Book Review “Wiregrass and Other Poems” from Moira J. Saucer review from David L O’Nan

Pre-Order here from Ethel Zine https://www.ethelzine.com/shop/wiregrass-and-other-poems-by-moira-j-saucer

Moira J Saucer is a disabled poet living in the Alabama Wiregrass. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Arkansas, Fayetteville. Her worked has appeared in literary magazines and anthologies in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada including Black Bough Poetry Freedom- Rapture anthology, Visual Verse, Fly on the Wall Press, Ice Floe PressMooky Chick, Floodlight Editions, and Fevers of the Mind Poets of 2020.

Wiregrass and Other Poems review by David L O’Nan

I have been lucky enough to read Wiregrass and Other Poems and just the wonderful, melancholy collective works of Moira J. Saucer.  I admire Moira's writing and have been inspired to keep writing short story style poetry & prose due to Moira encouraging me with a story I submitted a few years ago to IceFloe Press.  I actually knew someone was actually reading my work again.  I received a "Best of the Net Nomination" for this piece and thank Moira, and IceFloe Press very much for keeping my confidence and expanding my style of writings now into my 40's.

This collection from Moira, is the gut of her soul.  It is the heartbreak, the sadness, the wanting to escape, the bewitching hour of living in the darkness and wondering if the moon will shine down on some Alabama Wiregrass tonight.   It is a recovery, back into your own cynicism, to lost, to feeling Godless to feeling God is in everything.  Wiregrass and Other Poems pours the aching hours of years into one  quick ride that you learn the heart of Moira.  The kindness of Moira, and where our mind goes when ends are coming. The Darkness of Moira.   I sit in this same kind of wanting solace, but never seeing the real Sun.  Almost like a ghost, the sun fades quickly just are you are discovering it is there.

"When You Fall"  :   "There you are conveniently sick and poor. You are trouble wrapped in thrift store clothes, a motley creature with little possibility for redemption"     a sad poem about remembering a more youthful time as a woman and feeling trapped by the never-ending days that stretch our mind more and more into the unknown.

"I survived the dark descent, the five years of shame, poverty and-
and yes hell."

"Homeless and Broke" :  A tale that feels like you're forever traveling long dark Alabama roads.  As i've done many times traveling from Kentucky/Indiana to New Orleans by car.  Forever on dark Alabama roads.  You get that sneak of Mobile, Birmingham, Tuscaloosa, Montgomery.   But then you just see shadowy trees that jump-stare at you like Frankenstein's Monster at 3 A.M.  looking for the Waffle House sign that doesn't sound good.       "I lay awake at night the pain from Fibro like sharp invisible knives thrusting and turning into muscle and tendon. The portent of my death"    Long lasting pain just like a long night of dark roads....doesn't ever feel to end.

"Woman A/The" :   A remembrance of glory days now feel like descent.   "She lies in a cot. The roaches crawl on her white skin. Flies hover over her bloody chest"

"When She was dying" for Quinn : A poem about memories, where you'd like to stay in those memories.  But family, a mother has to fade and you're never ready.     "She wore an otherworldly glow flushed from love and cancer"

"Wiregrass" : A poem of the wildness that once was.  Alabama nights  lead to the mischief, the rebellion, the fun, the regrets, the sadness in old lightbulbs.   "My days are spent cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, praying. Praying to stave off sorrow and madness, but sometimes these twin demons...wait outside the doors for blindness to set in, for gladness to fade"

"Wounds"  A poem about caring for someone who no longer can care fully for themselves.  The sadness they have seeps into yourself. And it just becomes too much to handle.     "Our bodies knit together flesh so we can go on living...but the wound memory is always there"

"Flower Thief"  A wonderfully put together poem that must be read. Very metaphorically, yet visibly strong. Imagery shines.   "the pallid woman told him she saw me stealing flowers... they call me a flower thief my crimes  stealing stars hope from the gods brilliant light"

"Kindness"  Heartbreak poem....love, lost, love, deception, love, forgiveness, or a void.       "She didn't fight the judgments. It was important to avoid ruffling waters, telling the truth. He had claimed to be an honest man, yet blamed her for his lust"

"Marbles"  wonderful imagery.   "I love marbles...bought beautiful ones in Chicago just to gaze at them lost now"    comparisons of just watching something in amazement for what it is and not what it should be. 

