Blurb is the Word
Over the past couple of weeks I’ve had the honor of writing a couple of blurbs for books and writers that I believe in, some I’ve told you about already and some that I haven’t until now.
First, there’s the beautifully handcrafted chapbook from W. Joe Hoppe, Trying Not To Be A Nature Poet (Obsolete Press, 2025.)
Here is what I said about it:
W. Joe’s Trying Not To Be A Nature Poet is as playful as it is serious, honest, yet tongue in cheek. It’s the wry, witty observations of a veteran poet reaching beyond potential, humming along in harmony with the world around him as he sharpens his knife, and whittles enviable phrases with impeccable precision, crafting poetry that damn near sings, all on its own.
Next up is the full length collection from Richard Vargas, Screw City Poems (Roadside Press, 2025.)
Here’s what I said:
Richard Vargas is a modern day lion of the literary underground, and one of the best working class poets to ever hold a college degree. The poems and stories in this book are a collection of life experiences and observations, a broken stained glass window, a kaleidoscope if you will, fragments of color, love and lust, hope and heartache, one hand reaching down to lift up the working dead, the other hand held high, middle finger raised proud in the face of a fast food nation that needs this work, these words of Richard Vargas, these prayers and pleas for respite and peace.
Next, I was stoked to get a chance to read Heather Kays’ debut poetry collection, Myths in the Feed (Crying Heart Press, 2025.)
Here’s what I said:
Heather Kays’ new collection of poems, Myths in the Feed: Poems of Performance, Pain & Persistence, is one of the most intense and jaw-dropping books I’ve read this year. Using short three or four line poems, like a new version of haiku, Kays gets more power out of a few words than perhaps any other poet I’ve yet to read. These tiny poems pull no punches. They bare their fangs and they bite. They show their bruises in the light of day, they count the stitches and they do not apologize for their scars. The poems fall down over and over again and keep getting back up. They are love learned the hard way. They cry, they wail and they heal, and they’re so well written and smooth you’ll want to read them again and again. Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!
And finally, my brother from another, Michael Grover, has a new collection forthcoming. Preorders are open now for Fatherless Children (Roadside Press, 2025.)
Here’s what I said:
Michael Grover’s Fatherless Children is a long, winding, 200 part elegy for his father and “…the world as it used to be.” It’s a book of healing and spiritual awakening. Of learning to love and learning to forgive. There’s still heavy doses of Grover’s legendary punk antics aimed at the bullshit in our country, and there’s still his bits of poetic wisdom that he’s found over the decades of living on the fringe, forever an outlaw, but there’s a growing openness dotted with glimmers of hope in this new work. Or, as he says, “Maybe that’s what I’m doing here/Trying to fix what’s broken,” and indeed, you can see the mending begin, continue and end, all in Grover’s trademark fashion of punchy poems that sit in your lap a while. This is a book that would go well with both morning coffee and meditation, or with midnight nightcaps and prayers for sleep.
And there you go. A four pack of outstanding poetry. Happy reading.
Love,
Dan
Thanks for the kind words, Dan. I need to check out all of the poets mentioned.