Upcoming Literary Events

Upcoming literary events at Hazard Community and Technical College:

--Evening with Poets is our annual poetry reading that celebrates the publication of Kudzu, our literary magazine. Our emcee, as always, will be Jim Webb. This year’s spotlight poet is Affrilachian poet Mitchell LH Douglas. This reading is at 6:30 pm on Thursday April 30th. Poet Laureate Gurney Norman will also be speaking.

--Our Spring Writers Conference is Friday, May 1st. It starts around 10:00 am and ends around 4:00 pm. This year we have three concurrent workshops:
1.)Fiction Writing with Gurney Norman
2.)Poetry Writing with Mitchell Douglas
3.)Horror Fiction Writing with CS Johnson

Both events are free
For more information call 1 800 246 5721, ext 73200.

The Meadow Soul

THE MEADOW SOUL

His eyes were watching - looking at everything in the tiny meadow. Silent whispers gently blow on the cool morning air as mist rose from the dew-kissed ground. Another beautiful day is dawning and the forest creatures are starting to stir, inching out of burrows and holes and brambles looking for an early morning meal.

"Good morning my pretties; another gorgeous day is upon you," whispered the old soul as he looked at his creations.

The pond water rippled with fish stirred waves and dragonfly kisses. Momma birds chirped merrily as they waited for Papa birds to bring the fat red worms to the masses in the nest.

A doe inched out from the forest with a trembly legged fawn close in step, crunching the fresh meadow grass. Rabbits were hopping with tentative hops and stopping to much on dainty pink clover blossoms. A small red fox with his bushy tail straight in the air, pauses to drink from the crystal clear pond.

"This is good," sighed the soul, deep in contemplation of the bounty of nature's beauty.

The sun begins to break the horizon, sending multi-colored sunbursts through the clouds and fog. For one brief moment the tiny meadow and pond are a kaleidoscope of dancing colors.

Then the mist seeps away and the fog begins to lift. The soul again looks on the peacefulness of the surroundings.

"This is good," he whispers one last time before ascending away with the fog.

POETRY SLAM

Thursday night, April 17th, Mercer County Senior High School hosted a Poetry/Prose Coffee House in honor of National Poetry Month and Kentucky Writer's Day. The 2nd annual "Poetry Slam" was a great stage for accomplished writers and budding poets.

The Poetry Slam was organized by Betty Dean and Roni Gilpin.


The first person to read was Mercer County's very own celebrity author, Charles Semones. Charles read 3 poems: "Lethargy," "Wildflowers" and "Caine's Landing."


Tony Sexton is the leader of the Mercer County Community of Writers - Nomadic Ink - and he also conducts writing workshops throughout the year. Tony read "The Shoeshine Man" and "For the Students."


Earl Dean read an excerpt from his upcoming novella, "A Tailor Maiden's Secret." Watch this blog for updates on the publication of this young adult novella.


Taylor Griggs, MCSH, read an original poem.


William Crawford, MCSH, recited "Annabel Lee" - by Edgar Allan Poe - and read two original poems: "Lifeless Living" and "Love and Roses."


Kesha Bauer, MCSH, read 2 original poems: "Finally You Go" and "Phase Me."


Morgan Strautz, MCSH, read several original poems including "My Life" and "Road Not Taken."


Marian Bauer - Bauer House in Harrodsburg - is a wonderful storyteller and she related the story of "The Raggedy Man."


Christine Rightmyer, MCSH, read an original poem "Symbol of Death."

WONDERFUL NEWS

I have such WONDERFUL NEWS !!! My sweet baby received her acceptance letter today from the Governor's School of the Arts !!!

HAPPY DANCE, HAPPY DANCE !!!

Out of over 1,600 applicants from Kentucky students, she was one of 200 to be accepted into the summer Creative Writing Program.

She will be leaving the day after my oldest daughter's wedding, June 21st and will spend 3 weeks at Transy.

