215 W. College Ave.
Waukesha, WI 53186
Jim Landwehr is a twenty-first century cartographer and Wisconsin's second tallest poet. In between his day job that keeps the lights on and the creditors at bay, he walks his dog, takes occasional bike rides, and scribbles out stories and poetry. After his wife and his two above-average children, his four books are his biggest pride and joys. He’s working towards a Pulitzer or a Pushcart, but at the moment will settle for a decent Amazon review and a little beer money.
Jim Landwehr has two poetry collections, Reciting from Memory, by Underground Voices, and Written Life by eLectio Publishing. His latest chapbook, On A Road, is slated for publication by Unsolicited Press on 10/21/18. He also has two book length memoirs, The Portland House: A ‘70’s Memoir, and Dirty Shirt: A Boundary Waters Memoir. He has non-fiction stories published in Boundary Waters Journal, Main Street Rag, Sundown Press and others. His poetry has been featured in Torrid Literature Journal, Portage Magazine, Echoes Poetry Journal, Blue Heron Review, Wisconsin People and Ideas Magazine, Off the Coast Poetry Journal, and many others. For more on his writing, visit: http://jimlandwehr.com
beneath these wheels of my three speed Huffy
summit avenue races by – a road taking me
and my brothers past the mansions of attorneys
brokers and bankers – we are not impressed by
their wealth and stature – because we are going
fishing while they build their empires on
scotch and mutual funds – we aim to build ours
on peanut butter sandwiches and fat carp down
at the mighty miss – school’s out for summer
and fall is a distant dream that is lost in the
bottom drawer of my tackle box swinging
precariously from the handlebar of my
three speed Huffy.
Previously published in Every Writer's Resource
We flew the kite
in the living room
of our old house.
Me in my stocking cap
Wife in long johns
Daughter in her down jacket
One cold February night.
It was beautiful
in that northwestern wind
Tail dancing near the mantelpiece
it dipped and frolicked
between the hurricane lamp
and the windup clock
lightly grazing the ceiling fan
Insulation is overrated
Previously published in Off The Coast