Poemes That Stirre The Soule and Moove The Bowelles

About the Book

“In ‘Deep Space Probe To Poetria,’ we traversed the Galaxy to visit the home planet of the verbal invaders of our world, the Poetrians.  Then, returning in ‘Payload From Poetria,’ we brought back a cargo of poeple, i.e. Poetrians.  But, this familiarity with the realm of Poetrians caused the writer’s dark side to overpower and break through his consciousness as ‘Alter’ in ‘Musings Of The Mad Poet From Poetria,’ indicting Lauria as the Mad Poet, rather than he, the Parallel Universe Ego!  Now, Lauria re-emerges as the dominant poet, accepting the unjust designation ‘Mad,’ and sublimating his desire to avenge the indignity, by bringing forth a fourth book—not part of the Poetrian Trilogy, but one in which the Poetrians take on the work of unidentified anonymous internists (not to be confused with worms).  Their objective?  To stirre your soule and moove your bowelles!  Can they do it?  Well, let me report to you that mine soule hath been stirred and mine bowelles have been mooved!  Am I being too subjective, too presumptive, too everything else in thinking you will experience the same?  Perhaps, but that is for you to reflect upon after reading.  I can only assure you that once your soule is stirred, your bowelles will be moved!

Sincerely,

Anonymous

P.S.  I too, like the internists, must remain anonymous.  Why? So that my identity and fabulous career in the Arts does not overshadow Lauria’s.  Is this not awesome humility?  Let’s give it up for me!”

About the Author

From a marketing standpoint, how clever it would be for Jim to craft input here by saying, “For author information, refer to the back of each of his first three Poetry books, i.e. ‘Deep Space Probe to Poetria,’ ‘Payload From Poetria,’ and ‘Musings Of The Mad Poet From Poetria.’”  However, Jim is beyond clever—he is olde!  Yes, an olde man now beginning his eith decade (that means he’s seventy) of blessed passage here on this third planet from the Sun in a solar system wandering about the galaxy without a clue as to where it’s headed.  Though consigned to superannuation (check dictionary—chance to learn new words), he is in no way resigned to it, having more to say, more to write, more to draw than perhaps the limits of man’s years will allow; but hey, before ascending to the podium of the public audience, let’s make sure there’s enough in our bag to share till we run out of air, rather than be left holding an empty one with air to spare.  Yes, Jim is an olde, olde man indeed, with the same wife for almost fifty years—remarkable by today’s standards.  Having fathered four children, and their now having borne six of their own collectively, as of this writing, Jim’s demeanor, beginning with a twinkle (or is it a sparkle?) in his eye, makes one wonder if he is his own seventh grandchild himself, with no one strong enough to bear him, except those capable of carrying his books in mind and heart in that “About the Author” file folder his unknown audience maintains.

Can we resist a final leap to pluck from a low-hanging branch on the tree of life, a plum of a would-be one-liner?  No, not now, it’s too goode to leave hanging:

“Olde writers never die,

they just lie awake

under the covers

of their books.

Okay, now you can put this one on the shelf.