To say her Daddy and I are proud is a total understatement. This is something our entire family has been praying about since just before Christmas. To finally have the acceptance letter in hand is pure excitement.

Poetry Slam

Mercer County Senior High will be celebrating National Poetry month with a Poetry Slam.

Poetry/Prose Coffee House in honor of National Poetry Month and Kentucky Writer's Day

Thursday, April 16th @ 7:00 in the MCSH cafeteria

The event is free and open to the public

An Evening With the Mountain Keepers

(Edited to add: this piece was published in the Lexington Herald-Leader on Monday, April 13, 2009)


After almost backing out due to anxiety (and all those of you with social anxiety know what I mean), my daughter and I attended UK's presentation of "An Evening With the Mountain Keepers." I had really been looking forward to this program, mainly, at first, because of Silas House, but after the program I left with an awareness and passion for the elimination of mountaintop removal.


(Photo by Vivian Stockman - is a picture of Kayford Mountain located 35 miles from Charleston, West Virginia, the State Capitol.)

This program was to bring awareness of the destruction - not only to mountains and property, but to personal lives and families - of coal retrival by mountaintop removal. Growing up in the Bluegrass region, I've read many books, essays and papers on the problems facing Appalachia, but I've always thought of it as a problem for others to worry about. I could not have been more wrong!

Erik Reece was the MC for the evening and he began by reading a brief passage from Lost Mountain, a book showing a year in the vanishing wilderness of radical strip mining the the devastation left in Appalachia. He highlighted ways engaged citizen writers have worked for decades to make disturbing environmental and social justice a forefront to the public eye.

Frank X Walker - founder and editor of Pluck! the Journal of Affrilachian Arts & Culture, a magazine whose mission is to continue extolling the Affrilachian aesthetic, “making the invisible visible” - read one of his poems, touching the true heart of Appalachia. Judy Sizemore read her original poem, "The Badlands of Kentucky" and George Ella Lyon (another favorite of mine) and Anne Shelby both read some of their original poetry.

(Photo from The Mountaintop Removal Road Show )

Dave Cooper brought us his Mountaintop Removal Road Show - a slide show highlighting the impacts of mountaintop removal on coalfield residents, communities and the environment, and features traditional Appalachian mountain music and shocking aerial photos of decapitated Appalachian mountains.

Public Outcry! - an anti-Mountaintop Removal acoustical artistic collaboration bringing together music, words and images to educate people about this extreme coal mining method - performed several songs.

(Photo by Herschel McKinley)

This group includes: Silas House, Jason Howard, Jessie Lynn Keltner, Kate Larken, George Ella Lyon and Anne Shelby. The name of there group was taken from a phrase by a congressional supporter of mountaintop removal, after killing a "Stream Killer Bill" for several years in a row. To paraphrase what this Congressman said, "This is not an important topic; there is no public outcry."

Something's Rising: Appalachians Fighting Mountaintop Removal is a wonderful new educational book by Silas House and Jason Howard, and they both read excerpts from the books, with Silas being the last speaker of the night.

(Photo by Herschel McKinley)

I bought this book before the program started, mainly because of Silas House, but after hearing these men speak, I was moved to tears. I read three chapters before nodding off to sleep last night.

There were several special moments of the night for me: meeting Silas House and Jason Howard (and having them sign my book), meeting Frank X Walker, Anne Shelby, and George Ella Lyon, and having Gurney Norman (KY's new Poet Laureate) sit right in front of me!

But the highlight of the night for me was a man I knew nothing about before last night. Larry Gibson is a West Virginia activist who has been fighting coal and mountaintop removal for the majority of his life.

(Photo by Herschel McKinley)

He has been featured on CNN, Nightline, and People Magazine and he travels all over the United States trying to educate people about the devastation coal removal brings to communities, lives, nature and wildlife. Keeper of the Mountains Foundation was created to help fund Larry's efforts to preserve and foster the values of mountain culture. I could have listened to this man talk all night, he was that powerful. I was moved to laughter and I was moved to tears, but most importantly I was moved to action.

