After The I Hate to Cook Cookbook (1961) How scattered I am: post-spouse, with company coming; in Florida in my earthquake gown, in my eelskin slingbacks and electric mink stole. I tried to make puff paste with sweating hands; butter in the KitchenAid, covered in Everglaze; apocalyptic looking and
Appointed poet laureate of the state of Florida on June 15, 2015, Peter Meinke is the author of over twenty books of poetry. He has received many awards, including a Fulbright Fellowship, two National Endowment for the Arts Fellowships, and three prizes from the Poetry Society of America. He worked at Eckerd College until 1993, when he retired. During his time at the college, he founded and directed its Writing Workshop.
Sep 24 2017
The Ancient City Poets will host a community open mic reading on Sunday September 24th from 3:00 to 4:30 at Corazon Cinema and Cafe (36 Granada Street, Saint Augustine, across from the Lightner Museum).
36 Granada Street32084 Saint Augustine, Florida
recent & featured listings
|Writing Program||University of South Florida||Florida|
|Writing Program||University of Miami MFA Program||Florida|
|Writing Program||University of Central Florida||Florida|
|Small Press||The University Press of Florida||Florida|
|Literary Magazine||The Tampa Review||Florida|
|Landmark||The Poet Homes of Key West, FL||Florida|
|Literary Magazine||The Florida Review||Florida|
|Literary Organization||The Cypress Dome Society||Florida|
|Literary Magazine||Subtropics Review||Florida|
|Literary Organization||South Florida Writers' Association||Florida|
She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly body, fluttering Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry, That was not ours although we understood, Inhuman, of the veritable ocean. The sea was not a mask. No more
Barque of phosphor On the palmy beach, Move outward into heaven, Into the alabasters And night blues. Foam and cloud are one. Sultry moon-monsters Are dissolving. Fill your black hull With white moonlight. There will never be an end To this droning of the surf.