At what point will we be washing off the threat of the Corona virus with its intruding mask and antibacterial scent? Will it fall with a thunderous thud belly-smacking the asphalt on a long July day? Inescapable the reflection of confirmation last second, realizing the error in your ways then thud.
Cement kisses like grandma use to make them.
I’m not sure my heart can handle bumping into one more creepy s.o.b. wearing a gas mask in the grocery store. That damn bright light bulb in the sky! Whomever installed that beast needs a beating. It’s weird coming back into the daytime hours after being a vampire for so long.
Well, enough of the theatrics. Blog today is way happier mood. I received a review yesterday from a talented reviewer over at Madhatter Reviews. I’m mind blown, made my day and I must share it with everyone. The treasure awaits you here.
Poetry has to be able to make us stop, to listen. Jim Miller knows this. His poetry does exactly that.
Writing about love is hard; even more so, in poetry. It will always draw comparisons. Miller establishes an authentic voice, one not afraid show the emotional side of modern masculinity. He puts you right there, where he was, at times, boldly attempting to write from “within” love and explain its myriad nature. Of course, no individual can. Yet, in attempting it, a difference is made. It’s hard to be heard. Miller’s efforts are well worth your own, to listen.
Written by: Benjamin Cassidy
Published: 15th April 2020