Do you still think the "little people" don't have a voice concerning mountaintop removal? These folk are here to provide otherwise. Call your congressmen and women, call your legislators, call the governors of Appalachia, call President Obama. As a point of reference, since taking office in January 2009, the Obama administration has already launched a crackdown on mountaintop removal by moving to delay or block mining permits damaging Appalachian communities and ecosystems.

Too Wet To Plow, Too Windy To Pile Rocks

Too Wet To Plow, Too Windy To Pile Rocks
By Roni Gilpin


Warm sun through the window beckons us. “Outside, Outside.”
Across the field, brown grass wears a green glow.
Stiff bones creak, “It is time, it is time”.

March wind, incessant and unforgiving, disagrees.
It drones on through the distant trees
Like a torrent over rocks in the stream.

There is no quiet, no rest from the tempest, the dull unending roar.
As the last leaves of the burr oak
Are loosed in the current and sent like debris,

Natural detritus mingled with the neighbor’s garbage,
Fast food cartons and plastic bags
Catch in the trees and wave like pennants announcing a spring not yet come.

There is work to be done, but like the crows, tired of fighting the headwind,
We acquiesce, go inside, and pour over seed catalogues.

An Evening With the Mountain Keepers

The University of Kentucky Writing Program
Community Engagement Series
Proudly Presents



Thursday, April 9, 2009 from 6 - 10 pm
UK Student Center Grand Ballroom
Free and open to the public

The Evening celebrates the way that public writing and grassroots community action work together to ensure a healthy, participatory democracy. Learn about Appalachia's endangered culture and its uneasy relationship with coal, and experience how journalists, poets, speakers, artists, and musicians use creative activism to make their voices heard.

Take a look at the Beehive Collective's incredible new work of art The True Cost of Coal and talk with the artists who created it, see Jeff Chapman-Crane's breathtaking sculpture The Agony of Gaia, visit with our community partners about their unique coal-culture exhibits, browse art and culture displays, watch MTR visuals, listen to activist music from Public Outcry and others, and enjoy refreshments.

7-9—Program

MC Erik Reece begins the program with a brief reading from Lost Mountain and a discussion of the way that public writing and grassroots community action work together to safeguard the participatory democratic nation our Founders designed. He highlights the way in which engaged citizen-writers have worked for decades to make disturbing environmental and social justice issues visible to the public eye

Frank X Walker offers an introduction to Appalachia's endangered culture and performs his new poem—a reflection on a photograph of WV coal miners.

Judy Sizemore reads The Badlands of Kentucky

Dave Cooper gives a geographic and ecological overview of MTR

George Ella Lyon reads original poetry

Silas House and Jason Howard read from Something's Rising: Appalachians Fighting MTR

Public Outcry! plays original acoustic MTR music.. meet Silas House, Jason Howard, Jessie Lynn Keltner, Kate Larken, George Ella Lyon & Anne Shelby

Anne Shelby reads original poetry

Larry Gibson, the WV activist featured by CNN, Nightline, and People Magazine, shares his moving personal narratives on MTR and community

9p—Q&A and . . .

Audience Q&A discussion with presenters, talk with participants, peruse the art, culture, and information exhibits—and hear more MTR activist music.

The Inner Me

(Art by Tammy Vitale)

THE INNER ME

My inner woman has done got up and gone
She tripped and ran fast as she could
Not a word, a poem, or even a little song
She only did what she thought she should

My inner me is buried deep
Afraid to come out or even to see
She has so many ideas she would love to keep
But she's afraid of life and the collective we

My inner self is bruised and torn
Grief stricken and fragile, threatening to break
But it's time to move on and no more to mourn
Even if my actions feel like a fake

My inner drive must suck it up
Stop wallowing in pain, start enjoying my life
Quit dragging my ass through the layers of muck
Cut this pain away with the blade of my knife

My inner id is a beautiful thing
When I allow her a chance to breathe
She is filled with life, almost bursting to sing
I think she'll stick around if I only believe

Sisterhood of the Unraveling Pants

I hadn't intended to post this here because I have it on another blog, but after it was published in the Lexington Herald-Leader (3-17-2009), I couldn't resist.



