frontiers of a warbling anchor

Featuredfrontiers of a warbling anchor
The humdrum of a burnt metal assembly.
Cast-iron frenzy, staining hands like Cheeto crumbs.
Helluva ride from Oslo to Norway.
From Glasgow to first grade.
To ride a bus or drink champagne?
Where’s the wonder in big dreams and marmalade?

That humdrum of metal, burning wild and wasting.
Growling over cardboard signs screaming.
Baking a pie filled with all kinds of texture.
All minds on the tastes like mom used to make’s.
Buffalo Wild Wings is just around the corner, but
some want their wings grown at home.
To spread butter only to cover it in down.
To drown the pancakes in sap stains.

That drum hums a metal tune, ancient and ailing.
Pink Floyd rolls off the tongue funny;
like lemonade or Bruce Wayne;
like Jessie James and steady aims;
like phantasms and chardonnay.

Bully pulpit shocks the world today!
Brand new greetings pass through Congress;
They sound a bit like a blue jay’s mating cry.
You remember this from your fanatical art teacher
crying at the sound over VHS static.
Vicious validation from an apathetic audience.
After class, he told you how stupid she looked.
How immature it was to cry about the simple things, you told him
in double speak. In towns, we seek to find a journey. A path
to wander down until the ground claims us.
In towns, we hear the humdrum. The metal burning in
your father’s workshop back home.
The calls for reunion.

UPDATE – Kindle Version and Updated Pricing on oT eB evilA

UPDATE – Kindle Version and Updated Pricing on oT eB evilA

Hey everyone! Just wanted to send an update on my first poetry collection. It’s been a bit under 3 years since it came out, and as a first collection, I believe it to be some really strong poetry. So, to try and get it in more hands, I have updated the price and also added a kindle version, available for even less.

Do check it out when you have a moment. If you need a breath of fresh air for your book club or just want something casual to read on your daily transit, I think you might find something of value in my collection, here: https://www.amazon.com/oT-eB-evilA-Kevin-Flors/dp/B089M1HY2B/ref=sr_1_1?crid=167X9TMLI9AWE&keywords=ot+eb+evila&qid=1674844928&sprefix=ot+eb+evila%2Caps%2C98&sr=8-1

Or, if you wanted to peruse my whole collection, click on my author’s page and peruse my newest collection, Jack of Stars, available in print. I’m really proud of how both these pieces turned out and think they offer unique experiences, while still providing that air of mystery and wonder that comes with a lot of my work.

Thanks, and please review as well (honestly!) I want to learn what can be better to make sure my work in future lives up to my readers’ expectations.

Enjoy!

-Kevin

NEW COLLECTION – Jack of Stars Out Today!

FeaturedNEW COLLECTION – Jack of Stars Out Today!

I’m so excited to announce that my newest poetry collection, Jack of Stars, is now out on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Jack-Stars-Kevin-Flors/dp/B0BPGCB4YC?ref_=ast_sto_dp

I appreciate any and all critique, feedback and support more than I can express here. This collection has been in the works since 2020 and I am so excited to finally see it in print!

If you’re on the fence, or just want to hear what some of the poetry in the collection sounds like, here is a sneak peak on my YouTube channel. Additionally, I will be posting a few more promos just like this one through the week, so make sure to subscribe to that channel if you want to hear more poetry from this collection before making a decision:

Thank you all for the support over the years and I can’t wait to keep growing as a writer with more projects to come!

— Kevin Flors

burns red in the splinter

Featuredburns red in the splinter
Winter blues make old cartoons feel worn 
again. Shaking stews in those most desparate 
to escape. Most helpless in the weight of the
world rearing its ugly head past the parapets of
a child's snowfort. Banks of snow and softer
things. Breaking notes in the songs he sings. Listing
grows from the hayfever. Clawing past the branches
tangled to find a new thing to bask in. Humming
lights and masked gunmen, shooting at
anything loved, lost and loveless. Buys another
rifle from his friend in Waco. Makes another
tend to the way they live. The habits.
The connections. The severance.

Shock. Horror. Another chance to beg someone
to make it stop. Another chance to shift responsibility.
Another chance to slaughter. Another chance to watch
the slaughter. Another chance to breathe relief
that it's not me.

My dog's nose turns brown in the winter.
I found this out this morning. Discovery.
Recovery. Reprieve.
I can't. feel safe. in greed.
I want to. find peace in. the world weaved
but the solution
         the solution, it's
                               it's hard to hear over
the static and cannons and cackling.
the panicked ones painted erratic.
the caring ones battered in attics.
the only ones left finding rights to turn to.
breaking their backs to the guns they hold true.
running for fun when the word is with you,
punishing those who don't fit the worldview.

