Justin Krebbs

Justin KrebbsBIO

Justin Krebbs was born in Bloomington, Indiana and owes his “pilgrimage of words” to three moments. The first took place when he was encouraged by a local poet named Roger Pfingston to take his creative writing class. The second moment happened when he stumbled upon a copy of Marvin Bell’s Drawn by Stones, by Earth, by Things that Have Been in the Fire. The last moment occurred when he was fortunate enough to hear Yusef Komunyakaa read poems from his Pulitzer prize winning Neon Vernacular. All three moments ultimately showed the reach of the written word and its enormous power, sparking the interest of a teenager in a small Midwestern town.

While honing his craft as a writer of poetry and short stories, Justin has worked as a freelance copywriter. He has written radio and print advertisements, many of which have appeared in SmartMoney, Kiplinger’s and Entrepreneur magazines.

Justin Krebbs resides in Alexandria, Virginia with his wife and twin sons. He is currently working on his first novel and may be contacted at krebbsj@gmail.com.
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Orchard Stories

Only longing to know where time has wandered
I sit beneath the frowns of stars.

The apple orchard is fast asleep—
Weary stories saunter over bends of limb like cold mosquitoes.

These words I seize,
If they turn my way
In hopes of knowing such gain.

If I leave empty handed
My heart has not sun or moon in a basket.

But, if I succeed
I know more than blanket of stars or a sleeping tree.

How time is pure as an arrow flung by sturdy arms—
Never withering in the heart of winter’s night.

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Sunday Morning in the Dream Café

Wind kindly blows
Clear marbles across the universe of a child’s eye.
Two steps from sleeping behind the sunset wheel of Sunday
The both of us tumble across golden yawns
Our sagging socks
Forcefully tucked over dream-torn pant legs.

We leap from Prophet Swings
Onto pillows made of castles
As we sing of the great wings that sailed across the Moon—

‘The crooked crown of the sleeping Mrs. Kingback.’

Running from twin shadow showers
We swing from twisted limbs
And yet fear no Monday;

We have taken along
Our star-blankets, buckets of Snappy’s Blueberry Cherries
And fourteen quotes from Eleanor’s Better Known Confusions
The first, which says ‘dreams always bends nimble limbs.’

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Lost

By freeing calloused
Marbles out of a pirate’s jar
I have made gold and talking to you
With a peg-leg where a hook arm was.

Wind blows my promises
Across a sand castle
Where children
Build hidden islands of jubilant treasure—

Burying us.

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