Monday, June 15, 2015

THe GaL iN THe BLue MaSK: REVIEW: Wytchfire

Many thanks to Meghan Hyden over at "The Gal in the Blue Mask" for her kind review of Wytchfire:

"I love Meyehofer's writing style.  His
storylines are creative.  His words are eloquent.  His characters are
ones that pull you into the storyline ... and keep you in it.  The
setting is described so well that you almost feel like you're there.
 And something always happens that changes the story in a way you were
not expecting."

For the full review... THe GaL iN THe BLue MaSK: REVIEW: Wytchfire

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Knightswrath, Book II in the Dragonkin Trilogy, Released Today!

So in case you heard somebody tap-dancing earlier, that was just me, excited because Book II in my award-winning fantasy trilogy is out now on Amazon! A million thanks to all the friends, editors, and of the course, the readers who made this possible. I hope you'll check it out. I think Smeagol would appreciate it, too.

Monday, May 11, 2015

Speaking of Mother's Day...

The second Sunday is May tends to be a bit hard for me. I lost my maker almost two decades ago, though sometimes, it feels like five minutes. Other times, I can’t remember her voice, and I reel from the fact that she’s now been out of my life almost as long as she was in it. Naturally, these are subjects that work their way into my writing--among many others that I circle and circle, for better or worse. Here are a few examples of “mom poems” from my poetry books. This first one is from my latest, What To Do If You’re Buried Alive.


a text message
from her coffin.
It said Glad
you're not here.

She's always doing
stuff like that.  She says
it's to help me
savor my remaining
days. But I know
it's because I'm
the only one left
who hasn't changed
his number.

IN THE MEN’S LOCKER ROOM AT THE YMCA (from Damnatio Memoriae, aka Damned Memory)

When the gray-haired man walks in
leading his daughter by the hand,
his daughter who looks to be three or four,
when he helps her undress for a shower,
both of them momentarily nude,
the father looking around to make sure
none of us are eyeing her too closely,
I look away. I am afraid
he would not understand my smile,
the pages of my memory turning back
to when I was her age, bathing
in the friendly shade of a woman
I knew by her breasts, her touch, her smile,
when I was small, never lonely,
and swollen with love for the world.

LANDMARKS (from Blue Collar Eulogies)

I bought a bag of all black socks
with my twenty-first birthday money,
thinking this would save me
from having to match them, sure,
but also the embarrassment
of wearing white ones to a funeral
like I did after my mother died—
same day my father
almost cut my left ear off
when I asked him to help me
remove the rusty latch of an earring
for years I thought was in style.
He couldn’t see straight,
didn’t even register my curse
when the scissors caught my lobe
until my brother stopped him.
Since I was already born
without a right ear,
for which I never blamed her
but now and again the ultrasound,
I’m grateful. My brother
tells me how he wore black jeans
to his rich girlfriend’s
sister’s wedding, how they laughed
so hard he had to spend
the next five years climbing
the economic ladder to Dewey Ballantine,
dinners under a ten-foot chandelier.
Today, at last, I throw out
that last pair, faded like old tires,
plus an outdated silk shirt
that reminds me of the dress
they buried my maker in. Sunflowers
permanently wrinkled by disco.
She looks lovely, said her old roommate,
blond with black eyebrows,
as she pulled me deep
into a midwestern bosom
perfumed by the Dollar General,
so deep I wanted to cry.
And would have, had I been
brave enough to wear the grief
my mother earned—she who daily
tamed my cowlicks with a wet comb,
even after the milk dried
and I, insufferably ignorant,
stopped believing she was God.

CARDBOARD URN (from Leaving Iowa)

After the funeral, your hair
and skin baked to ash,

your body brought back in a gray box
with a bag of soot inside,

box and bag on a pedestal by the table,
your brother came to see you.

He asked where you were,
and when I said By the table

he thought I said On the table
and he said Here?

peeking under the lid
of an empty drinking cup,

as though we had gone
to the local Kwik Stop

for gas and fountain drinks
then decided what the hell?

and used a cardboard Pepsi cup
for our mother’s urn.

He actually thought that,
and his eyes got wide

as he stood in the dining room,
unspeakably appalled,
staring at that cup

and mother, oh sweet jesus
how I wanted to laugh.

Monday, April 6, 2015

National Poetry Month!

Last year, in Honor of National Poetry Month, I posted two poems each day (one by me, one by somebody else). It was well-received and a lot of fun. I wanted to do it again this year but time didn't agree with me. Still, the poems are are all still up, if you feel like giving 'em a read!

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Fantasy fans, it's time for another Goodreads Giveaway!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Wytchfire by Michael Meyerhofer


by Michael Meyerhofer

Giveaway ends April 08, 2015.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Monday, October 6, 2014

I’m pleased as spiked punch to announce that my fourth poetry book, What To Do If You’re Buried Alive, will be published in early 2015 by Split Lip Press. Feel free to check out their awesome press.  Also, in the meantime, feel free to cruise by my page for info on my other books, plus a picture of a much smaller version of me sporting a star-spangled jumpsuit and lopsided haircut.