It’s here on Friday-our First Friday Poetry, open mic night, 4th Dec. 7:30 to 9:30.
Come in; you can hear Reasons for the Season.
Come in to hear original works read by the poets who wrote them.
Come in to read your own words or the words of someone you enjoy.
Come in; just listen, FoodWorks, 108 S. Main St Warrenton NC
Come in, nibble on local foods and delectable desserts.
Come in, taste the wines and beers of North Carolina.
Come in and share a table with old friends or meet new ones.
While nosing around the ‘net, I find a subject that I can fly from and create a writing prompt for my writing friends. Where do you find your poems? Do you make a list, write from one, leave the others for another day? Can you just go on and on, allowing the list to continue expanding like I do? And isn’t poetry just fascinating now that all those rigid rules have been removed? It is for me, anyway. Please enjoy.
WHERE POEMS HIDE
A brilliantly colored leaf falls from a tree
gently floating down
letting me know, autumn is in slow motion
deer that come out of the forest to forage
as I watch quietly
holding my breath; not to scare them away
words of my father flow through my hand
as they touch paper
words that I never chanced to hear him say
re-reading cards sent to me over the years
softening my heart
touch me again as I picture who sent them
peace of home fills me with warmth
head to heart to hand, filling me with love
a pot of tea complimenting the scent
of freshly baked cookies
filling the kitchen with memories of long ago
the table covered with books of blank pages
lay sprawled out
their voices calling me, waiting to be filled
the fireplace crackling, warming my heart
memories of moments
so precious that I re-live them over again
poems hang in the air waiting to be plucked
brought to life
written down to share with the world © 2014
Our Monday writing group has published its second annual chapbook, titled Heartspeak. From writing prompts, seeds are planted that become words, words strung together become thoughts, placed on paper, these thoughts become poems, essays, and stories.
Some poetry is for remembering and some for remembering with pure joy to bring a grin to your winter face. Please enjoy one of my contributions. The thought of it warms me on a wintry day.
No longer coffee for me
Brought up on toast & tea
I do have memories so sweet
of driving nights to Canal Street
NYC that is.
A tiny cup of espresso
dark, foamy, compresso
sided with an Italian delight
flaky, whipped cream on sight
the best ever.
By my side, my Italian stud
silver-haired, full Italian blood
oh, yes I have memories of coffee
some with anisette or flavored toffee
Arlene Sandra Bice ©2014