FirstBlog

Welcome to 2015! I trust that you all had a safe and happy new year and a wonderful holiday season. I know I did. One of the best ever in fact. I was honored to host my siblings (my brother and sister-in-law visiting from Chicago, my sister visiting from Seattle and my other brother whom just moved back from California.), my mother, my maternal grandparents and my aunt. It was my first time hosting my favorite holiday and, while we did have some Griswoldian moments (Our Christmas tree fell down), overall, it went off without too many hitches. But, with the conclusion of Christmas comes the new year, and all of its promises of fresh starts. I make resolutions each year and, like most of us, I have abandoned them by February 1st. Will this year be any different? I have no idea, but I'll resolve to keep my resolutions this year. I have personal and vocational goals which will stay with my spouse and employer respectively but, with you, my friends and readers, my writing goals ar...

Here's another poem from my book, Digging to China . I've attempting to cross promote it by doing some video trailers and readings. Here's another, of the poem Flailing Empty Capillaries , set to Mozart's magnificent Piano Concerto #21. I've purposely used a slow piece and slow moving screen shots to force the reader to slow down and consume the poem. It's a fun experiment and I hope you find it pleasing. Below is the text of the poem (slightly different from the video version). Enjoy the video! Don't have a Kindle? That's okay! Email me and I'll tell you how you can get a copy! Flailing Empty Capillaries by Justin W. Price You were there from birth, passed down from father to son, waltzing through my veins. My muse. We embraced, perfectly on pitch, a song, and then I found another and I left you. I see you tattooed on my wrists. Thick black lines, a G and an F. My former muse, permanent over my ...

This one is brand new-- written today. I'll leave it up for 48 hours, since i'm looking for serious critiques. The bulk of this came to me in the deep, dark night... Thanks for your feedback!

Thanks to Audra Leigh Fisher for helping me workshop this. The poem will be up for 24 hours, though I will be retaining the post and your comments, so feel feel to comment and critique. This poem is currently going through the submission process. It will be removed from this space at 9:10 am Thursday, Feb 19th. Thank you all for reading and commenting. I hope you enjoyed this first installment and I hope you enjoy the future ones. I appreciate your input! You may see another draft of this version at some point, here or on hubpages.

Greetings my friends, I trust that you all paid, filed, or evaded your taxes yesterday. I'm thankful for all my new followers. My latest hub, Bricks , was very misunderstood. I am not leaving Hubpages, I am merely changing my direction. The reasons for this are two fold. 1. I do not want to have anything I have a personal, emotional attachment to to be stolen. If I'm pouring my heart and soul into something, I don't want some no talent hack stealing from it and profiting from it. Hubpages is now a big enough site that it's a target for thieves and as such, I will mostly be publishing works like my music hubs, my TV show hubs, advice and recipes. I will not be removing any hubs, but I will likely not be publishing any first time poems or short stories to my hub anymore. However, if they have been published elsewhere or soundly rejected tons of times, then it will go up. It'll just be less frequent. Which brings me to point number two, and then my announcement...

I'm very frustrated with hubpages at the moment. Not only does my hubber score keep dropping (and I have no idea how it's determined, but, I do know if I fall below 75, I get the dreaded "no-follow" attached to my profile. I recently published a piece called Loudbraries and it keeps getting denied publication as"substandard". The frustrating part is, I do not write substandard anything. moreover, they haven't shown me what specifically they take objection with, so, even though I've edited it, I keep resubmitting it and it keeps getting denied. I'm probably flirting with a ban, but that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. This has never happened and it's very frustrating for me. If this keeps up, i will simply publish the article here. But, enough of that. My poem I Spilled My Corn Flakes was published on the hub several months ago. I was never happy with the format over there, so, I've decided to republish it here in the ...

my latest poem. Brief, yet packed with meaning. The Lies We Know Knowing lies told concurrent with the televisions’ three-piece suited viceroy. He with his news paper and faint red lipstick on his collar. She smelling of foreign cologne the original

Originally published by me here Up on roofs the city lights break up the night skyscrapers piercing the moon bathing us tonight Up on roofs towers blinking kids spray stinking paint across concrete walls young artists sneaking Up on roofs wine filled cups and cigarette butts emit nicotine clouds and solace to us Up on roofs moonlight ascends and dawn pretends, with pinkish purple light, to send us to bed. copyright 2011 Justin W Price

Update: I've decided to self publish a poetry collection through Lulu until I can find a major publisher. I will be working on the book this coming week. If you're interested in a copy, send me a private message . This collection will have final drafts of many poems on the HUB and some you've never seen before. I'm very excited about this and, even though self publishing is not the same as being published, it'll still be nice to see my books in print and, possibly, in book stores. thank you all for your kind support. View the original here THE BATTLE OF BUNK BED RIDGE The little green men were made of plastic and fashioned like heroes from world war two. Some held bazookas. Others: mortars. Machine guns. Pistols. Mine sweepers. Hand grenades, molded in constant readiness. Some drove tanks. Others crawled through imaginary mud. They all stood on feet, or crouched with knees, melted to plastic stands. Some took shelter behind sandbags. The brave...