tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38185312024-02-20T21:17:29.692-06:00Tom GeddieTom Geddie is a poet, music journalist, essayist, and creative writing teacher with a multi-award winning background in corporate and not-for-profit communiction. He lives in Van Zandt County in northeast Texas. Email Tom at geddiependrift@aol.com.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comBlogger103125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-37602630873628803382012-12-18T14:04:00.001-06:002012-12-18T14:04:21.385-06:00
Winter Souls
free verse poetry;
copyright 2012
Cover blurbs:
“Do you have an inkling what
a treasure you can be . . .” – Hank Beaukema
“This
made me cry. The good kind; the hard kind.” – Tiffany Shea
“All
my life I've tried to surround myself with only the best art and artists . . .”
– Rick Yost
“Subtle and spare, yet richly
textured. Startlingly original. Perhaps my favorite Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-4694560279348062192012-08-18T18:33:00.002-05:002012-08-18T18:33:57.395-05:00
When the Beauty of the Dancer
free verse poetry; copyright 2012
cover art by Deanna Adams
Cover blurbs:
“. . . exquisite and poignant.” – Cathy Gould
“ . . . wry wit,
random insights, and vision.” – Sarah Clarke
“. . . master of all things beautiful, written, visual,
aural & of the heart . . . It makes me see & feel in ways I never have
before.” – Elizabeth Burnam
Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-33623407496416618402012-08-18T18:32:00.000-05:002012-08-18T18:32:16.278-05:00
I Love the Woman Who Lights the Stars Each Night
free verse poetry; copyright 2012
cover art by Joshua Richardson Kight
Cover blurbs:
“This collection is pretty amazing . . . Your words sing.” –
Terri Hendrix
“I love the courage and kindness of your poetry, its honesty
that’s dark yet leaves the road open for hope . . . You do know they’ll be
teaching classes about you as a poet Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-64282297646546352112012-08-18T18:30:00.001-05:002012-08-18T18:30:26.963-05:00
Seemingly Discontinuous Ramblings
short musings; copyright 2012
Cover blurbs:
“You distill joy & pain, light & dark, & hope
into such powerful images & thoughts. I was moved to tears at the beauty of
your writing. Everything you write makes me think, but these poems help me feel
in a new way. – Elizabeth Burnam
“These books are masterpieces.” – Terri Hendrix
“. . .Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-80342037722689732922012-08-18T18:28:00.002-05:002012-08-18T18:28:37.300-05:00
For She Was Once the Thief of Time
a novel for the 21st century, exploring two people together;
copyright 2010
Cover blurbs:
“Lyrical. Wise. Textured. Images that are so beautiful they
almost hurt . . . Your name will become classic and set new standards and
perspectives about how to view the world and express them. “ – Elizabeth Burnam
“These books are masterpieces . . . Your wordsTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-52289487382813411332012-08-18T18:26:00.003-05:002012-08-18T18:26:55.405-05:00
What Texas Music Really Is
selected music columns from Buddy Magazine; copyright 2009
Cover blurbs:
“Very good listener and very perceptive. I wish there were
more like you.” – Lloyd Maines
“Yours is a voice that at times reaches out gently and turns
my face back around to where I should be looking. Thank you for that.” - Nathan
Hamilton
“I really, really appreciate the careful Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-35750022202998814732012-08-18T18:23:00.001-05:002012-08-18T18:23:34.301-05:00
Love and Masks and Ghosts
essays from the trailer trash years; copyright 2009
Cover blurbs:
“ . . . an iconoclastic creative thinker in a world of
derivatives.” ¾ Mark Hughey
“. . . writes like he’s breaking out of jail.” ¾ Ray
Wylie Hubbard
“ . . . a complete artist with his use of language.” ¾
Terri Hendrix
“In an age where we are trying to Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-6885713015074267982012-08-18T18:20:00.002-05:002012-08-18T18:20:59.603-05:00
He Dreamed Fragments
short fiction collected from limited edition chapbooks; copyright
2009
Cover blurbs:
“. . . always
thoughtful/beautiful/disturbing in the best possible way.” – Sarah Lynn Fisher
“You meticulously splash bold red hues throughout a
seemingly transparent, fragile piece . . . never seeming to allow the bold to