The sun wakes from slumber to see the blood's still
dripping. The gun's still gripped by
a disillusioned underdog.
The plan still gripped by a rogue actor. The hands still
gripped by the devout donors, 
never letting go to find an answer.







Gun violence is a vicious cycle. Guns run this country. It's gross, it's immoral and the only solution we seem to express is "praying for victims and families" and moving on. I hope one day we can stop this and put this thought and care into finding real solutions. 

I hope this poem expresses my message well, and I hope to one day to live in a world that's at least a little more peaceful. 

Thanks for reading.

sillouh-walk

Featuredsillouh-walk
Perhaps pools and parishioners have something in common.
Swimming in deep or deepen the swim.
Walking the edge to avoid falling or falling to avoid the edge.
It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to handle.
Here’s some oven mitts and a long ladle.
Stir with your hands and carry me like a leash around a wild one.

Tuck me into bed at night knowing full well I’m not there, but out haunting
someone infinitely sharper and more gullible.
The name of the game’s lost on me, but it rhymes with sillouh-walk.

Perhaps tools are invented to be used.
Twist the knob off the door and fit your wrist right in there.
If anything breaks, then that’s just added convenience.
Forego pain and grit your teeth ‘til they shatter.

A cold breath on the flab of your elbow.
The callous patch means you only hear a deeper wind.
Fill my cap with tea knowing full well
the honey you forgot to buy makes me reactionless.
Drink the cigarettes as if forgetting the message your father’s lungs sent you.
-Kevin Flors

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, this poem is in similar style and theming to my upcoming collection, Jack of Stars. Follow this blog, my Twitter, or my Amazon Author’s page to stay tuned on when it releases this December.

it’s a gold world out there

Featuredit’s a gold world out there
Zebra-striped opal camouflaging your palm.
If I grasp hard enough, surely it'll work.
It doesn’t.
But one time, you found a quarter outside a Walmart Superstore and now you’ll never
look back.
In fact, you’ve become a collector of sorts.
Yellowing citron and vested interest in all things gemstone.
Growing trials test your faith.
First, a car drives over a puddle and strikes you.
The puddle strikes you, not the car.
That would make for a far more interesting story though.
Still, you blame it on your lack of sapphire, so you
buy a heaping stone the size of your fist.
It’s harder to clutch, so you put it in your coat pocket.
Looks like a smothered beehive.
The next day, you caught fire.
Embers surrounding what should have been protected by a ruby hip pointer.
So, you get a transplant.
Faceplant atop fields of clovers, shrinking them into the dirt.
Emerald stitches nurse the wound in your eyebrow.
Amethyst medallions making turtle-shelled scales across your ribcage.
Topaz daffodils tickle your upper lip.
The devil’s in the details, and garnet shards dye your hair redder.
There’s a better way to luck your way out of this mess you’re in.
Coating your skin in diamond, jade, and alabaster shades;
a dulled peridot.
Deciphering envy like hackneyed socialites.
New world order, my name is Igneous.
Morphed intense movements stemming from a heat inside.
Diabolically rigid deceiver.
You look so aberrant, yet your just another stone smothered in sulfur.
Roll down mountains until someone doesn’t have to climb to claim you.
They never would.
Too many beautiful colors up there to make my heart set on you.
Too many wannabe gemstones gasping for air.

-Kevin Flors

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, this poem is in similar style and theming to my upcoming collection, Jack of Stars. Follow this blog, my Twitter, or my Amazon Author’s page to stay tuned on when it releases this December.

My Experience with Self-Publishing Houses

FeaturedMy Experience with Self-Publishing Houses

Self-publishing is a scary yet exciting prospect. From going straight onto Amazon’s KDP to pursuing a plan with self-publisher houses, making the right decision on your manuscript and where you want to take it can be a bit overwhelming. I wanted to share my experience with self-publishers for my upcoming collection and share with you why I made the decision I made.

For starters, I reached out to three different options, who I will not name for the fire I am about to unleash (just kidding, it’s not so bad). To find these houses, you can search on Google for “publishers of x” (in my case, poetry) and find a few databases that can determine best fits. I heard back nearly immediately from all three that I had reached out to and was quickly thrust into email chains and phone calls. It was a very rushed experience from the jump.

The three options I picked from each seemingly had a multitude of options to also narrow down. One offered 5-6 different plans and most shockingly, all offered quotes immediately. Now, one key difference between traditional publishers and self-publishing houses is the way authors are paid (or rather pay) for services. Instead of a collaboration, it’s more of an investment. Many offered 100% royalties, but upfront costs felt excessive.

