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“These poems transport me. . . .With them Armitage has earned an even more prominent place in Texas literature.” –WF Strong, Stories from Texas:  Some of Them Are True

“Armitage knows the landscape as intimately as the face of a beloved ancestor. .. .These poems will stay with the reader, evocative of the uncluttered country where the human heart’s tangled wilderness can find space, distance, peace.”–Kathryn Jones, author of An Orchid’s Guide to Life


    

Shelley’s Blog

25 Jul

Posted at 21:43h in Uncategorized by
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They both perished at the hands of the U.S. Calvary who finally discovered their last refuge in the vast Palo Duro Canyon.  For years the historic marker in the canyon told the story from the U.S. government perspective: how many savages surprised, how many captured or killed, the destroying of over 1000 Indian horses. I can hear the horses screaming in the early mornings.  Sound traveling through memory. The Comanches preferred the wide canyons like the Palo Duro and perhaps this was their undoing.  The Kiowa preferred deep canyons where...

18 Jul

Posted at 23:34h in nature, Uncategorized by
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Recently I received a request from my newly hired publicist for a "head shot."  It sounded simple enough. I clicked on a couple of photos used by the press previously for my book and off they went. "Can't use. Low resolution.  If you can't fix it, send something else."  And yet the press, two newspapers, and others had reproduced the shot without fuzziness. Maybe it was just my glasses. I wrote back to my good friend, David, who made the original shot. "Take out the turkey neck while you are at...

12 Jul

Posted at 02:43h in Uncategorized by
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Back some time in the l980s (do we speak in decades now?) I decided to plant some Arizona Cypress trees at my Vega house.  Fast growing, drought resistant.  The house sits in the middle of a prairie; I've always said no matter what I tried to do with the yard, I lived in the middle of a prairie. Daddy teased me about the trees.  "They're not going to be tall enough to shade your grave," he jibed even as he helped me dig the holes.  That was Daddy: he...