The Drunken Petunia-Ellie
It rained last night
And the petunias got drunk
With their purple faces
Shining like midnight stars
They lapped up heaven’s wine
Without an ounce of guilt
They are trying to pretend
It didn’t happen
By looking bright and beautiful
But I can tell
Their breath smells
Like God’s winery.
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Listen Up! Warren Artists Market
This is our first publication, 2013, a chapbook for the Senior Center Poets group.
We have published 7 anthologies since and have our 8th in the making.
One poem featured in this chapbook:
My African Prince, 1972 –by Carlo
Remember,,
when we first met,
on that hot day at the beach?
Boy
were you all wet!
Me,
lying there
in the sun,
playing it cool.
You,
tall,
bronze
beautiful,
emerging
from the sea.
Our eyes met.
I held my breath,
I must be dreaming.
This cannot be happening.
My heart is being captured
by this creature from the sea.
(LaVerne Gardner)
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I met Erika DeRuth at IWWG annual writing conference
and bought this chapbook from her in 2000.
A few poem titles with in:
cha cha pinsprites
questions fly
spraypaint on art’
silence
ballet in cowboy boots
apples and underwear
who am i
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Crossings –Jude Dippold
Jude writes of losses, letting go, death, dying, mourning, mostly remembering; bringing remembering to me, though my memories are always there in my shadow even when I have no shadow. I feel the depth in his writing as it encourages me to take time to write a poem for each of my own many losses.
Clearly I see the portrait of his sister he writes about, my dear friend Anne, younger then, with the simple beauty of daisies and the sun lighting her hair. She adored her brother.
Fortunately, each of my lost loves i.e. ancestors, parents, siblings, sons, and friends, has come to me at least once, a few have come often but each time has been comforting. Life after life and all after love. This is a special chapbook that has important insights to give you, written in many different ways.
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From the late Judy Beach’s Ritual Writing IWWG
One poem:
Spell For A Desired Position
arlene s bice
Cast a circle
lay a blue cloth in the center
with a blue candle in a blue dish on top
of the blue cloth. Enhance this with a blue
ribbon, let scented citrus oil permeate the air. Be
sure to have blue underwear on. Lay a section of
the newspaper that is desired to be publish in, be-
tween you and the candle. Lay your article on top of
the desired newspaper. Light the blue candle. Begin
speaking gently to Mother Goddess: “Please merge
these two that I may become the writer, published
routinely, desired by many readers, appreciated
by editors. Send the power, wisdom,
make way for my path. My grace
to you with thankfulness.
Blessed be.
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Writing What You Love Loving What You Write
From the late Judy Beach
Ice Cream and Love
arlene s bice
It’s more than a childhood memory;
the texture, the flavors, the taste
rolling around my tongue, melting, creamy
soothing my throat, adding to my pleasure.
The biting cold stinging my mouth.
Strawberries freshly picked in spring,
chunks, dripping with sweet juices
lay over the mound of French Vanilla
in a fancy glass rimmed in gold
like kisses laying on my lips.
A summer-ripened cantaloupe,
hollowed out and filled with scoops
of Chocolate; blending, melting
with the juices of warm fruit
coming together as one body.
In the autumn when spicy flavors
of Pumpkin and Buttered Rum tease
the palate, tingling the tongue
licking the drips on the cone,
my fingers wrapped around it.
Cold winds come in winter,
volcanic hot fudge covers the
heaping icebergs of Black Walnut
like your hands caressing my
breasts with your touch.
Seasons define the years,
flavors define the seasons.
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Fields of Flowers arlene s bice
Fields of flowers, we poets write
Do we really walk among them
Or do they just express a sight
Fields of flowers, we poets write
We’re in love then again just might
Not have those feelings all the same
Fields of flowers, we poets write
Do we really walk among them?
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This collection of extraordinary poems tells the story of vivid, African-American characters who have passed through the life of the author in a small, rural town in the South. Sometimes they entertain and sometimes salty tears burst, overflowing the eyelid wells, for the terrible tragedy of a life. Park has reached deep into his soul to let you know that these people lived and died and mattered, without any judgment from him. If these characters were not noticed in life, they will remain with the reader for a long, lingering time.
In all his honesty, Park reports on events that happened . . . and didn’t happen. When dreams blossomed with hope for a community and were taken away leaving disappointment for many who worked hard, giving their all, to bring about ideal living. The author exudes love of his community. He shows this caring by continuing to encourage the arts, the love of words and writing to anyone who wants to participate. I love this book.
LOVING WHAT I DO
Arlene Sandra Bice
Finishing my memoir-interviewing for the next ghostly book-reaching for submissions for this year’s anthology-seeking recipes for the cookbook, accepting stories for the grandmother’s book-writing lesson plans for the writers’ groups-formatting a teaching program-planning a new poetry book-publishing books for others!
STOP!
It’s about to drive me over the edge
there are not enough hours in the day, yet
I love what I do
I
cannot give up
cooking/eating
time with friends
reading
sleeping
I
will not give up
yoga
meditation
Tai Chai Chih
volunteer work
I love what I do
I’m full
of gratitude for it
thankful for it
so there is no answer
Filed under Poetry, wormen writing
The September First Friday continues to exceed my expectations! I thought that the holiday weekend would bring us a small group dedicated to our efforts of bringing poetry and oral expression to Warren County. Instead, the Warren Food Works (WFW) was packed with a diverse crowd from 18 to 80 mingling, enjoying each other while eating, drinking, and soaking up the words cast out into the atmosphere.
A wide range of poetic subjects seeping from the hearts of writers-Warren County writers, and Virginia writers, too, silenced the room with absorption. The always-welcome songs sung so beautifully by Shavon Russell Jones and afterwards, her sister, (forgive me I didn’t get her name.) A big surprise to everyone when volunteer from behind the bar, Cris Hunter ended the evening with the most beautiful rendition of Nature Boy. It brought some tears for the beauty of it. Their voices were like melted chocolate, velvety smooth and mesmerizing to everyone.
Miranda Medlin offered a stirring presentation, taking all into her realm. Devonte, a poet from our last year anthology Sitting with a Drunken Sorceress gave us his words and Travis Bullock continues to bring people in just to hear what he has to tell us.
So many others came to read, to share thoughts, feelings, and to merely listen. It was a very full night; a night to show Thomas Park what his dream has wrought; a night to make him proud for all his efforts.
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