George Cassidy Payne

George Cassidy Payne is originally from the Adirondack Mountains of Upstate New York. He now lives and works in the City of Rochester, New York. George is a poet, photographer, essayist, professor of philosophy, and social worker.

George's poetry has been included in a variety of journals and magazines, including Chronogram Magazine, Allegro Poetry Journal, Mojave Heart, the Red Porch Review, Albany Up the River Poets Journal, Teahouse, The Adirondack Almanack,The Mindful Word, Talker of the Town, Pulsar, Moria Poetry Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, and many others.

George's letters and editorials have appeared in The Atlantic, Rolling Stone, The Wall Street Journal, USA Today, the South China Morning Post, the Syracuse Post-Standard, the Buffalo News, the Rochester Democrat & Chronicle, Minority Reporter, Chicago Crusader, Amsterdam News, and the Albany Times Union.

When he is not writing or taking photographs of natural landscapes, he works as a domestic violence counselor, adjunct instructor of philosophy, and social justice activist. George has a beautiful wife and two wonderful children named Mendon and Ellison. You can reach him at 585-703-9230/icaj2000@yahoo.com.


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	Ebola by George Cassidy Payne There is respectand there is that snot dripping, wrist shaking,stuttering, knees buckling, heart pounding, eyelid swelling, tears pouring, speechlessrespect. The kin
	Heaven and Earth by George Cassidy Payne I am left timeless. My skin is timeless. Like the rusty mercury gauge in an old Chevy. I am gazing upon Christ. I am aggressive.My density is aggressive. I am an out of body experien
	My Ego by George Cassidy Payne smells like roastingBull Nose peppers,

	Crazy Horse by George Cassidy Payne (For my mother)You are my Crazy Horse.My warrior chiefand Grandmother Earth. And long before you surrendered, you stood
	Boulder, Colorado by George Cassidy Payne Is the wry grin an old hippy makeswhen hiding a handfulof magic mushrooms. Or the way strangers feel innocentand accomplished at the summit. N
	A Definition of Time by George Cassidy Payne On a dead-end block inan Atlanta suburb,she lays down to drinkalone, not giving a damnabout being marriedin the finest old oak casksor being distinctive with a
	Alkaline State by George Cassidy Payne There is no magic in poetry. Worms have wounds too.There is only the oxygen of what matters.A natural hormone unleashed to the infi
	The Second Beatitude by George Cassidy Payne My mind is rustlingleaves, sound shadowsand deadening echoes.
	The Skin of God by George Cassidy Payne Blooming undera deep, gold barm
	Mobius Strip by George Cassidy Payne To forgive is to release. To let go. To be held.To arrive at where we want to end,we grasp for it. Without knowing how to hold our own hand,we cling to it. Where we came from,
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