Puddles of Sky Press is working full-steam-ahead. The spring 2015 titles have all been printed and are currently being cut, folded, sewn/stapled and pressed. I’m proud of these books, and so glad to have published Christine Miscione’s short story Hallelujah, and Andrew Nurse’s New & Selected Poems The Hopeful Barnacle. I’m also glad to have published my own chapbook of poetry, check engine. rhinoceros. tungsten.

We’re launching all three titles this Saturday in Peterborough, Ontario, as part of The-Great-Mini-South-Western-Ontario Prose & Poetry Tour. See below for details.

The chapbooks will be available to order online by May 11th.

May 2, Peterborough

Curated
5-203 Simcoe Street,
Peterborough, ON
K9H 2H6

Christine Miscione
Michael e. Casteels
Andrew Nurse
Justin Million

Reading at 3pm
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May 3rd Hamilton

LitLive
Homegrown Hamilton
27 King William St.
Hamilton ON

Michael e. Casteels
Nicholas Papaxanthos
Ariel Gordon
Andrew Forbes
Valerie Nielsen
Kate Marshall Flaherty
Patrick Friesen

Reading at 7:30pm
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May 4th, Guelph

The Bookshelf
41 Quebec Street,
Guelph, ON
N1H 2T1

Christine Miscione
Michael e. Casteels
Sarah Richardson
Bieke Stengos

Reading at 7:30pm
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May 5th, Toronto

Boneshaker Reading Series
1748 St. Clair Ave. West
Toronto, Ontario
M6N 1J3

Christine Miscione
Michael e. Casteels

Reading at 7pm
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Last week I was asked to contribute to The Whig Standard's 'AboutBooks' section. This column asked a few Kingston poets what poetry means to each of us, or more simply: Why Poetry? Here is my response:

Poetry transports me in a way no other writing can. I approach the writing of a poem with only a vague notion of what it will become, the possibilities being endless: a thousand page epic or a single letter on an otherwise blank sheet of paper. When I write, I’m never certain what will show up next. Sometimes it’s a delightful surprise, like a visit and old from friend who’s been lost at sea. Sometimes it’s startling, a shark in the bathtub. There are times when I finish a poem and something entirely unexpected has happened: a goldfish has appeared, swimming around my head. I wonder, where did that goldfish come from? It certainly wasn’t there when I began writing, or if it was, it was lost in the ether, oscillating between dimensions, and I’m just one of the chosen, the blessed, lucky enough to have caught a glimpse.