"Charolais"  "The Whole property was once pecan trees and cattle...Now there is only a pasture"....

"Midwife for Robert"  about friendship, motivation, refreshed, and appreciative of art, poetry, work, what a non-narcissistic view will help guide you to greatness when it comes to writing, art, your true heart's desire. The creative starvation sometimes has to be purged back out with the hope.    "Poems began to die from lack of oxygen...the poems and I began to die"

"Origins, at Sixty-Five"  I've read this poem many times and always amazed by how well it is structured together to convey to never give up what creates you and what you create.   "I shook the grain out into my hand, ancient yet bright, polished and buffed by the seas"

"Summertime"  Stuck in the muck of another summer down South during the hardest times, wanting to get out, but fate will not let you escape at this time....   "It's time for tornado season with no shelter, no place to hide, and it's god-awful-hot under the canopy of scabbed pecan trees"

"Loss"  The frustrations during the hardest period of time as a grand whole for the country. Especially, when you are living down south and what is fed to you is a machine of mudslinging.      "Pastels, beautiful colors, rolling onto emptiness of white space. I wept blending them-radiant pigments, a gorgeous burning nightmare"

"Night Visitation"  "Roads in Alabama roll away like giant tar pits, the blackness-deafening, dangerous"

"Vampire Story"  A story/poem about after you lose someone and  you just search for anything to keep your mind off it. To infatuate yourself with anything.  A story.  Mundane, love, cheesiness, or just leave me alone everyone and let me transcend away for awhile.

"August, 2019"   Very well put together poem using nature as a symbol in the imagery representing the blooming and the blackness of rolling clouds through the Summer.    "The garden flowers now shriveled, having bloomed into scattered color madness"

"Chrysalis (Queer Butterfly)" "The open road is transformed...I wait for you in a garden dense and fragrant"  a beautiful poem.

"Did I Tell You"   "We create another self...dissociate to absorb trauma." "The Second self watches from a distance being battered and gets exhausted too"      brilliant!  

4 poems from Fevers of the Mind Poets of 2020 by Moira J Saucer 

Pandemic Love & other Affinities from Icefloe press an anthology 

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. 

 *Announcements for October including release of Deluxe Edition of Before the Bridges Fell (Fevers of the Mind Press)*  

Paperback & Kindle version of Cursed Houses is now available from David L O’Nan on this link below




Poetry Collaboration Carson Pytell and David L O’Nan : On the Edge of Water near Wyngate Mansions

On the Edge of Water near Wyngate Mansions

from the series “The Empath Dies in the End”

1 (Carson Pytell)

How far is far?
Pat your head and rub your stomach,
but do it from the inside of your skin.

Near is never enough,
like Bermuda or the Caribbean
or the houses you pass on your way to work.

Mist your days, if you'd like,
under envy. Motivation leaks
out of you like piss if not.

2 (David L O'Nan)

I was and always that most dangerous jewel box
Slightly cutting colors out with each touch.
I am swinging from your eyelids trying to lift them up to see me.

I will dip in from the edge of the water.
I come up splintered, thorns inside
Punctured me to insecurity.

I don’t have the strength to understand the distance anymore.
I don’t have enough care to understand the smiles that run slim.
Over the Wyngate Mansions on hills full of sad old travelers.

I confess that is where I’ll be
With stories of lost mates
With the chants in my head, promises of endless ruins.

The whistles in the distance run to cold air invitations.
Biting through heat on the way.
Love was given, love was failed at Wyngate on a-
troubled Godless day.

Ashamed, pathetic voices paddled out half-truths.
Was it rain or sun or was it the new flood as fate,
My body near, far, an imitation of a water’s edge.  
Visually vacant.  

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. 

Paperback & Kindle version of Cursed Houses is now available from David L O’Nan on this link below 

Carson Pytell: Best of Poetry Showcase

Retort to a poacher by David L O’Nan

as you write poems behind the scenes about everyone and anyone, forget those that helped you along the way. Invitations to another carnival…and poach at every opportunity you can get. Deciding which personality to be.

