Biography of M.C. Bruce
Poet and lawyer M.C. Bruce lives in McKinleyville, California. He has been publishing since 1999. He works as a solo lawyer in criminal law and family law. He worked for a number of years for the Orange County Public Defender. His experiences as a PD are found in the now rare chapbook 'Clients, ' though Mr. Bruce has plans to put an expanded version of the book on Kindle soon.
His son is a graduate student at Purdue University in Physics.
His wife, Rene Diedrich, is the anthologist of the world-renowned book 'How Dirty Girls Get Clean'.
Bruce was most recently published in an anthology of lawyer poetry which can be found on Amazon.
M.C. Bruce's Works:
At Dalton's Cafe
The Book of the Dead
Lawyer Poets and that World We Call Law (anthology)
M.C. Bruce Poems
Quickies (Poems For Sexting Anthology)
Perfume The scent of you Permeates my sheets.
She brought her ghosts with her When she came to this house. She knows by the way the hound Glares and growls at a space above
Her heart was a loaded gun She went through this world With the hammer half cocked A bullet in the chamber.
Sonnet On The Death Of An Ipod
Thou little shiny box which many days Did entertain me on my lonely walks Containing multitudes, whose random plays Perplexed and pleased me. Now your silence mocks
my girl was irked that she had suffered for weeks from some unknown miscreant virus which made
I held my grudge With hate and dread. My heart was blackened Cold and dead.
Starbuck's, Tuesday Morning
The rattle of the cups the ringing of the spoons the chatter of the girls working the counter;
When I was a boy My mother put A new thermos In my lunch.
The dogs are quiet The washing machine groans My girl naps and snores And I am calling on the muse
Whenever a poem Is titled'Poetry' The poet tries too hard To convince you
Love Song 42
You are my delight The stretch of highway Lined with trees before I hit the city;
This is not my life But some sad parody Of what I would have become Had I been more cowardly
The Burden Of The Dead
The dead are no burden to us at all. The earth carries them for us Quite nicely, putting its dirty shoulder Into their weight so that we
The Feast Of St. Elvis
(After a Drawing by Leigh White) The rabble will resort to cliché
For more than a year
It has been unreasonably dry,
the skies refusing to cloud,
the rain staying away from us
Like an ex-girlfriend angry
over some perceived slight.
We walk the streets of bone
muttering about how long