So Many Voices

Poetic Matrix Press’

So Many Voices Cover

20th Anniversary Authors’ Anthology

246 pages, Price $20.00, available from Small Press Distribution (SPD) www.spdbooks.org

With material from our 60 books and 45 authors (including new pieces from many) this is a true reflection of So Many Voices that we have had the privilege of publishing. This is an interesting and beautiful compliment to our publishing efforts. With editorial assistance from John Peterson, James Downs and Joe Milosch and Forward from James and John and cover art from Molly Weller.

Kim Shuck, Francisco X. Alarcón, James Downs, Shadab Zeest Hashmi, john (peterson), Diana Festa, Anne Whitehouse, Patricia Nelson, Brandon Cesmat, Joseph Miloach, Ashley Gene Pinkerton, Arthur W. Campbell, Mun Duk-su, Peter Gibson Friesen, Joseph Zaccardi, Hassan El-Tayyab, Joe O’Connell, Joan Michelson, Leroy Franklin Moore, Jr., Grace Marie Grafton, Yearn Hong Choi, Lyn Lifsin, Rayn Roberts, Chris Olander, Molly Weller, Charles Entrekin, Gail Rudd Entrekin, Sandra Lee Stillwell, Tomás Gayton, Joel Netsky, J. P. Linstroth, Ruth Rosenthal, Bonnie Joanna Gisel, Peter and Donna Thomas, Reverend James Fox, Alex Landon and Elaine Halleck, and many more.

Joe O’Connell

From our 20th Anniversary Anthology

Dingle Day
poems by Joe O’Connell

Music-energy
In Flanders fields
Did Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band
Buoy us up on a Spring morning
With a driving force,
Ebullient, hoarse and sound,
Prophetic energy about nothing much really
Or everything
That a young sub-prime man should feel,
The world and its promise wheeling under his heel.
In rushy Kerry fields, actually,
Were these musical propellers felt,
The sun winning supremely over the fluffy clouds
For attention received unsolicited
Like a fancied one,
Its power and beauty constant,
Immutable and impermeable to any move,
Indifferent to the machinations
Of an earth bound offspring.
Halloevening
That fairies, or pucai, don’t exist
In the glaringly obvious physical sense
Is utterly besides the point
To any celtically attuned
Consciousness
Centred and diffused
Through the pale, cold autumnal
Halloevening thin air
In damp, mushroomy, rushy fields
Amongst meditative bovines,
Mysterious sheep, wild-eyed goats
And furtive little beings,
Who, surprised, turn their independent eyes
Almost, yet somehow more than human,
Towards yours questing,
Knowing something, arrogantly conveyed,
That your quest will never find.