Richard L. Provencher

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I have 2695 stories published in 30 collections on the site.
My stories have been read 2369258 times and 241 of my stories have been cherry picked.
65 of my 3,811 comments have been voted Great Feedback with a total of 67 votes

Richard L. Provencher's picture
Richard Laurent Provencher

Richard is from Rouyn-Noranda, Quebec. His enjoyment of the woods combined with contemporary issues form the basis of his writing. Richard is now concentrating on his Story-Poems, which he believes is like a global adventure in a land without borders. His background as a miner, welfare officer, supply teacher, newspaper reporter, and a further 22 years in social services provide him with ample article material.

Richard has work in print and online with literary magazines such as Inscribed, Hudson View, Short Story Library, Ottawa Arts Review, Paragon 111, Tower Poetry, Caduceus, The Danforth Review, Other Voices International, Rubicon Publishing, Writer's Block, The Foliate Oak, Parenting Express, The Penwood Review, and Blue Skies Poetry.

Note: Richard L. Provencher will be 80 on September 10, 2022, lives with his precious wife, Esther and he were married 48 years ago, as of March 27, 2023. Richard continues to joyfully write all types of poetry, and posts his work now, all of it on ABCtales.com. They have lived in lovely Pictou, Glenholme and Truro, Nova Scotia since April 1986. Richard & Esther have a very strong Christian faith. Bless each one of you who enjoy our writing, and we are pleased to share our work, via Online Posting. -Richard & Esther

My stories

Buckwheat

Now he trots off, cloven hooves directing him to his favourite mound of earth

Leaning on Rake

Autumn reminds us of raking leaves, after which children leap and toss into the piles. But first think of the memories of those long days ago.

Hartland Bridge

Pebbles spray a New Brunswick bridge, cars hurrying places to go, late already

I Can Hear My Weeping

The bag lady is up to her neck in leftovers.
Cherry

Living on the Reserve

Listen to the sounds of silence drums no longer thumping, and only empty rooms for children

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