Writing

Flower Vase on Floor, ink on paper, 2000

Flower Vase on Floor, ink on paper, 2000

I love to experiment with creative writing. I find it expands my vocabulary and strengthens my mind.

In year 2002, I started my own publishing company, Blackwood Press. With the help of some friends, we published The Blackwood Press DUB ‘zine, and several complete books of poetry and creative writing.

Pure creativity is extremely difficult, but the rewards are immense. They continue to flourish for me, which is why I continue to alchemize amongst typewriters, photos, microphones, and pen upon paper. I recommend the effort to anybody.

Pipe Etchings, Bled From Stone, by Joseph Greenwood

Pipe Etchings, Bled From Stone, by Joseph Greenwood

I have a book for sale on Amazon.com.  It’s titled, “Pipe Etchings, Bled From Stone“.  Please buy it!

Portrait of Joe Greenwood by Aleksandar Maric, oil on canvas, 2003

Portrait of Joe Greenwood by Aleksandar Maric, oil on canvas, 2003

Some of my latest writing ...

  • this big Saturday

    at last, the rain, and it comes down heavy
    this hot air, balloon summer, humid and sulky
    I stood around outside for two hours just looking, shuffling,
    spitting sunflower nutshells on my tombstone sidewalk

    thinking of driving my motorcycle out to the farm tonight
    out to where my wife and kids have been, thinking of
    taking ‘em into town for the street dance

    down here in this basement, smoking a cigarette, I hear that
    train whistle blow again, for about the thirteenth time today,
    this big Saturday, full of nothing

    I untie my shoes, loosen the laces, pull ‘em off,
    toss ‘em to the middle of the floor
    I suppose the neighbor will be by sometime shortly,
    suggesting we boil a pot of his fancy tea
    I decide to scrape the pipe once again, smoke another bowl of
    soot viagra

  • having given up

    my whole world is so scattered
    the basement and the attic
    the air has changed, my office is
    a war zone, and more than ever
    I’ve been picking my nose

    I still drink cold coffee,
    though I’ve decided to give up smoking
    at least until the new year
    that starts next week

    I stare in out to nothing
    at the floor, ’round the room,
    out the window for three hours
    waiting for someone, something
    to come and start me flowing
    once again

    I’ve wanted to get back to reading, I’ve
    known that I’ve stopped reading, my life
    has sunken and dedynamicized to a solemn
    sleeping stagnation, and it’s overly bored
    and boring, writhing illishly before the tv