Prompt to Publication | Dickson Shreffler

Today, we are celebrating Dickson Shreffler. Since Deadlines for Writers started in 2017, many of our writers have gone on to publish and accomplish great things with their writing. The Prompt to Publication emails are all about celebrating these writers and their wonderful stories.

I hope these interviews will help and teach you how to use Deadlines for Writers to build your author platform.

 

Author feature: I’d like to introduce Dickson Shreffler

 

Have you completed any of the challenges on Deadlines for Writers?

Dickson Shreffler: I have contributed to every challenge since 2019

 

What have you published?

Dickson Shreffler:  I have published a collection of my poetry covering my first poems from 1968 through 2024.

 

Has Deadlines for Writers helped you as a writer?

Dickson Shreffler: The feedback you receive is how you get better and learn to focus on the details that improve your writing. And you make great friends that, in my case, have given constructive criticism that I had to learn not to take personally.

 

What did you learn that you applied to your work?

Dickson Shreffler: Not to be afraid of trying. Writing is so personal that many writers don’t put themselves out there. You can’t improve if you don’t try.

 

What is your favourite poem you wrote for 12 Poems?

Dickson Shreffler: I don’t think I have a favourite. My poetry is very personal, and it is a reflection of my being, so it’s impossible to point to one poem.

 

Biography:

I was told I was bred in old Kentucky, but I was born in Glendale, California. I was child number four. Born to a woman I’m told was my mom. I remember I loved my sister most, the rest, I guess, a little. Pop worked in construction. He was strong and came home smelling of sweat and wood dust. Hazel was always unhappy. I remember Pop mostly because I miss him the most. If I had advice to kids, ask your parents questions, even if you don’t like them that much.  You’ll want the answers someday. The only house I remember from that time is a mid-century modern three-bedroom, one-bath contemporary. I shared a bedroom with my sister, and the other two boys shared the other. I remember this period of my life because there are pictures, but no real explanations. We’d move back to Illinois for a year. It was 1961, that’s where the family lived, before Pop continued chasing the building trade to South Florida, where we would stay and where us siblings would eventually set out on our own path. I graduated high school in 1971; everything that happened in Florida, the highlights anyway, are written in this book. The mundane and normal were just days marked by each one becoming a yesterday with nothing of note to write about. I started at Publix Supermarkets in 1969. I have worked in retail successfully ever since. I started writing poetry a little before my work life started, but I haven’t any idea what the first poem was about, though it was probably about a girl I loved that week. So that’s my story so far. Thanks for taking the time — a commodity in short supply — to read and hopefully relate to these words and experiences. Peace.

Read Dickson‘s work

 

The Old Man

I find myself the old man,
replacing memories of my dad,
every Christmas, him sitting by himself,
heating pad or Bengay handy
with me doing the same now.
The house is busy, though.
Tracy is busy in the kitchen
with Christmas cookie production working diligently
amongst the noise of the grands being grands.
I don’t know how I got here, sitting as Pop did,
oblivious of or ignoring the life being lived around me.
It’s fine, really, I need this time to enjoy observing.
Joining in is an intrusion to their making their own memories.
Mine are already made
and chances to remember those memories
are rushing to an end that isn’t a date on a calendar,
but more a guess as to how many more Christmases
this old man will see.
The Circle
Long summer days, hot dusty streets,
fifty-two houses, mostly the same —
maybe the carport on the left for some,
others on the right.
There were plenty of kids to hang out with —
Jeff and Carolyn, Louie and the rest.
Some of the boys could be mean;
some of the girls could be cruel.
If we needed something, “no” was mostly the answer.
Money was never the object; there wasn’t any.
Getting by and getting along was.
The days, always the same, with us
standing around or sitting on the wall.
Waiting for the school bus started each day.
We’d hang around after school somewhere,
listening to a small transistor radio.
Who was your favorite — Elvis, the Beatles?
It mattered back then.
So did supper, if there was any.
Days usually ended just at sunset
when someone would always say
“I think your mother’s calling.”
We had survived; we had grown that day.
we’d all walk our way back home
on the dusty unpaved circle

that was our life then.

The Incident 1978

It was more than a dream,
but it was never reality.
Every smell, every minute
seemed to last forever… and
it didn’t matter what we destroyed,
as long as we could touch.
She was brave and left to be together.
I was a coward and stayed without her.
It wasn’t me who held the power;
I was helpless.
I promised I would stop her.
I’ve lied almost every day
of my life since then… you can’t stop a dream.Now time seems to fade most things, except her.
And when I look into the mirror’s light,
she remains, and I would probably believe
in heaven if I knew for sure she was there.

 

Buy the book

 

“When Our Tomorrows” is a heartfelt collection of poetry and prose by Dickson that captures the essence of truth and sincerity. His imaginative and nostalgic verses are accessible and relatable, inviting readers to engage with his reflections on life and relationships. Through his questioning style, Dickson evokes a sense of shared emotions, creating a warm connection with his audience

 

Well done, Dickson!

 

 

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