Warm your hands
its so cold
how many lives
have been touched
food, beds and such
I dont often promote submission opportunities on my blog. But this submission is the kind where your poetry (and a mere $3 per poem) helps people during the winter months.
Here are the details:
The English Department and Library at Blue Mountain Community College in Pendleton, Oregon, invite you to submit
poems to our first annual poetry contest supporting the Pendleton Warming Station
The Pendleton Warming Station is a place for those without homes to stay overnight when the temperatures drop below 32 degrees. PWS is open from November 1st to March 31st each year.
To submit, please PayPal $3 per poem (for up to 5 poems) to:
1 page limit per poem. Winner and 5 honorable mentions will be published on the BMCC Library blog. All proceeds will go to the Pendleton Warming Station. We will accept submissions November 24th through December 24th. Winners and Honorable Mentions will be announced January 1st.
LOCAL CREW UNCOVERS HUMAN SKULL
The headlines not only drew my attention but sent chills and a sense of foreboding into the recesses of my mind; for some reason this murder felt personal.
“Authorities revealed that the skull belongs to a San Francisco man who has been missing for 3 years. His family and his business partner were unavailable for comment. No motive has yet been unearthed. The rest of his body has yet to be discovered.”
I looked at my college bound daughter with a frown. “What if that was Hank?” My mind whirred. Hank and I had gone to school together in the City. Recently, I had heard that he had been missing for some time. I tried to shake off the sense of foreboding; I couldnt identify it but whatever it was it was in the waiting room with us.
My daughter pulled me away from my dark ponderings. “Sounds like a great CSI case” my daughter said dryly. I’m glad we are going home on the train tonight. That story makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Coming from my daughter, I was surprised. Kaylene was always pragmatic rarely showing emotion. All her emotion was saved for the stage where there was always high drama. And I also noticed her face had gone more pale than usual. “Hmm odd.”
I heard the train whistle in the distance; I too was grateful to be leaving for I knew this murder and the news would consume this small town.
… and here is the beginning of a story I hope to get published this fall. The story is fictional but is inspired by true events that occurred on a recent train trip to Oregon. It was too good to pass up a write…
Also be sure to ck out One Stop Poetry where more can join in the fun