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Author: James Brush

James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.

What Stranger Miracles

November 14, 2023 • • 1 Comment

My chapbook What Stranger Miracles is now available in print.

First published as a free digital chapbook by White Knuckle Press in 2016, it’s a collection of 10 prose poems of 100 words or less (per White Knuckle Press’s guidelines).

I’m grateful to editors Dale Wisely and Howie Good who gave this book its first readers and designed such a nice online home for it. It also earned a nomination for the Science Fiction Poetry Association’s 2017 Elgin Award.

Marketing copy:

What Stranger Miracles is a chapbook collection of ten short prose poems first published online by White Knuckle Press in 2016.

From the haunting imagery of plastic relics washed ashore to the enigmatic surveyors who silently observe the world’s secrets, each poem within What Stranger Miracles encapsulates a unique universe, blending the mundane with the mysterious and exploring themes of environmentalism, extinction, love, loss, and the enduring connection between humanity and the sea. 

It was a Science Fiction Poetry Association 2017 Elgin Award Nominee.

from What Stranger Miracles:

THROWN TO SEA (I)

The ocean spits out plastic: faded, thin, but whole. The great-grandchildren of those who threw it in retrieve the relics, invent stories and religions for their ancestors, singing their praises only to go home and complain bitterly that they didn’t leave behind something more useful than just the cast off detritus of their lives. Not even a boat to get off this rock. They are prisoners. The sea is the law.

—

You can order What Stranger Miracles on Amazon.

Stockholm Syndrome for the Early Pandemic

April 9, 2021 • • Leave a comment

the silver bass guitar hangs on the wall 
a life preserver on a transport ship

I remember notes so low unplugged
the mic on Zoom & Google Classroom 

couldn’t pick up La Grange, Ceremony,
endless runs through scales & permutations 

our cats crossed keyboards and kids
passed waving through backgrounds

but when we show only heads & shoulders
we could be rock stars, could’ve been

dying, afloat and silent behind our screens
clutching life preservers just off camera

I strum grateful fingers over thick strings
a warm and friendly rumble fading as I leave

to go back to work, begin the long uncertain
swim back to newly strange familiar shores

On March 1st

March 1, 2021 • • 1 Comment

the grackles opened
like gates in the trees
shadow birds, eyes glistening
you could almost imagine
these noisy shades
abandoning tangible birds,
parking lots and steel dumpsters
in their odyssey through
suburban woods,
clacking and creaking
like machines or clocks
ticking away the last
hoarse seconds of winter.

This is from my book Birds Nobody Loves. It seemed fitting to dig this one out today as we come around to another March. The 13th looms large here as that’s the day Texas started shutting down a year ago. I never would have imagined I’d have to be going to work in a face shield and an N95 a year later.

On another note, I’ve been tinkering with this old site and made new book landing pages that include videos, interviews, collaborations and related stuff. Putting it together, it was surprising to see where these birds have flown the past 9 years. Here’s the page for Birds.

Welcome, March.