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Contributors


R. Neoma Kemper Reed

At age 83, retired from a life of active duty, her words state that she finds herself with more time than sense, stating that she has, at times, been bereft of both. After many years of having aspired to writing, (she says, "even managing to get some into print"), She decided to try a book or two, home-made variety, stating "that it is said that everybody has one book in them. An enterprise to fill my wasting time and to give me something to get up for in the morning.. I knew my typing would be 'rusty', as I haven't used a typewriter in 50 years. I found my expertise non-existent, fizzled, disappeared, but having always been sort of contrary-like, I says, 'I'll do it, anyway.'

I find this typewriter, like many I ever used, makes mistakes. With perseverance, but no patience, here (are my poems). I hope that you, with patience and perseverance, will sift through the mistakes, goofs and misconceptions to see if you can find anything interesting herein.


Acknowledgements

Ted O. Badger - What Happened to Love? and The Irony of War are from collected poems.
John Engle - Award-winning poem April Christmas from Pegasus, the magazine of the Kentucky State Poetry Society, the poems April Fooling, May, and June are from collected poems.
Troxey Kemper - Award-winning poems. You Did Not Call, One Way Romance, Fences, The Homesteaders and The Sand of Enchantment, What Does It Mean?, Debits and Credits, Valley Girl, Root of The Problem and Memories are borrowed from Troxey's books, above, and from numerous poetry press newspapers and magazines.


Troxey Kemper (1915-2002)

Intrinsically gifted, Troxey Kemper was known to his poet/writer friends as the most dedicated, smartest and gentlest of men. Troxey, with trademark humility, titled his bio, "freelance writer, retired reporter/editor, currently editor of a small magazine, The Tucumcari Literary Review". One of the last of the small press, metered poetry publications, TLR was also the best. My first acquaintance with Troxey was, to the day, six years before his death on March 8, 2002. Reading his invitation in Poet's Market, "simultaneous submissions, previously printed OK... lined notebook paper, hand-written poems OK. WHAT COUNTS IS WHAT IT SAYS." (caps mine).

I wrote inside walls papered with mass-produced, unsigned rejections from heavy, slick-papered name-droppers, all of which featured exquisite fonts of "non-rhyming junk", (Troxey's quote of college professors saying what they were sick of). What? Not beholden to the dollar? Or a politician? Where is that hundred million grant from the Eli -Lilly-lady? A humorous 1949 photo of Troxey on TLR's back cover has thecaption, "This is I ....(let's use correct English here)". This gentleman's gracious wholeness, fly-eyed vision, dogged persistence in the face of scanty rewards – (and battle with cancer, to the end, hidden from all) evades description. We hear only the mumble, "That was Troxey."Troxey stood firm in stubborn loyalty to his little family of poets/writers.

They, in turn, turned out first quality, if sadly unsung, work. (Work, when referring to his own poetry, Troxey always put in quotes). Unlike the Biggies, whose employees did not return SASEs or inconvenience themselves to respond to queries, Troxey returned all SASEs , most often unused, and every letter merited a hand-written – (and in beautiful script ) – response.