down close to it. He could hear Jim slapping his face and rubbing the itch afterwards.

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Remember Rod McKuen

I was reminded that tomorrow is the day they expect that the Nobel Prize for Literature will be revealed. Sometimes I have a keen interest in these prizes; more often I skip the excitement. I don’t think it’s because I disagree with the selection committee (I often do) but more that I find awards ceremonies of questionable value. Hey, I don’t even follow the Academy Awards, the NFL standings, or the Jersey tomato weigh-off.

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Read More Poetry

I was a senior in High School when I discovered poetry. The year before we had been asked to explicate a poem in English class and I was befuddled by the requirement forced upon us to find some obscure meaning hidden in the figurative language of the poem. It was American literature and my keen insights had already been dulled by interpreting Moby Dick and The Death of a Salesman.

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