Wintonbury Branch Poetry Series

The Wintonbury Branch Poetry Series & Open Mike
meets the 3rd Thursday of the month, October-April, see schedule...

(Submissions for the Sharing Page will be reviewed and selected for posting
by Marilyn Johnston, the coordinator of the Wintonbury Branch Poetry Series & Open Mike.

Postings will not be immediate. Submissions can be received by Marilyn via CD or floppy, or email her at: marilynjohnston2003@yahoo.com) Submit up to 3 one-page poems for consideration.

From My Window

I have a grand generous view
I can see packs of pigeons
spooling off the roof
I can see chickadees pecking
at the bare black sticks
I watch shapeshifting clouds
and the sky change colors
from morning sun to midnight moon
every day at exactly dusk
a bewildering herd of birds appear
flying from east to west
to I know not where
best of all I
behold the lives of the leaves on the tree
bud, form glory and
fall.

-Tirzah Silberstein
(posted 6/15/2011)

Insurance

All our lives we’re told we must be covered
While with its limits we’re stuck and smothered.
By premium our wallets are steadily drained,
Without it we risk disasters and sharpest pain.
A blanket woven to warm us like toast,
Its weight so immense we both wither and roast.

It lays out dollars when we check if we’re well

But pays less when we’re struggling or sick as hell.

It gives back when we’re helpless victims of theft

But excludes floods that take and leave little left.

It’s a system we love to attack and blame,

That prods us to twist truth or lie without shame.

Tobacco smells stick to our clothes, but we don’t smoke.

My car didn’t hit hers like she says, and that’s no joke.

To save money, repair guys pad their bills

But if insurers hike the price, I’ll be ill.

Their tightly crafted clauses incontestable,

Their denials dreadfully indigestible.

At renewal they don’t state what we remit now

Just what enormous sum we’ll soon expend, and how!

When we die we’ll finally have a valid claim

But someone else will file it in our name

For that’s the policy that terminates the game.

-John P. Kneal
(posted 5/18/2011)

Safe House

It is as impermanent as young love.....or old.

Yet, today only, I own this beach.

Skin tingling with a mind awash in such vivid memories;

the tide takes them out, then returns with new ones, long forgotten.

The now statistic of a decades-ago parents' divorce,

that left this man unwittingly estranged from that shore home,

I pine for its blanket of peace and warmth,

conceding that this mere day is what must suffice.

Only a few miles away, friends of my youth bask in the love

of the once small cottages, now blossomed through the years

to full maturity, that loving moms and dads have left to them......

a safe haven to run to as time erodes an already deteriorating world.

- Andy Weil
(posted 4/12/2011)

My Cathedrals

Those of us who do not attend any
formal place of worship can experience
religious fervor in our own way elsewhere.
Thirteen years ago I found revelations
and experienced a coming alive within a
robin's egg blue, vine-covered office.
After sixty years of being a nomad, I felt,
for the first time, that I'd found my true home...
A few years later, on the next stop on my
scavenger hunt for identity,
a library in Bloomfield loomed up one evening
out of the mists.
In the first haven I explored my inner depths;
in the next one, I, a lifetime mute, have found my voice!
A sense of God's love for me such as my mother
was unable to experience until on her death bed,
I was fortunate to discover in a yet vital old age!

The closest I've known of true religious fervor came
to me in an odd-ball doctor's office and in the
most welcoming aura of a library.
These then, remain my cathedrals.

-Nancee Cheffet, January 24, 2011
(posted 2/28/2011)

Do I Love You?

My thoughts for you
And my love for you
Are in
A beautiful place
The kind of thoughts
And love
That can't be erased
The love we have
For each other
Makes for a wonderful journey
The spontaneity
In our relationship
Creates the willingness
To enjoy life
And love together
It's the kind of love
That's genuine
It's the kind of love
That's true
It's just that kind of love
God blessed me with
And that love
Is you

-Brenda J. Lewis
(posted 1/14/2011)

Mounted

I ride a bucking steed
spirited and difficult to hold
with balance

climbing steeply on the hills
deeply plunging to the valleys
snorting at the wind that rushes past
     with terrifying speed

     I long to dismount
     to a green meadow
     gentle with flowers

and when at last I do
when the ride is over
when the spent mount
stands quivering at my side
     flanks heaving

when my trembling limbs
touch solid earth again

     what then?

