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.
Procedure
I write this competing with
"Let's Make a Deal" at a volume
that stings just enough to
force my pen down several times.
While your endoscopy ensues,
I submit: I'm the only one
in the hospital waiting room who's underweight,
not transfixed by the television, or texting;
a fish out of water in what we now call America.
The fortyish woman, three chairs down
with nice skin and clothes from Coldwater Creek,
looks over at me from her magazine, twice,
nervously catches my gaze, then returns
to find out if Fibersill will help her.
A Herb Alpert trumpet now emanates
from the TV as a nurse with a contrived strut
and a script to match
beckons me.
The crowd cheers.
The young couple wins the car.
As a jubilant wife hugs the game show host,
your doctor traverses the winter-worn floormats over
carpet,
and meets me mid-way.
I breathe; you're still in the game...
-Andy Weil
(posted 7/20/2010)
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)
from "Nothingness"
...I don't see any doubts
about what a woman is
when I look at you...
I don't see lies.
I don't see any reason not to
believe...
I hope you are willing
to share your nothingness with me.
The nothingness I see in you
makes you like water.
And it is your water I need;
because for water like yours
I have been so thirsty.
I believe god will be the cup for you to pour
your water into, so I can take a drink
and have it quench me. It's crystal clear.
I hope my words will echo loud
enough in your nothingness for you to hear.
I believe eventually, the nothingness I see
will bring you closer to me. I love
writing about the beauty of your nothing.
I know the day will come
when you will see the same
nothingness in me.
- by Robert Boggan
(posted 10/13/09)
At The Beach/Evening
Quiet wraps each couple in
a blanket of peace.
They pair on benches.
She cradles his head;
he sprawls, open, vulnerable.
Small families draw closer
hold hands and plod up beach
Tired but happy for relief
from summer's first scorcher.
Gulls wheel and circle low
screeching like tired children;
bay's rivulets become waves.
As rising wind brings
high tide and full moon
evening wraps the body of day.
The beach is empty.
Katherine Carle
July 31, 2009
Power
In my azalea bush
closely woven between the leaves
a spider web
glistens in the morning light
with pearls of water.
Why have I been given
such absolute power
to destroy it with one sweep
of my broom
or let it live in beauty
one more day?
June Mandelkern
July 12, 2009
Blue Haiku
blue iris opens--
a palm
filled with sun
blue bells
in church garden--
silent chimes
cornflower blue
planted in this day's sky--
morning reaches into heaven
sunshine through juice glass
on kitchen table--
cobalt blue puddle
blue jeans
white wash--
delft blue underwear
summer morning--
peacock blue flies out of sky
into ocean
turquoise wave--
slides over sill
of pink Bermuda beach
afternoon tea
blueberry muffins--
navy stains on lips fingertips
midnight blue notes from harmonica
sidle down darken streets--
a town that never forgets
By Bonnie Enes
(posted 7/8/09)
Schedule -
Autumn 2010
The Wintonbury Branch Poetry Series &
Open Mike
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