Sisterhood of the Unraveling Pants

Why is it that sometimes I think my youngest daughter is raising me instead of the other way around? With a 10-year age difference between my oldest and youngest daughters, Christine has practically been an only child because her older sisters have been out of the house for so long.

Although the stereotypical "only child" has been portrayed as spoiled, pampered and selfish, I can vouch for the fact this is not true.

Case in point, "the ripped pants."

"Honey, do you have to wear those ripped pants?" I looked at my daughter, shaking my head.

"But I like these pants, Mom. They're comfortable." She proceeded to pack her backpack for school, ignoring my exasperated sighs and rolling eyes.

"The teachers are going to think you don't have any good pants to wear." I tried turning on my pleading voice.

"But I do have good pants, Mom; they're just not as comfortable." She walked into the bathroom to pull her long hair up into a ponytail.

"What will your friends say? They are going to make fun of you because you have a big hole in your pants."

"But I don't care what my friends say. If they make fun of me, then they weren't friends to begin with." She turned on the water and started brushing her teeth.

"What about the dress code? I don't want to be called to school to bring you a decent pair of pants." I was running out of objections, but I didn't want her wearing those pants to school.

"But the dress code says you can't have holes on the butt of your pants. They don't want us showing our underwear. It doesn't say anything about holes in the knees." She rinsed her mouth and headed for the front door.

"But honey, I just don't want you wearing those pants!" I knew my voice had gotten forceful, but I couldn't help it.

"Why Mom? Are you worried about me, or are you embarrassed for yourself?"

I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at my daughter with different eyes.

"Mom, these pants are comfortable. I'm not wearing them to make a statement. I'm not wearing them to upset my teachers. I'm not wearing them because of my friends. I'm not wearing them to go against the dress code. And I'm certainly not wearing them to make you mad. You're a great mother! You shouldn't worry so much about what other people think of you." With her speech complete, she kissed me on the cheek, threw her backpack over one shoulder and headed out the door to the bus stop.

I was dumbfounded. I suddenly realized I was more worried about what people thought of me. I was afraid her ripped pants would be a bad reflection on me. I was going against everything I had ever tried to teach her.

Out of the mouths of babes.


(Edited to add: this post appeared in the Lexington Herald-Leader on Tuesday, March 17, 2009)

Tempered Glass

TEMPERED GLASS

I'm so distorted and wavey, not at all serene
My thoughts are captured like the curves in tempered glass
Frosted over, trapped in dark, trapped in light
Always my own, and trapped inside my head

Why can't others see as I do, the rapidly changing world
The dangerouse times in which we live
Hazy waves of violent hostilities, destroying the fabric of life
Leaving us in staggered amazement and full-gale trepidation

When will peace prevail, or at least a steady calm
A breath of tranquil kisses in the face of all alarms
I send a prayer onto the wind to blow a gentle wish
Then I'll remain like tempered glass as hazy as my fears

Three of Three for March 12th

The Economy of Nature

Ice hung on the trees like
candy on a stick.
Sunlight reflected off each
branch and glistened with color.
For those who looked
it was a fatal beauty
taking with it limbs
and lines
anything hanging
anything without support.

The crackle of destruction
crippled the minds of men
who had grown accustom to
the warmth of easy living.
Suddenly this act of winter
became a nightmare
and inconvenience
a hopeless hazard
no one knew how to deal with.

We cried and moaned
over lit candles and bottled water
unprepared to face anything
unexpected.

And, yet, it was
photogenic
beauty to the eyes…
a contrast in what we are
and what we have become.

We are like weak limbs
and sagging lines of power
susceptible to the real laws that
govern us.
We are dependent on the unnatural
and rebellious to the truth of nature.