Acting innocent are we with arrows in the back.

We can all pretend to be grandeur.

We can all pretend to be hated

We can all dream when the river flows our way.

We can all bleed together and call ourselves unity.

We can be our keeper until one is needed.

Let the death of us fall over, while you’re too busy posing.

Self-declare yourself the one in a vanity mirror. 

Watch yourself exempt all that has made you, your strut is a broken gallop. Until you are melted by another. It was your game to win.

And what a prize. 

To be a stuck Lego man, yellow, masked, with a facade smile.  You cared about this world, or was it just the king of the broken city you were after.

Here is your address to what is dire poetry, 

Here is your crown of catfish and the same 10 people that give you the key to the neon light.

Enjoy Sundays.

Poetry Collaboration “What is?” John Drudge and David L O’Nan

from the series “The Empath Dies in the End”

1 John Drudge

I like to ride
The thin wave 
Between hope
And despair 
Between the rolls 
Of a fading surge   
And the bright lights  
Of eternity 
Wrestling with angels 
In the aftermath of faith 
Falling in
And out of love 
With endless wonder


2 (David L O'Nan)

I like to sit and paint obscure trees
and I wonder why the rabid and the heartbeat meet.
I wonder why we feel jaded when our blood beats.
And I wonder what is Sex, really?

Is sex a secret, or is the heavenly plague,
Is sex the magic, created from the voodoo wind
Is it all biblical, are all just magical?
Are we the creations of a night of love,  
are we the creations of a selfish game?

Are we awful, are we royalty,
Does the music play, when our filth becomes the silk?
The makeshift subtlety, or a full blown wrath,
What is sex when your mind is unarmed?

There is a trouble in the hallowed walls.
They listen in to hear us scream or call,
or maybe we may just pretend a whimper,
Are we the acoustic or the bass, 
the electric fire or the aching moan of the cello?

Are we frightened, are we given a choice?
When boys attack the girls, and the girls attack the boys?
When all they wanted was to paint a few obscure trees?
What is sex, a natural state or the first disease?

The time is ticking, with a draconian yell.
will there be freedom, as we run naked through the vines?
The moldy fruit is shaking from the trees,
and there's a formation of primitive life kicking around.
habitual, self-absorbed, was there love, 
was it abortive or what is sex after all?
A deadpan coward looks on.
And the sweat swallows down in our breath, as we mold ourselves into an impressionistic painting.
of some obscure trees, the nude bodies by the river watching the thunder turn the clouds from hurricane to a fainting wind.

What is sex? When the wheels are judging.   

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. 

A Poetry Showcase by John Drudge









Poem collaboration: Madame Stress Pills by David L O’Nan & Petar Penda

from the series “The Empath Dies in the End”

Madame Stress Pills 

1 (Petar Penda)

Feeling nothing is a feeling,
Indifference followed by remorse
And a guilt-ridden question 
About what led to this state of mind
And if we are to be blamed for
The emptiness and horror
We live and leave behind us.
Our madness is not escape
As we don't go anywhere
It is only a subconscious distance
From others and ourselves
Since we know deep down
We are contagious.                                     

2  (David L O'Nan)

My eyes are their own souls
My body is another, the zoo can be wide awake
The wind could be blowing in a new world, would I know?
I feel mostly like a peasant, that is the feed.
And that the rich are the desired.
Pull on this wild chain, together can we pull and pull until
Our hands become numb and bleeding.  Remaining calloused.
Can the brain be the same? Can the moon be just as calloused gawking down at us?
There will always be the drunk bug like men serenading it with broken voiced ballads.

Animals lurking by our dark shoes as we walk, in the night
Their silence is angry, our silence is frightening, 
our silence once brave.
Tree stumps scattering and wanting us to tumble, stumble into the arms of a wicked star.
I hear the walking heavier and heavier, my eardrum is rattling. 
The stress pills are now fallen, washed in the mix with the maggots.
I might as well be worshiping in bad habits if this is what life has become and from all looks –
Will always be.  

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.  

Poetry by Petar Penda : Tiresias