Although I've dabbled in haibun, I still have a lot to learn about this literary form.
However, I am happy to report that one of my pieces has been accepted by a journal for publication in July.
Click HERE to book Neva to read, speak, or lead a workshop at your next event.
Today I received notice that my poem "Eleionomae" will be published in June. I'll post details at that time.
Today I'm happy to see my poem "Summer Son" published by BELLE RÊVE LITERARY JOURNAL.
Here's a link to read the poem and explore other writers in the journal.
Seven things I wish someone had told me about writing. This article by Hala Alyan offers great advice.
I enjoyed speaking at the Coffee Night event sponsored by UVa-Wise's literary journal Jimson Weed. My poem "Persistence" appears in this edition.
Here's a link to an article about the event: http://www.highlandcavalier.com/2017/04/16/coffee-night-at-uva-wise/
In honor of National Poetry Month, I'm sharing one of my favorite poems. It's from the book Kettle Bottom by Diane Gilliam Fisher. This is a very powerful and moving piece.
I turned the quilt over on the bed
when the neighbor women come in
to cover the mirrors and stop the clocks,
hang black crepe over the doorframe.
Onliest pretty thing I had, that quilt.
Not a old feedsack quilt, but a Wreath
of Hollyhocks, cut from Aunt Zelly’s
pattern and done up from a piece
of double-pink Mama brought me
from Kermit, soft Nile green for the leaves,
and new bleached muslin to put it on.
I quilted every inch, stitches no bigger
than a speck of meal. He wasn’t home,
night I finished. I put it on the bed,
took my clothes, and got under it.
When I heard him in the kitchen,
I called and told him it was done,
And you know what Mama says, Harlan,
you get a wish, first night under a new quilt.
It got real quiet, then here he come
running. I’d put out the light,
he knocked his shin on the cedar chest
trying to get to me on the bed.
I was fixing to fold it up, get it
out of my sight, when the siren blowed.
I didn’t go. I already knowed.
The quilt was ruint. Big oily smudges
and coal-black handprints where he hadn’t
finished washing up. I cried and carried on so
when I seen it that morning
he couldn’t look at me before he left,
it made him feel so dirty and bad.
I turned the quilt over on the bed
to keep them on me,
I'm pleased to announce that I will be one of the featured authors at Coffee Night to celebrate its latest edition of Jimson Weed. This event takes place at The University of Virginia's College at Wise on April 11.
I am from hoarded photos,
shoved in a drawer,
wrinkled young faces
folded against time.
“Where I’m From.” Bluestone Review (Spring 2007).
I'm pleased to announce that BELLE RÊVE LITERARY JOURNAL will publish my poem "Summer Son" in May. I'll post a link when it appears.
“It wasn’t the coyote in the back of the Ranchero. The cop saw me tossing carpet tacks onto the road. He didn’t see the coyote until he pulled us over.”
I shook my head, but my thoughts didn’t get any clearer. I massaged one temple as I asked my brother, “Did you say coyote?”
“Yeah. Jed and me were up on one of those old strip jobs, just driving around. It ran out in front of us. He nicked it with the front bumper. We thought it was dead at first, but when we saw it breathing, I tied it up in the back of the truck with some baling twine and duct tape.”
I didn’t know what to question first. Why was Sawyer throwing carpet tacks in the road? Why kidnap a coyote? What were they doing at an abandoned surface mine? Actually, I was pretty sure the answer to that last one was drinking.
From “Spooky Action at a Distance.” Jimson Weed, vol. XXXV, new series vol. 19, no. 1 (Spring 2016).
I offer a New Year's blessing to all my readers and fellow writers. I wish for you good health, peace of mind, and great reading! Love always - Neva.
I've been invited to speak to a group of writers at the Russell County Public Library in celebration of National Novel Writing Month. Happy #NaNoWriMo everybody!
November 1, 2016...6:00 PM...Lebanon, VA
“You are a beautiful tragedy. My grievous angel. Here, hold my eye.”
That's the first line of THICKER THAN WATER, my short story that appears on the Fried Chicken and Coffee blogazine.
You can read the entire story by clicking here.
I'm pleased to announce the publication of an untitled micro-poem in the print and online editions of Three Line Poetry Issue #39.
Three Line Poetry is dedicated to showcasing and celebrating three-line poems and poets.
The journal's tagline is keep it simple, zen will follow.
I'm pleased to announce that my short story "Bobby Boyd's Bad Eyes" is published online and in print at Inwood Indiana Press.
The print version is still at press, but the online version is live: http://inwoodindiana.com/bobby-boyds-bad-eyes-neva-bryan/
I'm writing a new book and it's unlike anything I've ever created. I'm excited about it but also scared. This one may be the most challenging project I've ever faced.
In the meantime, I'm pleased to announce that one of my short stories has been accepted for publication. I'll announce details when I know more.
"The sun woke me up slashing the walls with its bright yellow blades. I studied on the dust motes floating in the air for a while, then I got up and went to the bedroom. I saw right away it was a done deal. That’s when I called the police and told them to come on up to Pawpaw Ridge."
From "The Devil's Better Half." Floyd County Moonshine, (February 2009).
"Now I seek comfort in the liturgy
of late night laundry.
I roll towels into neat bundles,
pick lint from the dryer trap,
retrieve ragged t-shirts,
discover the one you got at Lollapalooza.
I bury my face in cotton,
inhale the clean smell of Clorox,
and fall out."
From "Night Laundry." Sawmill Boys, Brighid Editions (2010).
full of stardust
who abandons his wrench,
picks up his pen."
From "Wanted." Explorations (2009).
"I am coal dust and spun sugar,
honeysuckle and vinegar,
hollow and deadly as a cat’s paw."
From "Appalachian Goddess." Explorations (2009).
Find hard-faced boys
with anthracite eyes,
who were too wise too soon,
schooled in hell’s shafts,
seams and slack.
From “Appalachia, Man: Can You Dig It?” A! Magazine for the Arts, vol. 15, no. 4. (April 2008), print.
Climbing onto the porch of the old house,
we hide from piggy eyes, wiry hair, cursive tails,
sacks of lard with cloven hooves.
Stiff-legged, they stalk back and forth,
eyeing our fingers and toes.
From "Revenge." Sawmill Boys, Brighid Editions (2010).
When he cocked his head at me and grinned, I saw a slight gap between his two front teeth. As he smiled, his eyes darkened from coffee-and-cream to pure black liquid. His hair was the color of my Granny’s apple butter; I thought how sweet it would be to free it from its tight ponytail and watch it tumble down around me. Just looking at him made me hungry.
from "Sawmill Boys.” Appalachian Heritage, vol. 34, no. 4 (Fall 2006).
Copyright © 2016 Neva Bryan - All Rights Reserved.Contents of this site including text and media may not be reproduced without prior written consent.