8.6.16                                  By Chuck Wanager


images (1)

Sturgeon moon

August Augustus

heat maximus

sky high

clouds light

air too

trend fall

too soon


Leaves traitors

shrink turn

glory seekers

garden gone

weeds flow

pest abuse

tomato wrinkles

skin scourge

melon hulk

hunkers under


Birthday fleet

no classes

school nears

new shoes

distant past


Captive image

thumb locked

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The world made fresh

Everyone, please check out the review of my poetry book, Taking our love offline, below. As the review says, my work does give a fresh view of the world. See the review, please, and then give my poems a read. I think you will enjoy them. Thanks again to Bob Covel, an English professor and great poet himself, for the article.

Here is the link to the review:

Check it out, please!

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Kickstarter campaign launched

Dear friends:
I have launched a Kickstarter campaign to raise funds — $5,000 — to help defray costs of writing
my next novel, Some Important Information about Up, including book-purchases, promotion and
other necessities of taking a book from creation to sales. Like Bob
O’Kelley said in his email earlier today, you don’t have to donate,
we will still be friends — and — I won’t try to avoid you.
Kickstarter URL is:
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Contents under pressure

What happens
when you shake
your dream?
Does it fizz
drip by drip?

Or flow
big and

Or does it
with rattle
and spit?

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Book signing/reading set

Chuck Wanager will hold a presentation/reading/book signing of is memoir, Play Sgt. Pepper one more time, on April 29 at Underground Books, 102 Alabama St., Carrollton, Ga. beginning at 6 p.m. Everyone invited to attend a great evening with the author up close and talking about his book and writing. Treats will be served and the author will be available for questions following the presentation. Y’all come!
Snapshot 2 (4-21-2016 5-04 PM)

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Writer Dude reading his poetry at poetry session 4.8.16

Chuck at poetr presentation 4.8.16

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Getting rid of things

The design shop owner talked on her phone to a friend,

a big brown box of Grandma’s china sat on the counter,

an arc of my covenant, an opening in top where the

word could get out, but not this day.


Yes, she would see her friend soon, the owner said.

She walked around a table in burnt umber and talked

and gazed to the sun and mouthed words

and I faded. Could I give this up?


These willows and peacock hovering in

blue jasmine on bone white? Came out on holidays

and we saw them and admired them and Grandma

ran her hand across them and gazed into our past.


Grandma always said it was Blue Willow,

a special kind of plate with a special pattern with a

special kind of value, too. Did she know the difference?

The woman and others, too, shook their heads.


My throwing-out period began a few weeks before,

and I went to a shop and a crusted old man

with skin bone white and dirt patina

said he would give me $20 for it all.


What? I should just give away my arc?

Yeah, I know it’s not Blue Willow and, yeah,

I know the market has gone to hell

in a brown box, but for that? Just that? I went away.


I waited for the woman. When she put down her

phone, she said, yeah, not so much.

And I went back to the dirt man and

he was closed. For the day.


Sun came up warm now with a promise of even

warmer as April dawned. “When does he open?”

meaning that day, I asked.

“Come back tomorrow morning.” a man said.



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