Ann Walters has a poem called Zen and the Art of Knitting Socks which just came out in the anthology, Eating Her Wedding Dress: A Collection of Clothing Poems, available at amazon.com. Ann is an amazing poet, and you can see some of her previous work by following the links in these posts:
I got a very exciting email yesterday from Sharon, who writes under the pen name, Ann Walters, that her work has been nominated by the Ballard Street Poetry Journal for the Pushcart Prize. This is a highly coveted award among writers; I would compare it to an actor being nominated for the Emmys. Super cool.
You can view my previous write-up about the nominated piece here (a poem called After Three Hours of Screening Dirt at Heshotauthla), visit her blog, called Field Notes, or view more of her work at The Adroitly Placed Word, the site from which the following stanza was taken (part of the poem called More Than the Sum):
“I am grit
in the rattling red bed
of a dusty pickup truck.”
A nice woman named Sharon left a comment on one of my posts recently, which I followed to her blog, which I followed to the Books Section of an online UK newspaper called Guardian Unlimited which features a Poetry Workshop where each month a different published poet sets out a challenge for readers and then chooses pieces to critique from the responses.
Sharon, who publishes under the pen name of Ann Walters, had one of her poems, titled Peace, shortlisted and published at the site. The poem begins:
“She couldn’t see the forest for the origami cranes
that flew from every tree, their wings beating
like a thousand paper ghosts in the shape of
Scroll down to the bottom of this page to read the entire poem.
Edit: I didn’t realize it at the time I originally posted this (for some reason, her name didn’t register — senior moment), but I have also featured a poem of Ann Walters’ previously on this blog here.
After Three Hours of Screening Dirt at Heshotauthla is the name of Ann Walters’ poem, found at the Ballard Street Poetry Journal. It begins:
“From her open palm sweat rises,
and oil, dust, a thousand exhalations
of the nerves…”
Read the rest of this short poem by Walters, a former physical anthropologist and archaeologist, or visit the Ballard Street Poetry Journal homepage.