Wednesday, January 30, 2013

The New Verse News, peace horses and Uncle Delmar

My uncle Delmar, a rancher in the Sand Hills of Nebraska (the Sand Hills, one of many hidden gems of the Great Plains), gratefully moved into an era when innovative ranch/farm machinery replaced what horses had been ably doing for generations (although there still lingers, at least for me, a less romantic western image as cowboys ‘ride the range’ on 4-wheeler's rather than on horseback)  Yet, Delmar always had horses, stating ‘just having horses helps keep peace on the homestead’.  This, the uncle born on the family homestead and lived there all his life - during our visits, we would go to nearby Ainsworth, and Delmar would walk on grass rather than sidewalks, stating ‘man wasn’t made to walk on cement.’ 

‘Horses help keep peace on the homestead.’  The New Verse News has been a hard-working on-line peace horse for years.  Imagine all our concepts of ‘war horse’ re-imagined/re-created into peace horses - rather hard to even get one’s mind around it, but - The New Verse News shows us how through our very own poetry, ably coupled with images and quotes from related worthy sources

- from their submission guidelines -

 ‘The New Verse News presents politically progressive poetry on current events and topical issues. Submission Guidelines: Send previously unpublished poems in the body of an email to OR to Use "Verse News Submission" as the subject line. Send a brief bio. No payment. Authors retain all rights after 1st-time appearance here.’
Although the editors and audience of The New Verse News have a politically progressive bias, we welcome well-written verses of various visions and viewpoints. In any event, opinions expressed in The New Verse News are those of the poems' writers (or, perhaps, only of the poems' speakers) and not necessarily those of the editors, the audience, or other contributors to the site. 

  Check them out, perhaps give consideration to poems of your own that may nourish a hard-working peace horse --

- examples - three of our poems The New Verse News has published  (but, check their web-site out ‘for reals’) -

Tibet Is a Country
young monk’s red
and saffron robes
dissolving into flame 
the intersection of
faith, courage and despair                                      Judith Partin-Nielsen

among the homeless
   so many
      service medals

the doorbell
her youngest’s
first tour of duty                                                            ayaz daryl nielsen

and -

see you in a moment -

ayaz daryl nielsen

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

The Weekly Avocet, ed. Charles Portolano - fine poetry (including ours!) delivered to the hood!

The Weekly Avocet,  ed. Charles Portolano  - fine poetry (including ours!) delivered to the hood! 

seems this is becoming a season devoted to publishing the best of poetry (including ours) and dedicated to sharing poetry in a quality online format - such is The Weekly Avocet

from their guidelines -  

The Weekly Avocet, every Wednesday!
Please send only one poem, per poet, per season. Let’s do winter-themed poetry for now.
Please no more than 38 lines per poem.
Please use single spaced lines.
Please use the Times New Roman - 12pt. font.
Please send your submission to
Please remember, previously published poems are fine to send.
Please always put your name and email address under your work,
thank you.
    I love getting poems sent to my computer.  What a great way to start any day.

This site makes for feeling better on any given Wednesday in the hood - (and about one’s own writing/publishing endeavors)  -  check ‘em out, gotta appreciate enthusiasm and dedication to going for it   and 

see you in a moment -

ayaz daryl nielsen

Monday, January 21, 2013

so cool - Yellow Mama and excellent editor Cindy Crosmus

Yellow Mama and editor Cindy Crosmus - it just doesn’t get any better than this, even if, perhaps, not for everyone (sigh...)

to quote from guidelines:  Needs: cutting edge, hardboiled, horror, literary, noir, psychological/horror.  No fanfiction, romance, or swords & sorcery and no erotica. We no longer publish erotica, but if your story contains graphic sex that is essential to the story, that's fine.  Absolutely nothing glorifying Satanism!  Nothing so sick or perverted that even I can’t read it. Nothing racist or bigoted, anti-religion, nothing blasphemous or sacrilegious.  Nothing either right-wing Conservative or so politically correct the ACLU would love it.  There’s a happy medium somewhere: Write straight from the heart; call it like you see it, but show some control.

Yellow Mama also has an excellent archive system, once archived, ‘until doom freezes over’, visitors/poets/et cetera can easily access past publishing histories - in other words, poems and stories are cared for/cared about even when in archival mode.

Maybe Yellow Mama isn’t for absolutely everyone, but I, one among many, can’t help myself - the artwork, the way one’s creations are presented and cared for, and, especially, the presence, feistiness and exceptional abilities of editor Cindy Crosmus - too cool.