-June Mandelkern
(posted 6/24/2010)

How Do I Choose?

How do I tell right from wrong if I have delusions?
Mind bottled with confusion
I love my life
No I hate my life
I love you
No I hate you
I want this
No I don’t want this
Either way I lose
How do I choose?
With a mind bottled with confusion
How do I tell right from wrong if I have delusions?

-Aerial Mitchell
(posted 3/1/10)

The Clearing

Punch the clock, dear woman.
Put down the pen and leave.
And follow me, it's time for you,

the giver, to receive...

For in this place, The Clearing,
I've been to through the years,

you'll free yourself to reconnect
all laughter from the tears.

The pines massage your shoulders
as calming winds arise;
They make their way past work-worn legs,
caressing weary eyes.

The grass beneath your naked feet
soothing all that's sore,
calms your soul
while showing all your troubles to the door.

You see, all things must turn in time;
These moments to be brief.

The circle brings us 'round again,
from happiness to grief.

So as the ship
that brought you here
returns to
all endearing,

remember, madness
never stops;
Go often
to The Clearing...

- Andy Weil

January 12, 2010
(posted 1/20/10)

"You in your lumpy pink cocoon..."

You in your lumpy pink cocoon
Wrapped so tightly
I don't want this memory of you
I will push it out
Replace it with
Mother's Buns
Summer Wednesday movies
Orange Pencil Sharpeners
Super Rummy
Train trestles'
Claw footed tables with lace table cloths
Buttermilk Pancakes
Not with blindly blinking eyes that have forgotten me
I know I'm in there somewhere
I know you'll take me with you

-Ellen Finney
10/17/09
(posted 11/20/09)

The Wintonbury Branch Poetry Series & Open Mike Series

Coming Up Next... January-April 2012

All are welcome. Refreshments and an open mike follow the featured poet at each event.
For more information, please call the Wintonbury Branch at 860-242-0041.

January 19, 2012 (Thurs) 7:00 P.M.
Wintonbury Branch Poetry Series, featured poet: Zakiah Barksdale
Fresh from her powerful performance as Tituba in the Hartford Stage's acclaimed production of The Crucible last fall, Zakiah Barksdale joins us January 19. Actress, dramatic reader, and Professor of Literature at Asnuntuck Community College, Ms. Barksdale will present an evening of stunning dramatic readings of poems from her favorite American poets, including Phyllis Wheatley and Langston Hughes.

February 16, 2012 (Thurs) 7:00 P.M.
Wintonbury Branch Poetry Series, featured poets: Jean Sands & John Stanizzi
On February 16, we present two special voices, Jean Sands & John Stanizzi. Ms. Sands, author of Gandy Dancing (Antrim House, 2011) has published widely and been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. John Stanizzi, an English teacher at Bacon Academy and MCC is the author of three magical collections of poetry.

March 15, 2012 (Thurs) 7:00 P.M.
Wintonbury Branch Poetry Series, featured poet: G. Scott Deshefy
Mr. Deshefy is author of Shadow Stones (2002) and Houyhnhnms All (1998). Many of his poems reflect a soldier's eye-view of the Vietnam War. He combines a love for poetry with a passion for public service. In 2010, he ran for U.S. Congress in the 2nd District for the Green Party.

April 19, 2012 (Thurs) 7:00 P.M.
Wintonbury Branch Poetry Series, featured poets: Ginny Connors & Patricia Hale
On April 19, we celebrate National Poetry Month, honoring two highly talented and accomplished local poets, Ginny Connors and Patricia Hale. Each has the distinction of winning the prestigious national chapbook contest sponsored by the Sunken Garden Poetry Festival. Ms. Connor's work has appeared in many journals such as Atlanta Review. She has two full collections to her credit. Ms. Hale's recent chapbook of finely-wrought poems is entitled Composition and Flight. An open mike follows the featured readers at each event.