Biography of Joseph DeMarco
Joseph DeMarco was born in New York City; he lived most of his life in Buffalo, NY. He now teaches seventh grade on the island of Oahu, Hawaii. He is the author of the novels Plague of the Invigilare, The 4 Hundred and 20 Assassins of Emir Abdullah-Harazins, At Play in the Killing Fields, Blind Savior, False Prophet, Vegans Are Tastier and The 4 Hundred and 20 Assassins: Green Mourning. He is currently working on several new projects.
Joseph DeMarco's Works:
Plague of the Invigilare
The 4 Hundred and 20 Assassins of Emir Abdullah-Harazins
At Play in the Killing Fields
Blind Savior, False Prophet
Vegans Are Tastier, The 4 Hundred and 20 Assassins: Green Mourning
Joseph DeMarco Poems
The Persistence Of Memory
We all hear the internal clock ticking, A self-contained Doomsday device, Melting like a candle in the desert heat
Dancing With Dragonflies
Flip-pity fly, Swoop-pity sail Catch a dragonfly By the tail
Huckleberry Finn's Raft
“Huckleberry Finn, a shaman, the Lizard King and me…were floating on a raft down the Mississippi, ” Siann heard Joe Kaye announce, as if he were a narrator in a play. Siann felt like she was the audience, but there was no stage, they were really on a raft. And there was really a black medicine man with white face paint and hoops through his nose. There was really a guy who looked like Jim Morrison with a beard and a large gut, and there was a dirty little boy in overalls with no shirt, and well, of course, there was the False Prophet of Fennimore Place: Joe Kaye. It seemed to Siann that she was invisible to the other four members, as they paid no attention to her. They (Huckleberry Finn, the shaman, the Lizard King and Joe Kaye) seemed to be involved in a strange discussion. “The soul is not whole, the secret’s been stole, ” Jim said in a voice that was quintessential Morrison. The raft floated through an eerie, ominous fog that engulfed them in a mist. In the middle of the raft on the ground in the center of the four of them, was a large, circular, silver disc. There were several trinkets, a glass statue, and several shiny objects lying on top of the large disc. Joe Kaye spun the disc; as it moved it glinted in what little light the fog allowed.
The Forgetful Fisherman
The forgetful fisherman was as wise as he was forgetful. Some even said that he used to be a Zen Master, but that was along time ago and he had forgotten about that. Early one morning a little boy approached the fisherman asking him for advice.
Rainy Day In Baseballland
It was a rainy day in Baseballland The players were home in bed One rookie rolled over his eyelids a flutter With dreams of a stand-up triple running through his head
We Can'T Work It Out
Every time I bring up the subject, We get caught in the loop perpetually. It is as if we are frozen in this amber
Mother Culture's Lullabye - The Culling ...
She sings to us, Even when we hear no sound, Especially when our eyes are closed.
Literal And Figurative
Literal and Figurative Are one in the same thing I literally have a heartache From that unused Diamond Ring
Still Life With The Lorax
The Lorax is on top, I wish it would stop. All these bad and good memories, of me and you.
I Met A Young Girl, She Gave Me A Rainbo...
blAck pearls and broken ocean sHells
In the land of the lost They dug up a book of magic spells today No one had seen spells like this before Some of them were extremely weird
St. Valentine's Day Massacre
I climbed to the top of the clock tower, With the wind lightly at my back. I positioned myself ever so slightly, And got ready to attack.
Dear Miss Rigby,
The Beatles are frozen underground Like some sort of Prehistoric Cave Drawing, Art Incognito. The Ground is Hard
Ode To The Duckdive
Throwing gravity aside this is the magical enchantment
“Those who don't know their history
Are condemned to repeat themselves.”
For we are reincarnation's red-headed step child
Beaten by the wicked path,
Repeating ourselves occluded by our amnesia
Walking where ourselves once were,
Unaware that we were ever there,
Unaware that the mistakes of our ancestors
Were OUR MISTAKES,