overtake or even bleed into the pristine thought Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-76114885190239685452012-08-18T18:17:00.005-05:002012-08-18T18:17:37.193-05:00
Stolen Lies
free verse poetry collected from limited edition chapbooks;
copyright 2009
Cover blurbs:
“These are poems I will read again and again. You rekindled
my love of poetry . . . ” – Jory Sherman
“Tom Geddie’s poetry falls somewhere between Wallace
Stevens’ subtle layers of thoughtfulness and the blunt, brutal grit of
Bukowski.” – Nathan Hamilton
“Good poetry Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-18214188618394027572010-01-26T13:55:00.001-06:002010-01-26T13:57:21.634-06:00Dreaming With BeautyThe first morning of the zero years began, for me, driving back to Dallas from San Antonio where I spent New Year’s Eve 1999 at the funky old Cibolo Creek Country Club listening to the music and some of the hopes of Terri Hendrix, Ray Wylie Hubbard, Lloyd Maines, and friends. A bagpiper in full regalia took the stage to summon the decade with his squalling, somehow still Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-77911823679037703022010-01-26T13:52:00.000-06:002010-01-26T13:55:24.151-06:00Hudnall Planetarium, Tyler Texas21 November 2009I’ve beento Venusand to MarsI knowseveral of the starsI’ve beeneast of Jupiter,and I’ve seen Fateon two fists,I count the people I hatethe spoon feeds methe moon touches methe loon sings for me –its song all night longwilling souls to the heavensReality intrudes. Venus is a small town south of Dallas. Mars was an even smaller town between Ben Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-72948593904608109032009-09-03T22:13:00.000-05:002009-09-03T22:15:27.264-05:00Human progress remains a struggle despite our tired, stumbling trot along the rutted road just out of reach of the torchbearers who would bludgeon us, would pull us to the ground and drag us backward in the darkness.We are still on the early edge of human possibilities, like we are still in the Big Bang.The September issue of Scientific American deals with origins of all sorts, telling us that Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-69510166729386366522009-08-06T21:36:00.000-05:002009-08-06T21:38:03.043-05:00CONTENT WARNING: If you are easily offended by political or cultural opinions other than your own, please do not read this eletter.I Will Worry, I Suppose, But I Will Not Hate Nor Will I FearAugust 2009 email newsletter, Vol. 2, #006I will not live in a shroud of fear. I will not wander in a cold night fog of rumors. I will live with some sort of hope. And trust.Today, I photographed the dried Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-44402775035216930032009-07-05T14:05:00.001-05:002009-07-05T14:07:19.984-05:00Patience, Rhetoric, and Common RealitiesJuly 2009 email newsletter, Vol. 2, #005The night fell like freedom on the oppression of the day’s heat. After spending much of the day shooting photographs at an Independence Day celebration in tiny Ben Wheeler, Texas, I got home and finished reading a novel, Gregory Maguire’s “Son of a Witch,” that is the sequel to his “Wicked,” the real story of the Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-28895408950315777372009-06-03T20:03:00.001-05:002009-06-03T20:04:49.021-05:00An Unfortunate MythContemplate the unfortunate myth of common knowledge in a world that may, indeed, too often seem culturally vapid but is not as common as we too often believe it to be.Sandra Day O’Connor, surely a wise old woman, once said, and is recently and often quoted as saying, that a wise old man and a wise old woman would come up with the same solution. That simplistic statement, Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-70268084944197719132009-05-28T19:48:00.002-05:002009-05-28T19:50:29.982-05:00What We Do To Each Other And OurselvesConsider, for a moment, what we do to each other. And to ourselves. Consider what we could do for each other. And for ourselves. For several days, I planned to write about mentoring but the thoughts never came together well enough. Never felt more than ordinary. We (all of us) have the opportunity, though, to share. That’s a better word than mentor, I believeTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-10543487112387331682009-05-28T19:44:00.004-05:002009-05-28T19:48:12.105-05:00Souls, the Edge of Madness, and WritingI dialed a phone number last week and, when a lady answered, said, “I’m looking for Mercy.” A week ago, I sent a Facebook message that began, “Thank You, Jesus.” Both