Michael Beadle  - poet • author • writer-in-residence
What I've Written

Here's a list of some of my published work....

• Poetry Chapbooks: Invitation (Main Street Rag, 2013) 

                                 Friends We Haven't Met (Maven Press, 2008)

                                 An Invented Hour (Hard Times Press, 2004)    
                                 

• Poetry CD:        Kaboom (Stellar Media Productions, 2009)
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History Books:  

Canton (Arcadia, 2013) 

Waynesville (Arcadia, 2010)              
                     ** Winner of the 2012 Willie Parker Peace History 
                          Book Award from the N.C. Society of Historians

Haywood County (Arcadia, 2010) 
                          
                             (Southern Historical Press, 2009)               
                             **Winner of the 2010 President's Award 
                                 from the N.C. Society of Historians              
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• A Sample of Published Poems: "The Naming" / "A Town Too Small For Maps" / "Honey" / "Shibboleth" selected by N.C. Poet Laureate Kathryn Stripling Byer for "Poet of the Week" in June 2006

• N.C. Poet Laureate Cathy Smith Bowers' radio interview with me on "Wordplay" (April 18, 2010) Audio Version

• Radio interview on "Wordplay" with Jeff Davis (Aug. 25, 2013) with readings from Invitation poems and more  Audio Version

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• More Poem Samples:


Bubbasaurus

He's mean, he's lean, he's kudzu green.
He's a creature of the forest.
From the Age of Jurassic to the Age of Plastic
Nothing could outlast it.

He's the mythical, magical Bubbasaurus!

He's scaly and slimy from his head to his heinie
And his teeth are sharper than saws.
This curious beast from the rural Southeast
Has survived for eons because...

He's the mythical, magical Bubbasaurus!

No stranger to danger, he's a face rearranger.
He's fought against T-rex and won!
His Mama never loved him but that never bugged him.
His motto is "Git 'er done!"

He's the mythical, magical Bubbasaurus!

In a trailer park in Texas, just before breakfast,
He met a wandering gent
Who showed Bubba his purpose in a traveling circus
With lions and jugglers and a tent.

He became the mythical, magical Bubbasaurus!

Now he's the star attraction to our great satisfaction.
They all love his redneck holler!
So when he comes to your town, see the rides and the clowns
And don't forget to bring a dollar.

See those snaggle-tooth jaws and prehistoric paws
And give some applause
For the mythical, magical Bubbasaurus!

 Michael Beadle
Kaboom 2009©
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I'm a Ninja
(parody of Emily Dickinson's "I'm a Nobody! Who are you?")

I'm a ninja! Who are you?
Are you well versed in kung-fu?
Then we should star in movies!
They'd give us contracts, you know.

How dashing to be an actor!
How famous, like a hit song
To have your name in lights—
What could possibly go wrong?

—Michael Beadle

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Bull Elk in Cataloochee

As pilgrims we come
in late summer, armed with Canons
and Nikons, drawn to the valley
once home to corn and cattle,
Palmers and Caldwells.
Thief-still, we stand watch
in a scrim of woods, waiting
for the flick of a tail, twitch of an ear,
branch of antler among burnt maple.
One by one, hoof and hide emerge
to graze in a sprawling meadow. 
Chief among them steps forth, 
snorts a musky breath. 
For weeks he will forsake food 
to herd his white-rumped harem,
ward off rivals with a single cry
that startles the air—
a long shrill note,
ancient, defiant, 
a call to all things wild.

Our only reply is silence.

Michael Beadle
An excerpt of this poem will soon be on permanent display at the NC Zoo in Asheboro, NC. 
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Out of Season

Plump as beachballs,
hollowed by sticky spoons,
a row of glowing heads

grinning missing teeth
lined the backyard walkway
for our feast of the dead.

When day broke, the spell lifted.
Tea light candles dried out,
but the heads remained. Each face

slowly melted like a wicked witch.
Squinty eyes and crooked noses
withered like worm candy

until even the ants ignored them.
Under moonlight, they bleached into
paperskin crusts of their former selves,

ghostly footprints lost in snow.
Now the mower sputters passing over
those spots where the grass won't grow.

Michael Beadle
published in The New Southerner, 2007


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