Are we unprepared for other storms as well?

Tony Sexton
3/12/09

Two of Three for March 12th

The Benefits of Early Rising

It smiled at me this cold morning.
Oh, not with teeth and lips
like we do, but with
streaks of purple and orange.
It smiled and said I am beautiful
and it was.

And, as it smiled
I heard the geese
flapping and hooking
encouraging the strong to lead
and the weak to learn.

Together
the two gave me hope
that I too
might smile
and lead and learn

Tony Sexton
3/12/09

One of Three for Mach 12th

Knowing the Dark

My eyes look toward
a lonesome dark moon
hanging in the sky
hiding from me and
my half of the world
waiting for another turn
of the earth
to reflect its light on me.

But,
without seeing
I know it is there
just as I know the seasons
are present though
obscured by unseasonable
weather .
Winter is winter
Spring is spring
and I am who I am
whether you can see me
or not.

Tony Sexton
03/10/09

Cemetery Voices

CEMETERY VOICES

They call to us from the depths of past
Breathless family, friends and foes
Gone away from earthly days
Existing in the barren calm

What would they say, if they could speak to us
Would they approve of this harsh new world
Or would they happily blend with us
To capture the times gone by

I wonder if they understand
All the changes going on
Or are they fixed in time and space
Lifelessness n'er to age or grow

Familiar whispers on bated breath
Try to reach my ears
Cemetery voices from my distant past
Call to calm my fears

Assignment for March 12, 2009

The writing inspiration for the next Speaking Out II is again a poem by Mary Oliver - Snowy Night. Use this poem creatively in any type of writing - poem, essay, short story, song, etc.

Snowy Night
~~Mary Oliver

Last night, an owl
in the blue dark
tossed
an indeterminate number
of carefully shaped sounds into
the world, in which,
a quarter of a mile away, I happened
to be standing.
I couldn't tell
which one it was -
the barred or the great-horned
ship of the air -
it was that distant. But, anyway,
aren't there moments
that are better than knowing something,
and sweeter? Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more than prettiness. I suppose
if this were someone else's story
they would have insisted on knowing
whatever is knowable - would have hurried
over the fields
to name it - the owl, I mean.
But it's mine, this poem of the night,
and I just stood there, listening and holding out
my hands to the soft glitter
falling through the air. I love this world,
but not for its answers.
And I wish good luck to the owl,
whatever its name -
and I wish great welcome to the snow,
whatever its severe and comfortless
and beautiful meaning.

We hope to see you Thursday, March 12 at 6:30 at the Mercer County Public Library!

.

Analysis of Mary Oliver's Cold Poem

“Cold now,
Close to the edge. Almost
unbearable. Clouds
bunch up and boil down
from the north of the white bear.
This tree-splitting morning
I dream of his fat tracks,
the lifesaving suet.”

The first stanza of this poem sets the scene. You can see the cold, feel the cold, all the way down to your bones. The white bear is the cold winter wind, but the clue is in the lifesaving suet. Technically, suet is the fat tissue around the kidneys of some animals like sheep and cattle. In some cultures, suet is used for cooking, but I think this suet is a more literal form.

My lifesaving suet is my passion for writing, my thirst for knowledge. Reading and writing are what gets me through the hard times, the cold times. So often I feel like my life is perpetually in its winter months. "Cold now" and "almost unbearable," so what keeps me going? The life-saving suet; the fat from my past.

“I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
handfuls of grain.”

We move from "almost unbearable" cold to a memory of "summer with its luminous fruit." I see the summer as the happy moments of life. The luminous fruit and blossoms are the memories we gather in our hearts, storing them away for when the times are cold. These handfuls of grain help to light the darkness, stave off depression and give us hope for the future.

