‘The Weight of Snow’ Wins Finalist in the 2014 International Book Awards

The award-winning poetry collection The Weight of Snow has received both honorable mention at the 2014 San Francisco Book Festival and placed as a finalist in the 2014 International Book Awards in the poetry category. It has also been featured on USA Book News' 2014 Best Book Awards website. Check out the listing on the poetry page here. PAPERBACK AVAILABLE [...]

POETRY: Excerpt from ‘The Weight of Snow’ (Black Swift Press, 2014)

CLIMBING NORTH MOUNTAIN IN SPRING Sonata of the mockingbirds from the high limbs of the poplar, the curtains shift; petals are loosened from the tangle of bougainvillea vine, are pulled to the earth in a brilliant snow of tangerine and magenta. I go north, the noise too unsettling, climb small Sugarloaf Mountain to wander through [...]

Poet Laureate Gary Young Praises ‘The Weight of Snow’

The poems in The Weight of Snow are heartfelt, skillfully written, and keenly observed fragments of the natural world and our lives there. Bravo.  - Gary Young, Poet Laureate of Santa Cruz County and Author of Pleasure, Braver Deeds, and No Other Life In The Weight of Snow, author B. L. Bruce explores the many plights of the [...]

“Clay” Included in Poems from Conflicted Hearts Anthology, Tayen Lane Publishing 2014

Along with six other works, the following poem titled "Clay" was accepted into Tayen Lane Publishing's Poems from Conflicted Hearts: An Anthology scheduled for release in March of 2014!CLAYI come knocking, find you in the garden looking not more than a child, eating the sweet petals of the guava blossoms,bending to sweep the stone pathway.You drift [...]

‘At Henry Cowell State Park, Early Winter’ Appears in phren-Z Magazine, Winter 2012

 In fall,the Big Leaf maples warm                    in color,and in time will let gotheir dying leaves.By December, the ungiving stalksof the American Sweetgum are bare                                    and still,                                    even in wind.We walk beside the woodyardlate one afternoon,and my mother says,      “The leaves are turning          on the alders,”                       and nods.Her skin, the best clock,           a sundial in the angled light;I do not know her [...]