Saturday, May 19, 2007

Don Iannone's New Poetry Book

Poetry is not something that economic developers often talk about, but the creative sector is, and poetry is a part of the creative sector of the economy.

Poetry has been a part of my life since my high school years. For me, poetry is a special language allowing us to see the world in new and unique ways. For that reason, I believe poetry is important to economic development and leadership. My poetry is inspirational and introspective in nature; both are essential ingredients in developing our "inner leadership." Leaders MUST be creative to get their jobs done!

Perhaps you have a creative side that has been patiently waiting to come out. If so, I would enjoy hearing about it.

This past week was a big one for my poetic career. A second printing of my first poetry book, Stilling the Waters, was published by BookSurge (Charleston, SC), and my brand new poetry book, Walks in Life's Sacred Garden , also published by BookSurge, was released. Both books are now available on and several other online book sites.
I am proud to say that Stilling the Waters was a hit, and therefore a second printing was recommended. So far, Walks in Life's Sacred Garden is selling well in its first week on the market.
Both books are intimate portraits of the stuff of which life is made; your life and my life. Many of the poems are disarming in calling our attention to life's fragileness. They talk about the things that keep us up nights, and the things we dream of, when we allow ourselves. Each book is great vacation reading on the beach or sitting on the front porch of your vacation home on a lazy summer afternoon.
If you enjoy poetry, you might like my two poetry blogs:

Poetic Alchemist

Conscious Living Poetry Journal

(Click on the images below to enlarge them.)

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Here is a sample of what you will find in Walks in Life's Sacred Garden.

When a Factory's Life Ends
By Don Iannone

The foul gray smoke that once belched
from the tall red brick stacks
was a bittersweet sign of life—
that the old factory was still working.
The smoke has now ended,
along with the noisy metal-banging,
that for so many years kept men busy
from sun up till sun down.
The iron gates are chained shut,
and never again will greet the dark faces of the hardened men
with stale breath from strong black coffee and cigarettes.
It's too easy to blame too many strikes
for the factory's foreboding silence,
but hungry workers elsewhere,
willing to work for much less,
and customers needing less metal,
are just as much the reason
why the dark faces have grown much darker.
The mill is history—
a cold, lifeless archeological ruin,
and so are the paychecks that paid the bills
and gave some small consolation to the two thousand men,
who laughed at each other's lame jokes,
and dreamed of days when they wouldn't have to work so hard.
Now that day has come,
and their dreams and jokes have ended,
but they’re not laughing.

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