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About Mickey Kulp
Mick is a writer and father who is not allowed to buy his own clothes. His work has appeared in numerous consumer magazines, newspapers, literary journals, three books of poetry, and the Rocket Team series of children's picture books. He is a member of the Georgia Writers Registry and a founding member of both the Snellville Writers Group and Southern Fried Writers. In 2018, he created a quarterly reading series with a fundraiser for the local food co-op.
He lives with his wife and a dozen larcenous squirrels in Atlanta, GA. His next book is coagulating nicely.
More at www.MickeyKulp.com.
Rocket Team blog: http://RamoneRocketeer.blogspot.com
Rocket Team tweets: https://twitter.com/RamoneRocketeer
Rocket Team photos: https://www.instagram.com/ramonerocketeer
This was author Mickey Kulp’s problem. Even with a wonderful family and a stable career, something was missing. And the more he gnawed on his persistent dissatisfaction, the more he was sure that the press of daily life had wrung from something vital from him. How would he get it back?
“This collection of poems turned into a life raft. Some days, writing was the only reason I had to get out of bed.”
'We May Learn: some decent poems', is available for your reading pleasure and personal rescue. This is a book about second chances blossoming into something unexpected. It is unafraid to go down dark alleys, but it is also ready to embrace the unalloyed contentment of dancing in the sunshine.
"I enjoyed these poems very much. Mick deals with serious topics (death, what the heck is a muse, the miracle of memory), but he brings joy and humor to them that opens those serious topics up for me, gets me thinking."
~John Guzlowski, author of 'Echoes of Tattered Tongues'
Here, you will find a buffet of published and unpublished dainties, including prose poems, haiku, haibun, and rhymy-rappy-groovy things inspired by the Beat Generation.
Some content is intentionally provocative and edgy. Any labels that might be offensive are intended to be ironic or sarcastic. Satire is like plutonium: it has its uses, but don’t roll around in it.