Chris lives in the Adirondacks where he teaches English at North Country Community College. He has been nominated for Best of the Net and The Pushcart Prize many times. Locke received the Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Award, grants in poetry from Fundacion Valparaiso (Spain), and PARMA (Mexico), and state grants in poetry from the Massachusetts Cultural Council and the New Hampshire State Council on the Arts. He won the 2018 Black River Chapbook Award ( Black Lawrence Press-2020) for his collection of short stories 25 Trumbulls Road, and his latest poetry collection, Music For Ghosts, is forthcoming with NYQ Books in 2022. He lives in the suburbs of Detroit.Ĭhristopher Locke’s poems, fiction, criticism, and essays have appeared in, among others, The North American Review, Poets & Writers, The Rumpus, Another Chicago Magazine, Poetry East, SmokeLong Quarterly, Verse Daily, Southwest Review, Slice, Gargoyle, ARC (Canada), The Literary Review, The Sun, Contemporary Verse 2 (Canada), West Branch, Rattle, Agenda (England), 32 Poems, Rhino, Saranac Review, The Stinging Fly (Ireland), The Southeast Review, Barrelhouse, Whiskey Island, The Adirondack Review, and NPR’s Morning Edition and Ireland’s Radio One. His individual works have been nominated for the Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prizes, and have been featured in Hamilton Arts and Letters, Grasslimb, Pittsburgh Poetry Review and others.
His latest, Something to Cry About (Cathexis Northwest Press), was released in 2019. Krantz is the author of four chapbooks of poetry, including mishigamaa and Gargoyle. Writing and reading are a passion, as is theatre, art, the outdoors and life in general. She has taught creative writing and runs two writing groups. She has had 50 or so adult short stories, poems and essays/ articles published, broadcast or placed in competitions. Kath Beattie’s published work includes children’s readers/stories/poems/ chapter books/adult books. Where we still dream lost as those wings.ĭawn from the Balcony in Accra by Kath Beattie The silence of this house, this captive place Where did he come from, & how did he choose His desire heated to almost a reckoning, & I Look over my shoulder at another dry flourish, Shielded, alive with Hitchcockian terrors I still To the other window, grit-toothed & pillow Golden eyes eerie with pupils-Īll of him nerve-wracked & wired & furiously The still silent snow in its nightly shroudĮvery detail-the trees, their tranquil shadows,Īs it lights the way to my midnight snackĪnd below the luminous glow, as we listen.īruised hand. Like an ancient wax seal or even a brand, Subterranean Quarantine Blues by Robert Krantz
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