“Maybe what cold is, is the time
we measure the love we have always had, secretly,
for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love
for the warm river of the I, beyond all else; maybe”

The cold of winter is when we measure the love we hold for ourselves; the hard love for "I." It is a drawing inward, a time to look deep inside and find our true self. It is a time of reflecting, finding the problem areas and learning how to change them.

“that is what it means the beauty
of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.”

Many times there is beauty in fear, beauty in ugliness or violence, so I can see "the beauty of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals." Love can devour, sometimes swallowing emotions whole. So this confusion of cold is likened to our inward desire to consume ourselves. We are the blue shark.

“In the season of snow,
in the immeasurable cold,
we grow cruel but honest; we keep
ourselves alive,
if we can, taking one after another
the necessary bodies of others, the many crushed red flowers.”

We keep ourselves alive by taking “the necessary bodies of others.” That cruel requirement of life, that it takes life and life is taken; we feed life and life becomes beautiful. Whether we eat the bear in winter or ourselves in our loneliness or our lovers in our passion, our lives are consumed with the desire to destroy by partaking in an event we usually associate with health, nutrition, life; but in this case, our lives are the deaths of something else – a memory, a feeling, an emotion.

I've certainly grown more honest even if it is seen as cruel, even if it destroys some things that are beautiful. I think the red flowers at the end might be "crushed" underfoot; therefore, they contrast with the "fat tracks" at the beginning of the poem. That is, the "lifesaving suet" that is left bleeding at the end.

I see this as a poem about aging and growing older. Dreaming of the "fat" times and thinking back to summer are ways of remembering youth, grieving the loss of youth. It's as if the cold brings out the worst in us - cold-hearted survival, or intense love. Only by loving our innermost selves can we hope to love others.

We drain the very essence of the other to continue to hear our own river's song humming in our ears. We continue to collect the suet of memories, the blossoms of happy times, and the crushed red flowers of lessons we have learned along the way.

Time

TIME

Time is elusive
It never ceases
No matter how hard we try
Time keeps marching by

What time is it now
Where did time go
I don't have enough time
When will there be time

Time slows for no man
It ravages every day
Until our time is up and gone
From every dusk and dawn

February 26th Assignment

Writing prompt by Mary Oliver

Cold Poem

Cold now,
Close to the edge. Almost
unbearable. Clouds
bunch up and boil down
from the north of the white bear.
This tree-splitting morning
I dream of his fat tracks,
the lifesaving suet.

I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
handfuls of grain.

Maybe what cold is, is the time
we measure the love we have always had, secretly,
for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love
for the warmth river of the I, beyond all else; maybe

that is what it means the beauty
of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.

In the season of snow,
in the immeasurable cold,
we grow cruel but honest; we keep
ourselves alive,
if we can, taking one after another
the necessary bodies of others, the many
crushed red flowers.

The Assignment:
Give yourself 30 minutes with no phone and no interruptions. Read Mary Oliver's poem, pick a line or two that reasonate with you and WRITE without stopping. Or consider the following writing suggestions:

1.) What do your dreams of "lifesaving suet" look like?

2.) This time of year, do you find yourself thinking of summer? What are the 5 things you miss/look forward to most? Why?

3.) What does this line mean to you?

"Maybe what cold is, is the time we measure the love we have always had, secretly, for our own bones."

4.) Do you find yourself growing "cruel but honest" with the snow or the darkness.

5.) What are your "many crushed red flowers?"

6.) Write about what you anticipate - excitement or dread or both. What are your coping mehanisms? Make a promise to yourself and KEEP it.


We hope to see everyone on Thursday, February 26th at 6:30 p.m.

February 12th Assignment

So sorry writers, I forgot to post what the assignment was for tonight's meeting!! This is a carry-over from the meetings we missed in January. We are to write a piece about someone who has been an influence in our lives.

Hope to see everyone tonight at the Mercer Public Library @ 6:30 p.m.

Governor's School for the Arts

Congratulations Christine!! You made it past the first creative writing hurdle for the Governor's School for the Arts. Next step, the Transylvania interview and reading in March. Good Luck!!