(Lyn Lifshin and bear creek haiku stalwart John Grey (and yours unruly) are among the many within Yellow Mama).  And

see you in a moment

ayaz daryl nielsen

Kind Of A Hurricane Press - 'yeowsah meowsah' says one editor!

A J Huffman and  ‘impressive and oh so cool’

Amy Huffman has oodles and all varieties of poetic publishing endeavors whooping our way (you may ask, ‘can poetry whoop’?  You betcha, this press is proof positive!) Here’s naming just a few - Pyrokinection, Jellyfish Whispers, High Coupe (for haiku), upcoming anthologies include Poised in Flight

I’ve had a few poems accepted by this incredibly active press which has me feeling mighty fine - and don’t you just take my word for all this!  Find out for yourself by going to

to quote: We are an eclectic bunch here at Kind of a Hurricane Press.   We read it all.  We write it all.  We like it all.  We are planning to do it all.’ 

yeowsah meowsah!’  says co-editor of bear creek haiku, Frosty, about Kind Of A Hurricane Press and A J Huffman - 

and did you know Frosty ran for office as a presidential candidate?  Yup, all the cats who voted, voted for Frosty (and best hopes and many prayers for the second term of our newly re-elected president)  - and 

see you in a moment

ayaz daryl nielsen

Shemom and mystic goldfish

print poetry publication Shemom:  email poetry to  editor: Peggy Dugan French  artist: Forest Dugan French

- my friends -

The shoebox (size 4E) full of poetry recently submitted to bear creek haiku editors Frosty the Cat, Wumpus and Dryad (goldfish), and I, contains an average weekly submission rate of 75 poems from 15 poets.  Frosty, Wumpus, Dryad!  Besides considerations for the pages of bch, let’s also try to recommend other potential (and high quality) homes for poems!

A most favorite print pub is, as mentioned in earlier posts, Shemom:  editor Peggy Dugan French with son Forest Dugan French as artist (best keep artistically dudearoonin’, Forest, ‘cause you be good at it, or! Wumpus and Dryad, editorial/poetic/mystic goldfish mafioso might just come a-knocking on nappy-time neuron activity!)

You may ask yourself, what’s going on in the above paragraph?  Ummm...I’ve no idea.  Let’s just submit poetry for consideration to the print pub Shemom, editor Peggy Dugan French (and artist Forest Dugan French) via email -

The ommmmm in your mailbox is from worthy print publications with your poem(s) somewhere between cover and tail end! (if you so choose, see prior post on tail ends of print pubs)  Especially Shemom! (and, of course, bear creek haiku! ) (and/or Lilliput Review, Barbaric Yawp, Lalitamba, et cetera!)  and!

see you in a moment 

ayaz daryl nielsen

Thursday, January 10, 2013

old crow and a bucking bronco aptly named Tornado

old crow and the bronco Tornado

eight crows caw
while old crow
squats and sulks -
and just what have 
you done this time?

the sun has not risen yet and won't for quite some time, yet old crow and his compadres have been raucously bejesusing for over an hour... it seems I should tell you about this particular crow, my crow, old crow and I -

old crow and I

split by lightning
old crows bicker

hot breeze 
through the skylight..
   raucous crow

in the oak above
this flat tire
   crow being crow

oh snitty crow,
   was my brief presence
      really so troublesome?

tell me where you live,
   old crow, so I can poop
      on your front porch

crow above
   the new Zen garden
      drops his blessings

new home
same old
crow sounds

old crow and I
   cawing, laughing as we
      meet once again

maybe I'll just give up on sleep and make my way to the nearby Crane Hollow Cafe -

early bird special
ranchers at the
Crane Hollow Cafe
slurping breakfast
discuss hay sheds

it's so cool, occasionally - a cafe, before sunrise, listening to ranchers at nearby tables discuss all things ranching - my Danish paternal grandparents homesteaded in the Sand Hills of Nebraska, my uncles (and my father, for quite some time) were ranchers - and are you asking about my one-and-only rodeo up there in Whitehall, Montana?  You are?  Ok!  The announcer stated 'now there's a cowboy who knows he's been on a horse' as I lay on the ground awhile as others pondered what a bucking bronco named Tornado had done to my anatomy - true story! - and all I could think of was 'he called me a cowboy!'. . .

or maybe, this morning, a coffee shop, especially Perky's on Main -


of writing
among wild things

but, I do have a full afternoon/evening today, and if the crows would just shut up, I (and Frosty the cat) would sleep some more (my wife, surprisingly, is still deep asleep, good for her, I don't want to disturb her rest). . .

