Tyrus 2013


"The biggest mysteries in our genre are why Reed Coleman isn't already huge, and why Moe Prager isn't already an icon."—Lee Child

"Reed Farrel Coleman is one of the more original voices to emerge from the crime fiction field in the last ten years." —George Pelecanos

"Moe Prager is the man." Janet Evanovich

"Reed Farrel Coleman makes claim to a unique corner of the private detective genre" —Michael Connelly

"One of the most daring writers around ... He writes the books we all aspire to." Ken Bruen

Poems by Reed F. Coleman

Sonnet of a City Once Known

Have you not seen the city I once knew

buried beneath years of silent defect,

impatient rust and angry shades of blue?

History’s hidden beneath its neglect.


The endless sewer to sewer stickball games,

crumbling cement, steps worn smooth as slate,

summer Tuesdays, boardwalk firework flames,

my father coming home (always too late).


Soft blacktop leaps to meet a kid’s sneaker

rounding first, but dreaming of home at last.

Old tar just hardens, the streets grow bleaker

and bright futures are leveled by the past.


On fall days as shedding trees turn to stone,

my shadows visit this city once known.

                —Reed F. Coleman

Published in Long Island Quarterly 1996 and Poetry of Murder 2005. All rights reserved.



I was seventeen

before I knew

my eyes were blue

that girls liked them

that girls liked my eyes

that they were blue.

Until then

I was too busy

throwing stones

throwing stones at the mirror

to see

that you could see them too.

Before then

I just assumed

they were brown

or I just didn’t think

about my eyes.

What was there to like,


until I was seventeen?

                —Reed F. Coleman

Published in Proteus 1994 and Poetry of Murder 2005. All rights reserved.

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