Skip Ward
Profile
Born in Blue Rapids, Kansas. Live now in Sumter, South Carolina. Have worked as a disc jockey, as circulation director for daily newspapers, and as adjunct faculty, teaching college English. Retired early on disability (back surgeries, caused by foolishly lifting heavy things).
Married with grown children and grandkids.
I’m a writer and classical pianist, spending time on novels, short stories, and poetry. Also, I have composed music for voice and piano and for string quartet. Also dabble in painting.
I’m told my poetry is much like my prose and would like to get better at poetry….well, would like to improve all my art and would appreciate constructive feedback.
Groups
Skip Ward is a member of All Things Poetic, Artistic, Philosophical, Freedom In Words & Art, Short stories - Spherical Scriptings, Up & Coming Writers and WMG.
Writing
Faith Crisis
Icons on our bedroom chest, / Our wedding pictures hold / The ashes of our dreams, like / The relics of dead saints, And we say prayers for loved ones, / Plucked suddenly and forever / From our mi…
The Workshop Tomato
The famous unknown poet / Conducting the workshop / Commanded imperiously, / “Write a poem about a tomato.” The housewife on the front row— / Who used tomatoes sparingly in cooking / But neve…
Cyberlove
when she comes to his senses through the dimensionless / mists of cyberspace, / touching his heart, his soul glows with excitement, / satisfying, for the moment, / that sweet, desperate craving …
Liebestraum's Tooth
I guess this poem has little meaning to anyone except my daughter Katherine. But it earned me a huge hug from her, and that paid for it.
Rite of Passage
On his thirteenth birthday, / I took my son aside and / Gave him the benefit / Of wise fatherly advice, / Testifying in substance as follows: Watched pots always boil. / It’s sometimes prudent /…
The Other Woman
She wears earrings to bed / And wakes up coiffed, / Nails blood red—triumphant. / Lovers never leave her, / And husbands leave their wives, / Whose jewelry sleeps in chests— / And, heaving extra p…