The one option I was considering the most was ranged into four digits (as almost every option I received was), but even this had it’s problems. Firstly, as with the other options, all three houses “approved” of my manuscript. Personally, I’m not sure how rigorous this testing was, but I did receive answers fairly quickly, with the exception of one taking around 24-48 hours. You might be thinking approvals are a good thing, right? Well, yes and no. It means that they are willing to post your work…if your willing to pay and shoulder all the risks/losses to come.

My collection is young adult, 18+ and most detrimentally, poetry. These are all signs of an exodus from mass market appeal, and yet all three approved with only minor points (or even no points) of constructive critique at this initial stage. The offers ranged from straight up publishing on Amazon (something very possible as an independent publisher) to luxury marketing/PR offers that were exorbitant in retail (but in the case I’m referring to, discounted heavily).

The main point of advice I’d give to aspiring writers looking to publish is to be careful. Really think about how well your manuscript can appeal to mass audiences and take advantage of the resources houses like this can give. Go into it not looking to bend, but instead looking for the perfect fit or none at all. There’s no reason to push an oval into a circle; if it’s not perfect, back off.

That’s why I decided to roll with purely self-publishing through Amazon for my next book. Sure, it’s more work and time needed for promo, setup and all things needed to ensure the book is publishable to begin with. But, it’s also free or significantly cheaper than houses who have to pay for the folks they have in house, plus profit. I don’t think these houses are scammers or crooks. Far from it, and I think people may disagree with me here. But I do think they oversell their services, and I do think, unless you absolutely need services like this, to avoid them when you can’t take FULL advantage of their offerings AND think breaking-even or profit is likely.

Hope this helps those looking to publish but don’t have the pedigree for an agent to partner you up with more established and collaborative publisher structures. Feel free to reach out to me @florsjkevin on Twitter or comment below with any questions/special cases you may have.

Have a great rest of your day, and stay tuned on my new collection, coming out December 2022.

A Poem About Meat

A Poem About Meat

Extinction fates the cows’ pigs paint with blood they bleed!
Perhaps we turn to flies frogs die extracting?
Or roaches roasting – Fuck! Hot embers burn!

My skin is boiling wings birds shelter nests from reign!
To what extent do dogs eat meat to mimic
Desires hunger’s blood brings forth? I’m lost…

Let’s cannibalize proud plant persecutionists!
I need to taste the flesh God grants us privilege!
Extermination calls forth hunters sworn!

For war is but a game we play
So what we know will stay the same.

–Kevin Flors

Thanks for reading

NOTICE: This piece is SATIRICAL. The speaker of the poem is by no means respectable or reputable. Basically, do NOT “cannibalize proud plant persecutionists” or any human being, okay? (Seriously that’s not cool).

Picture from Pexels

 

Chasing Ghosts

Chasing Ghosts

Dark and cedar-stricken woods
that rape my mind in vulnerable positions
I’ve missed you, ya know?
But what do I know?

You probably runnin’ across branches and vines
without a care in your world
for the grief I’ve become.
Remember when we climbed that big tree over there
and you’d always awe our courage whilst yelling
“Get down from there!” fearing hospital bills.

I miss those days…

Please, if you hear this show me a sign!
Anything!

Figure
standing here is so hopeless
but I have no hope left to lessen.
Every night I dreamt you near me
comforting me, but I’ve forgotten your voice
your manner
your you.

And I wish Joey hadn’t stolen all the tapes of you
so I could watch them until you’d jump from the TV I stare at daily
and help me
live
again.

-Kevin Flors

Picture from Pexels

Thanks for reading

Merry Christmas and he’s sorry

Merry Christmas and he’s sorry

Elvish imps plagued the twins.

Laughing at their enforced chaos.

The twins, kicking and punching and stabbing.

And stabbing.

 

A green ticket laid in the brother’s hand,

Cold and spastic.

Diabolical deeds never die

While gifts are so grander than sky.

 

He left, with car skidding and hand steering

and fist that bled and choked

a glowing green ticket that flutters in the brother’s hand.

Cold and sanguine.

 

Thoughts of cars and mansions

and man and son

and families

and brothers.

 

Heartless

was the dagger, rotting in Steven.

Heartless was the statue planned for Steven.

Was the killer, brother of Steven, Heartless.

 

He looked at his glowing red fist,

Opened the gift,

Nothing.

No eternal riches.

No winning ticket.

 

The vessel that went by Carson was later found in a lake.

A lake which, on Christmas night, glowed red and green.

 

-Kevin J Flors

 

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