I have launched an Inner-Space Ship.
In the form of a 6”x 9” perfect bound paperback.
It’s been on the drawing board for years.
Subtitled: Entries from my journal/ a rolling memoir.
On the Ship will be many facets and feelings of my life, about my life. Done as a walk-with-me adventure. Do you have a friend like this? Have you ever been ambushed by the extreme kindness of a stranger? Where were you when you “stood” in nature as a Church? Who opened you to the soul of music? Can you imagine your life or your earth without this grandchild? What tragedy cracked you open? Don’t we all miss Elvis?
If you want to come on board, I’m inviting you to buy your ticket in this early phase. What with all the necessaries for beginning a good launch ( book copies in a print-on-demand model with increasing discounts with volume, travels to book signings and readings, promotional copies to reviewers, and other marketing strategies, both virtual and real, web-based and brick-and-mortar-based), I would like your help.
Tickets/seats are $18.99 for it’s 279 page roundtrip. To pick you up right at your front door (shipping) I’m asking $25.00 total. Anything more you might want to contribute to promote awareness of and availability of this adventure, I would treasure and readily use. I will, unless you tell me not to, write something inside the cover. I will, even if you tell me not to, hold you in my heart, whatever you decide about this trip.
Joe, Captain and Companion
Send check or money order to:
Joe Wise ~ 811 E June Court ~ Cottonwood, AZ 86326
Email: firstname.lastname@example.org ~ Website: www.joeandmaleitawise.com
Please include a home or physical address for delivery.
The Truth in Twenty is available as a paperback or e-book at Balboa Press
Soft Cover or E-Book
This is the most author- friendly- cut point of sale.
It is also available in both formats from Amazon and Barnes and Noble websites.
“The Truth in Twenty. The Twenty is minutes. Timed writing. The rest is arriving at emotional truth with pen in hand. I am encouraging writing as self-revelation and as a tool for finding doors and expanding awareness - mostly. The Truth in Twenty also serves as a memoir at seventy- three, exploring specific events, moments, and experiences of my soul and spirit.” - Joe
Through A Glass Lightly
"Enter the world of Joe Wise and through that world
- of saying goodbye to a college bound daughter and
hello to a teenage son, of coaching kiddie basketball,
of remembering a grandfather - into the richness of
the human condition. These very personal poems
evoke life. Treat yourself." - John Shea
"Joe Wise, a poet musician takes our daily speech and
family life and touches them with a magician's fingers.
As he does, he reveals in the hum-drum hurry of our
lives the Mystery of the marriage of the human and holy.
Each page in this book of poetry plays the music mystics hear and opens our ears so often deaf to that melody in our lives. These poems ignited my imagination and set my soul a' dancing." - Ed Hays
Mid morning it was
nor dawn, nor noon
no special time by
human measure, no hallowed
space (my back porch
reason to alert
the inner eye.
And there he was
this creature of eons
lovely in his
Still I stood
quick he moved
I moved, board squeak
one rapid blink
then hold, shutter change
from forage scan
to alien alert
our presence to each other
altered now. His movements
all so skittish, gone the
deftness, gone the purpose
oh how sadly
I who gloried in his
gifts became the
cause for hiding them -
The old edges
of the ego
are so wondrously comfort
ancient lace around
the dollies of
as if the care
in fashioning gave
Fall has only recently become a favorite time of year again. It's funny just how beautiful we are in dying - out of all the sameness in the green comes the swan song of each leaf - never more different, never more beautiful. And the branches letting go of each someday know the self-same journey from the trunk - and so on and so on - I lost my daughter to college this fall. She's probably coloring right now - an art major - the trip down to Murray State took four or five hours and I rehearsed all the way what I would tell her. And then when the final moments came and I stood amongst the few remaining unpacked boxes in her dorm room, I hugged her and these were the immortal words I uttered: "Well, good luck this semester."
The next night at supper, we put out three place mats, my wife, my son, and I and after we had prayed - two of us looked up with tears and Johnny might have, but he is sixteen and said, "Well, I miss her a little." It's funny to have Sting and Billy Joel absent from the basement while she combed her hair and made her face and all those things. There's an air of expectancy that's gone now too when the phone rings and you know she won't be waiting to see if he loves her tonight. I do. So long, kid and good luck this semester.
Re arrange this room
he said, my therapist, when I
came ripe for change I said
let's take those drapes
down, louvres there
replace that couch with
swivel chairs, this rug could go
and clear the way for thicker pile
and paler hue, these lamps
are out, more modern lines
and single sockets, silk screen
prints on those two walls of
soft horizons that
should do it doc,
says he while shifting
one small paper weight an
inch or two
upon his desk
I've often wondered what it would be like to get potted. Well, not really potted. I've done that. To get jarred. Well, not jarred in the sense of getting shoved around but put in a jar, canned. If I was a tomato for instance, what would it feel like to live all winter in a closet on a shelf in a jar? What if I didn't have a bear like personality and that much hibernation didn't agree with me? What if I wanted to play a little or ferment a bit of a revolution? And the other tomatoes, what if we didn't get along? That's awfully close quarters. And how do I get chosen? I don't know if it's an insult or not. Do the best get to the table right away? And would it hurt my pride when the canning surgeon decides I need a little cosmetic surgery before I'm ready? A blemish here, a little spot there.
And, oh yes, the big question. Would all that waiting make me more delicious? or is winter just a long, long time?
The bond I want
is as delicate
and as strong
as this slender
shimmering in the sun