I'll just go outside and firmly discuss the situation with old crow and his cohorts and maybe, this time, I can shut them up. . .

- it's ten minutes later than the last sentence above of ten minutes ago, and the crows are still carrying on, only now they're also laughing at me, and what I did manage to do was wake Judith up - 

- well, you know, I'll just -

see you in a moment 

ayaz daryl nielsen  

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

poet Jane Stuart + real/surreal issues (bless you) of togethering an anthology

poet Jane Stuart + real/surreal issues (bless you) of togethering an anthology of poetry

Some real/surreal issues (bless you!) as one altogethers a poetry anthology can be/should be several-fold, and! yes! I hear you, you are now muttering ‘I do hope he (ayaz daryl) provides further elucidation of just what these real/surreal issues (bless you) are!!’  No worries, I've heard you!

The first is obvious - thirty-five poets will be in the first bear creek haiku anthology, yet it should be 2,035, or, all the poets that have ever appeared between the covers and the tail ends (see prior post on tail ends, if you so choose) of bch print pub!  But that seems quite impossible (but, perhaps I can do more than one anthology?)  No, wait, just wait on any further such thoughts!  first, first and foremost, one (that be me) has to bring this first (and foremost) anthology into existence!  (Am grateful we got that settled)

I love the poetry that has (and will) appear in bear creek haiku. Here is a sample bio and a few fine poems from a most favorite poet Jane Stuart :

Jane Stuart
  I - I have a PhD - didn’t know what a cell phone was - I said “certainly not” to someone - I thought he meant jail  
  It’s a family house, an old log cabin.  Rewiring was done, but I didn’t get hooked up.  I learned later that I had two telephone numbers - no, just one - that one had been changed - I had none.  But I did not want to argue with anyone about having email or my getting on internet or about my being able to go online.  I don’t know how to use and chose, I don’t know how to get rid of a virus so I work slowly and mostly by longhand.  I can write, setup, store (save) and print with some organization, but I use index cards, too.  It is all hard copy and snail mail.

park concert’s final note -
a red Frisbee
thumps the bass drum

Near the garden fence
dreams we planted grew up high
touching blue, blue sky

A rin-tinny day
Rusty memories
Caught in gusts of wind

An oracle wakes -
Misty smoke curls rise
Out of winter’s ice

early morning wind
whispering through meadow grass
an ancient love song

turning windmill
-cold air rising
in great sobs

a little red drum,
a reed flute and tambourine
left beside the pond

A lonely flute played
in a castle by the sea
many years ago

Floating under rocks,
a broken oar and tattered sail
grabbing at the sea

A juniper bush
squared on top - an open box
full of winter wind.

Morning follows night,
moon falls into paradise,
listen to the sun.

One small butterfly
floats across an easy wind
on an endless day

Alone, on the beach
our nets fill with starry night
driftwood and seashells

Rich trees, glossy leaves
clumps of moss beside the creek
mornings full of rain

and, yes, yes, we will continue onto the/a second real/surreal issue (bless you) of togethering a poetry anthology within the next few posts - and, last, a poem 
from ayaz daryl nielsen - 

embarrassed    our hammock    gossips

ok, alright!  maybe this post did become one poem (mine) too long - nonetheless, nonethemore - 

- see you in a moment -  

ayaz daryl nielsen

Margaret D McGee + estimated time of (anthology) completion

estimated time of arrival:    bear creek haiku  the anthology

first/best guestimate (wish) was:  to have an anthology, a best of bear creek haiku, completed by this past Christmas/New Year - now, it appears days of completion will be February (yes, of 2013, not 2014!) - and this seems a reasonable questimate!  Questimate (ok, perhaps it should be guestimate, but, still, another cool word) and, surely, guestimate is a loverly word!  It can be spelled guesstimate or guestimate (well, let’s assume it can) and a word composed of guest and mate (a statement of us, you and I, as buddies/friends and I can come to your house and eat homemade chocolate cake most any time - and let's skip even the thought of asparagus - ice creme would work just fine, however) - is loverly! (loverly:  too much Mary Poppins somewhere in nightshades of a past, so, please, forgive me)

howsoever!  the above does not mean quality/integrity of poets/poetry within said anthology isn’t beyond even loverlynesses!  and!  as proof positive, will share this sample: a bio and poetry from Margaret D. McGee! ! !