statements, if I had a sense of humor anymore, would have seriously tickled me. I did, in fact, laugh, alone at home, several times about each statement because both were just Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-55096384636729491062009-05-28T19:44:00.001-05:002009-05-28T19:44:44.290-05:00the bluster of winter windthe blusterof winter windbefore the edge of springbarely stirs the surfaceof stagnant green waterthick with the sludge of clichéd excuseswhere evil comes from(“Some said the original evil was the vacuum caused by the Fairy Queen Lurline leaving us alone here,” from Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, by Gregory Maguire)belief, like brittle leavesTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-54524195106833806222009-05-28T19:41:00.001-05:002009-05-28T19:42:44.772-05:00Joy in Tonight’s SunsetI see joy in tonight’s sunset, which looks like fire low and long across the horizon after an odd day of human contact. It’s time for a sleepless night or for dreams. Nearby, the Neches, which bubbles up out of earth a mile or two from here, barely flows. Some people call it the last wild river in Texas; it moves slowly through trees and tangled brush where the snakes lie. Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-47078620769512867492009-05-28T19:39:00.001-05:002009-05-28T19:41:23.747-05:00Diamonds and DistanceThe bell tolls for joy. Once, twice, three times. More. Slow peals that resonate over and over as we pause in our daily routines to listen. To realize. There are many kinds of joy. One of the greatest joys should be, but never is, a simple one: finding someone to talk comfortably with. It’s rare. Not daily chatter, but trusts shared with enough ease to walk in shadows as wellTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-29025126466461749092009-05-28T19:36:00.001-05:002009-05-28T19:38:59.212-05:00THREE DREAMS IN MY NEW HOMEThe magic castle morphed. Instead of living in what looked like a 30-footlong, 240-square-foot trailer as I thought I did for the past four years, I now live in a simple-seeming, 500-square-foot house that’s just big enough for my needs.There’s hot water for showers and dishes. There’s a washer and a dryer for clothes. There’s a fairly big, covered front porch with two Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-62440972308447570932009-05-28T19:32:00.001-05:002009-05-28T19:36:26.246-05:00HOW TO EXPLAIN AMERICAHow would I explain today’s America and the world to a bright, doubly sheltered young woman? She’s 19, with a shy smile and a sly sense of humor. With her fairly long, fairly angular body she evokes, just a bit, a Calder mobile only prettier and infinitely more interesting. She seems to be a really fine, conscientious person, but doubly sheltered: raised in Northeast Texas, Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-21408980405111256802008-10-02T13:15:00.002-05:002008-10-02T13:18:02.253-05:00Angels of Life & Death & Lunch & DinnerIt is cool enough this morning that I put on a long-sleeved T-shirt and a dark plaid flannel shirt over that. Some of the flowers I recently planted near the edge of the forest bloom red and yellow; no doubt they will grow strong to add even more quiet joy next year.I am restless. I seek to define the single or primary unifying idea for these Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-70174417033525034042008-08-31T15:11:00.001-05:002008-08-31T15:13:55.638-05:00Covenants and FlowersMid-morning on a late-summer day. Not too hot yet. Before lunch, I walk down to the former brier patch to admire my earlier 10 days of work swinging a machete and collecting and burning the tangled cortex of stems and thorns to make a shaded clearing at the forest’s edge. I feel good about the clearing, and I don’t really mind the tiny shoots of new briers already popping up;Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3818531.post-11633111386038500632008-08-04T15:56:00.002-05:002008-08-04T15:58:45.600-05:00Battling the Brier PatchA purging, of sorts. Or perhaps just a simple cleansing. Or an even simpler effort to sweat and build physical muscle while I let my mind wander. During the past week or so, I spent about 10 late-July, early-August afternoon hours swinging a long-handled weed chopper and a machete along the edge of the magical ancient forest, then collecting and burning the tangled cortex Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10608972675229926465noreply@blogger.com