A Little Luck
Poems
978-1-937875-41-1 Paperback
5.5 x 8.5 x 0.23 in
80 pp.
Pub Date: 09/19/2013
Available
Winner of The 2012 X. J. Kennedy Poetry Prize, Selected by Sandra Beasley
Winner of The 2012 X. J. Kennedy Poetry Prize, selected by Sandra Beasley
“In A Little Luck, Jeff Worley presents that rarest of commodities—a voice encyclopedic in its attentions, clever, self-aware, and deeply likeable. Worley’s humor throughout is dark and smart, his phrasings elegant. I would give A Little Luck to the reader who loves the work of Ted Kooser or Rodney Jones. I’d give this book to the reader who does not yet realize he loves poetry.”
—Sandra Beasley
Final Judge
THE DAY AFTER MY DEATH
—after lines by Michael Van Walleghen
The moon, stars and weather
will happen as they always have,
though surely with my breath gone
the wind, in some slight measure,
will falter. Absent my footsteps
the earth will feel along its spine
a momentary shiver of abandonment.
And my friends? Won’t they gather
with me again, in whatever purple-
swagged room, for wine and stories,
some of them nearly impossibly true?
Meanwhile, the mailman, humming
like a bee in a blossom, will slip
my name into the metal box:
an unsigned note from The Paris Review
saying, simply, Sorry.
“In A Little Luck, Jeff Worley presents that rarest of commodities—a voice encyclopedic in its attentions, clever, self-aware, and deeply likeable. Worley’s humor throughout is dark and smart, his phrasings elegant. I would give A Little Luck to the reader who loves the work of Ted Kooser or Rodney Jones. I’d give this book to the reader who does not yet realize he loves poetry.”
—Sandra Beasley
Final Judge
THE DAY AFTER MY DEATH
—after lines by Michael Van Walleghen
The moon, stars and weather
will happen as they always have,
though surely with my breath gone
the wind, in some slight measure,
will falter. Absent my footsteps
the earth will feel along its spine
a momentary shiver of abandonment.
And my friends? Won’t they gather
with me again, in whatever purple-
swagged room, for wine and stories,
some of them nearly impossibly true?
Meanwhile, the mailman, humming
like a bee in a blossom, will slip
my name into the metal box:
an unsigned note from The Paris Review
saying, simply, Sorry.
About the Author
Published by Texas Review Press
