Biography of Stephen Saul
The year after the fall of Saigon saw me enlisted in the United States Army. For three years I served with the field artillery in West Germany. Later, after too many years in a college classroom, I took work as a newspaper reporter and editor. Some articles from that period found homes on the AP and UPI wire services.
While at the University of Kansas, I earned a BA in political science and minored in English and journalism. I had the pleasure, and good fortune, to study creative writing under the noted novelist, Carol Hebald. 'You do write well, ' she said. Those words continue to provide a wellspring of encouragement that has kept me writing poetry, short stories and now novels.
Serious creative writing began, under a hissing steam pipe, in a basement apartment in Brooklyn, New York. While penning verse longhand, I studied poetry under the renowned poet, Hugh Seidman, at the New School University in Greenwich Village.
Three volumes of poetry have been published under my name, and a volume of short stories. I am currently at work on the second novel in The Lou Palmer Crime Series, which is based in Washington, D.C. The stories feature a retired New York mobster, who owns the hottest nightclub in the District, and his gambler sidekick. I have playfully nicknamed the series: Casablanca with firepower. I promise outrageous conspiracies for the duo to unravel, fused with action, sex and intrigue.
Since leaving New York City in the mid-90s, I've enjoyed living in the Washington, D.C. suburb of Falls Church, Virginia.
Stephen Saul's Works:
The Evil That Men Do, EBooks by Design,2012 (A First Novel)
Stone Heart, PublishAmerica,2009.
the wind is a blind man tapping, PublishAmerica,2005.
Wanderings, The Edwin Mellen Press,2000.
Stephen Saul Poems
Poet Of Working Women
i stood alone at her grave a simple flat marker on a mound of earth
Another poem With language That may be Deemed inappropriate
this poem contains language that some at poemhunter.com deem offensive
i walk softly among crucifixions where the vanquished like stands of timber
alone along the water hands
foot prints in the
cross-legged by the fire peering into the mist the sound of struggle
stone heart of the city stars and street lamps
by the fire
peering into the mist
the sound of struggle
on the water:
wings beat fiercely
two snaps of a twig
a low growl
the sound of nothingness
fills my ears
light and cool
pulls gently at the fire
old and drawn
in the restless flames