I recently had the great privilege of editing Mike Essig's latest poetry collection, THE BIOLOGY OF STRANGENESS, and I'm honoured to have been entrusted with such fantastic material. Putting together a book like this is every poetry geek's dream.

It's a beautifully textured assortment of poems, earthy yet lyrical, narrated by a voice that's uniquely grained with experience. There are pieces that will make you smile, think, wince; there are pieces that hit you in the gut out of nowhere; there are pieces that welcome you into them like old, worn-in shoes; there are pieces you will remember late some night when you're by yourself, and remembering them will make you feel less alone.

This collection of poetry makes you look at the banal and the everyday afresh; it finds magic and mystery in the mundane, and even Hawaiian shirts are poem-worthy when Mike Essig's writing about them.

The Kindle version is already available through Amazon.

A paperback edition is due out next month, and I can't wait to have a copy of this book on my shelf as well as on my e-reader.

Mike's previous poetry books, Never Forgotten and Huck Finn Is Dead are also available through Amazon and are excellent.  

From his author profile on B Star Kitty Press:

"Mike Essig is a veteran of Vietnam and a retired English teacher. He’s also been recruited by the muse as a poet, like he hadn’t already been through enough."

Sample poems, links to sales pages and more info can be found at the B Star Kitty Press website.  www(dot)bstarkittypress(dot)com.

Please do support this very talented indie author.

Come into my commune,
My farm
In the sky;
You won't be lonely
Baby,
Not by a hiker's mile

Let's climb
Into the morrow,
Throwing fear
To the wind

The curators
Of sorrow
Are seething within

They prey
On your pleasure
And worship your sin

Like vultures
They hover,
Like maggots
They win

Come into my commune,
My farm
In the sky;
And feast
On your freedom

Then bury your lies;

You won't be lonely
Baby,
Not by a hiker's mile

~ P
#AHikersMile
(12/20/2014)

When white men spit hatred through spiteful lips,
what will you do? Will you raise your fists?
When a white man kills a black teen without blinking,
will you turn from protests to riots without even thinking.
You want to prove something?
Prove that there is nothing a white man could do to break the black community.
Show that you will never fight fire with fire. Keep MLK alive, let him live in your city.
Beat hatred unconscious with love, and drown it in peaceful protest.
For, Mike Brown's death was only a test.

Don't shoot!
Can't you see my white palms
Not the black end of my black hands
Guilty until proven innocent
That's the predicament I was raised in
When I walk onto the subway, privilege holds for dear life the bag her daddy gave her, and yes by privilege I mean white.
Because based on my skin I'm automatically framed as a thief that lives too cheap to afford the Kors bag that she has.
Don't shoot!
I just found out my dog passed and decided I'd run fast and hold her tight before her last gasp.
But since I'm black and I'm running, the pigs start coming after me as if I created a catastrophe since the mask of me is black.
They corrupt the laws, use excessive force and pin me down to the ground when I was just trying to get to my hound.
Don't shoot!
Yes my windows are tinted and my skin is a shade the same but when you pull me over I'm not to blame for the drug ring that has your people suffering.
I sweat in fear for my life as I see red and blue lights wondering if I will live to see tomorrow's sunlight.
Because based on my tints and my rims and my skin I must be some criminal uncaught.
So as privilege approaches my door I must place my white palms on the wheel and plead to retrieve my license from the passengers seat.
Don't shoot!
Because if I was white I wouldn't need to fight for my right to life.
And I wouldn't have to fear the man that society told me would pull my hand if I raised it in a plea for help and welp,
That just isn't the case so based on my race I must remain on thin ice for the rest of my black life, yelling
Don't shoot!

Around this time of the year,
when the moon rises with the sun,
when I pretend that my breath is a cloud of smoke,
when fewer and fewer people leave their homes...
Around this time is when violence ends and forgiveness begins,
when people stand up for what they believe in,
when people speak their minds...
Around this time, I surround myself with the kindest people,
to fill the loneliness of my heart,
when I ponder and ponder,
how I became me,
and why I am where I stand,
I am filled with a myriad of emotions.
sadness. joy. regret. love.
I reminisce about these moments,
so that I may never forget,
that no matter where life takes us,
or what fate we await,
whether it be an adventure or a mission,
to fight for life,
to stop the killings...
And as we stand in the eye of the storm,
I remind myself,
that our life is an unbreakable force that pulls us together.
even during these darkest times,
I know that the light is just at the end of this tunnel.

"This innocent country set you down in a ghetto in which, in fact, it intended that you should perish… You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity, and in as many ways as possible, that you were a worthless human being. You were not expected to aspire to excellence: you were expected to make peace with mediocrity." - Baldwin

Rose is red ,
A face like yours,
begin in a zoo ,
dont be  mad ,
I will be there to ,
not in a cage but ,
laughing at u.

~~~~There is turmoil in the turning,
      Breakage in the bend,
    Talks of new beginnings,
  Whispers of the end.

  Screams of silence so deafening,
    Lips that move without a sound.
      Never knowing what's happening,
        Feeling lost, fighting to be found.

        Something on the surface,
      That begs for something more.
    The meaning in the purpose,
  The dangle of the lure.

  The escaping thoughts of mind,
    Lost to the strong willed
      Caught up in the social grind,
        The way of life was once killed.

        Oh!, and ain't it a shame?
      Staying still, while life races by
    Losing this grandest of games
  Barely floating, while everyone else can fly...

  That's where some will find themselves,
    Arms down by their side.
      Standing here if nowhere else,
        This, their lot in life.

hold up
let's keep it real
I see you weaving through the masses
pockets full of whatever
of whatever grabbed your attention
this week
now all you can do
is hope you don't
get caught
trying hard not to show your guilt
clawing at any minute chance
of an escape from the powerful
from the confinement brought upon you
against your will
against America's will
walking slow enough to seem unaffected
but quick enough not to draw suspicion
you're a coward
you're a thief
someone should take you out
"but my kids", you say
"but my girl is struggling", you plead
"but my ma is dying", you cry
"but I lost my job and-" handcuffs
sirens
shame
publicity
rough
life is freaking rough
now all you can do
is hope you don't
get shot
hold up