Author Archives: jaurquhart

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About jaurquhart

Jack Andrew Urquhart was born in the American South. Following undergraduate work at the University of Florida, Gainesville, he taught in Florida's public schools. He earned a Master of Arts degree in English, Creative Writing, from the University of Colorado at Boulder, where he was the winner of the Harcourt Brace Jovanovich Award for Fiction (1991). His work has appeared online at Clapboard House Literary Journal, Crazyhorse Literary Journal, and Standards: The International Journal of Multicultural Studies. He is the author of So They Say, a collection of self-contained, inter-connected stories and the short story, They Say You Can Stop Yourself Breathing. Formerly a writing instructor at the University of Colorado’s Writing Program, Mr. Urquhart was, until 2010, a senior analyst for the Judicial Branch of California. He resides in Washington State.

Hindsight, a prose poem

©2016 by Jack A. Urquhart “I can see you,” she says sweeping airily by, flash of Sunday-school dotted swiss, patent leather rat-a-tat heels, whiff of Skin So Soft. “Time to rise and shine!” Her voice is soprano sharp and bellwether clear, the vibrato … Continue reading →

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Not on Your Life: a prose poem

©2016 by Jack A. Urquhart               We said our farewells in Seattle; You, heading off to the library in a misting rain, I, preoccupied with transit arrangements, flight delays. But I remember the smoky … Continue reading →

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Sunday Morning Run (prose poem)

              ©2015 by Jack A. Urquhart Come Sunday morning, he runs the streets, pants and puffs past houses familiar since kindergarten, the former homes of former friends. Instead of Sunday School, he attends the … Continue reading →

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Shelter

                ©2015 by Jack A. Urquhart (for Raymond) Purple thunder heralds the storm. At dusk, the rains begin. Outside my window a necklace of liquid pearls— strung from telephone line— captures the last iridescence … Continue reading →

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Recollections

©2015 by Jack A. Urquhart (for Mom) Big blue Buick lies wrecked by the road—plate glass, framed steel fragile as October leaves— as fleeting as flesh and bone; Still a blue leather purse left behind at the scene calls back its … Continue reading →

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Space (a prose poem)

©2015 by Jack A. Urquhart (for Dillon from Dad) I dreamt of us again last night: You, sullen and scowling, opting for deep space; Me, drawn to your furtive luster, wondering how, from where we began, we’d opened this gravity-bound … Continue reading →

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Haiku for Dillon

Haiku for Dillon Lost two years ago today Alive in my heart Blue spruce ‘neath March snow Bends to heavy summer rains Too soon the bough breaks    

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Book Review: Kate Atkinson’s “Life After Life” and “A God in Ruins”

©2015 by Jack A. Urquhart   (Twitter @EvryManJac)         1580 words “When we read a story, we inhabit it. The covers of the book are like a roof and four walls. What is to happen next will … Continue reading →

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For All I Care, a prose poem

©2015 by Jack A. Urquhart                (For Dillon) In another dream You return to me, arms outstretched, a child again asking to be held. The weight of you against my quickening heart is like … Continue reading →

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Tinnitus (a prose poem)

©2015 by Jack A. Urquhart Listen a moment and you will hear it, the universal jingle— electric, crepitating, omnipresent in your head. Barely a hearbeat’s respite before here it comes again— the tympanic soap opera; the static Plop, Plop, Fizz, … Continue reading →

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