NEWS & EVENTS
--My sincere apologies to those of you who bought the 2nd Edition of Secondary Cicatrices with new publisher errors involving pagination and formatting. Currently being fixed.
--Lynne planning to attend Georgetown Library's Holiday Bazaar on December 7th, 2019, from 10 AM to 3:00 PM
Book sale and signing
Thank you Georgetown Public Library!
--Lynne planning to attend South Lake Tahoe Library's Special Winter Anthology of Authors
December 14th, 2019 event from noon to 2:30 PM
South Lake Tahoe, CA!
Book sale and signing
Thank you South Lake Tahoe Public Library!
---Lynne loves using the first person (the "I" voice) in poems although this might confuse readers. Will change a poem line on page 43 in Secondary Cicatrices to help clarify in case you received early copy of book.
---Apologies for Publisher errors on the back of the book if you received an early copy of Secondary Cicatrices. We are working
to fix that. Thank you.
---Lynne is very grateful that Nebo: A Literary Journal published one of her poems in their Spring 2019 issue. There were, however, five errors/typos in their printing of it. Here is the correct version:
What made me think
that a mounted head on a wall was okay?
Above the fireplace, remnants of a moose
jut out as if the partial animal belongs there,
its foam-stitched skull screwed together,
glass eyes touched with clay
staring interminably without body, some
tanned, twisted presentation of death, vestige
constructed by taxidermist
stuffed, wild creature seeming to break through wall
at forever-at-peace pace to remind—remind us of what?—
that you, its hunter, killed the animal with a gun?—
How you didn’t miss in your shots?
That you scared and delivered pain several times
till the animal lay dead in a blood-spilled no escape?
Maybe someday your own human head
will hang in a home of another alien species,
the trophy of you signifying that your attacker
got you—shot you right in the back—
another easy slaying preserved for all to view—
one more human who didn’t see it coming—
clueless you—foraging prey.
You’d proclaim you didn’t deserve it—
yet you’d have no voice to call out
to question such an ill-begotten fate.
Your death to silence
would be way beyond your control.