Margaret D. McGee

When I feel grounded in creation and connected through the stories and places of my life, I am better able to live authentically.  As a writer and teacher, I work with various practices of attention and mindfulness to develop a sense of connection and being at home in the cosmos.  I'm the author of Haiku - The Sacred Art and Sacred Attention, both published by SkyLight Paths.  My first book, Stumbling Toward God, was published by Innisfree Press.  My web site, "In the Courtyard" at, is the home of online classes, retreats, and other resources that celebrate mindful practices leading to authentic life, as well as a reservoir of original reflections, meditations, prayers, and poetry.

harvest moon
another layer of duct tape
on the garden gloves

a slug beats me 
to the strawberry

       a mushroom caps
       the old fence post
I will be what I will be

stove smoke
circles up; a paisley scarf
rests beside the ax

night balancing day -
across the fence, mist clings
to withered fields

community theatre
latecomers cleave
to single seats

60th birthday--
dirt under my fingernails
sap rising in my veins

morning already
walking to the new school
the long way around

leaf buds
on the prickly rose. . .
mom’s birthday call

camp tea  
        flames die to ember
                  while ravens mutter

cool beans and wet noodles!  (remember wet noodles?  if not, and you so choose, see past post eleven things everyone should know about wet noodles)

and I shall end this post with a poem of my own -

red-winged blackbirds
no two eggs from the same male
well, that’s blackbirds!

alright, alright, maybe this post was that last poem too long - (maybe not? oh, so it’s yes? ok, shucks) - but/and! -

- see you in a moment -

ayaz daryl nielsen

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

a treatise of emptiness

otiose on Bald Mountain and p l wick

a return to Bald Mountain (with an assist from p l wick)


Often I go to the mountain
and lean against 
quiet rock 
quiet rocks that 
rose from the earth  
millions of years ago

Again, a black brim hat 
for damp morning mist 
a quiet rock 
to lean against 
beneath aspen leaves 
among aster, columbine,
pasque and penstemon

Maybe there’s more I can do
beyond what I have willed
and may have accomplished

Resting beside quiet rock
that rose from the earth
millions of years ago
Plenty enough for this fine day.

and there's the usual unusual activity in nearby mountains:

any moonlit night
if no one’s looking
bristlecone pine
zumba and salsa
(the raven says so)

and!  we’ll also ask the versifier of bard valley p l wick about immersion in the usual unusual:

With deliberation                p l wick
I soak my
  trail-grimed bandana
in Bard Creek -
which “bard” 
  is unknown.
Today, I can hope 
to infuse
the Tao of poetic
from this jubilant
spring run-off
born of high blue ice
and endless
  seasons in time.

perhaps today,
simply a beer--
immersed leisurely
  in the frigid waters,
wedged between stones
in the fires
of earth’s memories

see you in a moment -

ayaz daryl nielsen 
(and a thank you to p l wick)

the shy dryad of Bald Mountain

    Nearby Bald Mountain is a most beloved place - at one time, Arapahoe seekers underwent vision quests there - Chogyam Trungpa, Rinpoche, once (and still?) our most major local (and international) spiritual figure would lie on Bald Mountain under the huge Butterscotch Pine to recharge his internal batteries.
    Judith (Partin-Nielsen) and I were married on Bald Mountain by Antonio, an Apache shaman - Big Joe Mohr (see a prior post, if you so choose) was one of our folk who offered blessings, poems were read, including one written by Dave Church (also of same prior post).

    And!  A shy dryad lives on Bald Mountain!  The following poem is of and was given to her (written by us) - as this year begins, will share it with you - 

message for a shy dryad  

Speak up!
Be gentle and persuasive
they’re waiting for

your words

Talk with trembling leaves

They know your voice, your
bloodlines and passions

Speak of them, your
words within

autumn winds

Speak of the restlessness
of leaves

upon trees.

(and, one more)

early autumn snowfall
    upon Bald Mountain
    upon my sandals

(other poems of similar sorts are to be found in the poetry collections ‘tumbleweeds  still tumbling' and 'Concentric Penumbras of the Heart', both 'from within the fierce funhouse of poetry with ayaz daryl nielsen')

see you in a moment -
                                 (perhaps on Bald Mountain?)

ayaz daryl nielsen