
Glen Coats |
My interest in writing poems began while learning to teach at Mars Hill College in North Carolina. I was fascinated with the traditional folk songs that were so much a part of that mountain area and soon began writing lyrics of my own. I started keeping journals of songs and poems and have kept that practice up my entire life. I am thankful to the writers who have helped to shape my writing, especially James A. Autry who taught me how to use dialog so that voices can step into a poem as if actors had just walked to the front of a stage. Byrd Baylor whose beautiful free verse let my words begin to tumble down pages in narrow rows. Most of all, I am indebted to the poet Len Roberts who by his example taught me to be honest and direct in my writing—brave enough to write it all down. My work has been published in many magazines and journals including: Bottlerockets, The Heron’s Nest, The Endless Mountains Review, Presence, Bitterroot, Chimera, Poet, New Jersey English Journal, The Journal of Reading Recovery, Potato Eyes, Pudding, Talking River, and Diner, among others. In 1992, Leon’s Confession was nominated for the Pushcart Prize by the editors of Magic Realism. Threading Eyelets in the Dark and The Sound of Broken Promise were nominated for the Pushcart Prize by Pine Grove Press in 1997 and 1999. I have written six stories for Highlights for Children. A collection of poems, Trying to Move Mountains, was published by the Reading Recovery Council of North America in 2005. A children's book, Waiting For a Frog, was published by Kaeden. Several chapbooks of poems have been published. I continue to read and write poems every day. Haiku is my favorite form of poetry. Available Books: Trying to Move Mountains: order at www.reading recovery.org or call (614)310-READ
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The Man Who Breaks Watches spends no more than The man’s daughter Good, |
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Desperate for Light She won’t drive the car It’s covered with blankets, She cowers in the house If you knock long enough, desperate for light. |
The Memory of Rocks There are boulders like beached whales lean gently onto the lake and you try to remember places where great fish there are too many too many rocks facing you will be searching forever. |
River Road My father stopped |