THOMAS PAUL [WORDWULF] STERNERHOWE began to sing to his fellow Child prisoners in the West Denver Housing Projects in the '60s. He spent the '70s and '80s howling his lyrics in rock 'n roll whiskey bars. He found passion in friction, the guttural growl of his Harley Davidson Hawg and the monster men he rode with. Between prison and Big Brother Deals he watched them all disappear. This poor boy (Momma was a Catholic; Daddy was a drunk) has found his voice and lends it to a vision - a tomorrow when his Children won't be goose-stepped and prodded into Daddy/Boy money wars. A native son of Colorado, he lives in Lafayette with wife Karen, her two sons and his youngest son, Zedidiah. Family and riding his Harley Davidson fill up the hours left over from work and creative enterprises. SternerHowe is poetry editor at Skyline Literary Review and has been extensively published in independent literary magazines including Howling Dog Press/Omega (The most dangerous writers alive), Ken*Again Magazine, Flesh From Ashes, Silence Speaks, Skyline Literary Review, Apollo's Lyre, etc. He is winner of the Marija Cerjak Award for Avant-Garde/Experimental Writing 2001, 2002 & 2003. A bibliography of his writing credits and writing samples may be viewed at: http://tomsternerhowe.freeservers.com/about.html. His first novel, 'Madman Chronicles: The Warrior' (ISBN# 1-59286-793-6), is available at his website: http://pages.prodigy.net/sterner-howe or at www.PublishAmerica.com. He has earned his PHD (Post Hole Digger) of life, intends to bellow and right/write the beast at every opportunity. The poor boy understands; that awful thing he was doing, fighting and singing in that mortar brick compound at ten years old; 'it' is what he is bound to do until it follows him on down.

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Dear Santa,
I'm too old to be writin' you these letters. Truth is, I'll be 9 in a few months and I been thinkin' for awhile that you ain't real. But just in case you are there's this cool chopper bike at Wal~Mart I'd like to have. My l'il sister Lily wants a Cabbage Patch doll (she likes cat things, too, a... continue reading

Willy fell from the bridge pathway of the cyber forest into a neon maelstrom. Bright flashes, bolts of instant lightning, excited into existence an illuminated outline where his body had fallen through the surface screen. Abby held tight to a thick loom of coiled wires, leaned over the bridge, and cried after him i... continue reading