Poetry Sharing Page

Residents of the Bloomfield and surrounding communities are invited to submit their poetry for consideration to appear on the library’s Poetry Sharing Page!

Poetry submissions (up to three one-page poems at a time) are accepted on a monthly basis and are due by the 15th of each month. (Some slight reformatting of your poem may appear due to technical constraints). For all questions or submissions contact Tom Nicotera at tnicotera@libraryconnection.info.


Finding light in dark times

Sing a song of solace
Sing a song of glee
Sing a song of darkness
Sing a song of enlightenment

The eagle has’t landed
It still is in flight
For there is much disparity
Little sign of a clear landing

Joy seems to be a much rarer bird
Than that of the shadow of its absence
Though light seems around the corner
Darkness still prevails

Sing of hope to find joy
Not only to pray to the Divine,
But act with all your spirit
To find your will to Being.

by Michael S. Feinberg


Enduring Covid 19

An emptiness clutters my view;
A stillness with all things held fast.
What of this merits a review?
How still can I remain at last?

Now loneliness offers a shroud.
I’m prompted to say, ‘Please move on!’
I somehow grasp, what’s not allowed,
Is simply feeling ‘put upon’.

An odd strength needed to stand still;
I want to reach out or recoil.
Instead, I’ll sit … … … I’ll sit until
This emptiness ends its turmoil.

This emptiness has not yet caught
The yields exchanged through heart felt thought.

by Kimball Hunt


Building a Temple

To build a Temple of yourself
Take all the fibers, fabrics, colors
Of your being that have have been
Washed through the light of prayer
This is the cleansing action
Of the sacred interaction of
Divine meditation and inspiration.

Being in the desert of isolation
Without the usual personal contact
With family and friends can bring one
Face to face and eye to eye
To who you are.
As one sheds fears and regrets
Things can become clearer.

by Michael S. Feinberg


Prevailing

Self-blinded in their vanity,
Fulsome in their loathsome creed,
They trampled honor joyously
To mark what ranked their sordid breed.

These knuckle draggers will recede.
We’ll learn to dance in their debris.
Inverse charisma will succeed
Infused by moral clarity.

This bond we share, through moral dread,
Equips us with intensity;
Assuring, once again, we’re fed
Through facts precise with honesty.

We’ve learned that distance in this blight
Can restore our moral sight.

by Kimball Hunt


Prayer

In that moment
Outside of time
Where there is nothing
There is everything
As that still small silent voice
Emerges with illumination
Of Divine Language.

by Michael S. Feinberg


We Will UnMask This Faceless Foe

We now share sharpened urgency
As social distancing sets in;
A newly limbered decency
Expands who we now view as kin.

This virus which we can’t avoid
Strands, as though we’ve washed ashore,
Where preferences have been destroyed.
We all need tutors to assure

That now, we all stand immigrant
Humbled by our mutual need,
Determined to set precedent
Where common good guides what we need.

There is no way that we can fail,
In shared approach to this trevail.

by Kimball Hunt


An Art Gallery

Walking through an art gallery
Walls covered with painted portals
Of times and people long gone
But strangely still present

The illusion of paint placed carefully
On canvas that now seems to bring
The instant of a glance fashioned
Over long time ago into everlasting life.

by Michael S. Feinberg


Visions Of Nature

What I see in nature is
The birds flying north
The trees they are without their leaves
They are naked
Snow balls gliding through the sky
As they plummet on one another
Snowflake caught on the tongues of the little ones
Yellow splotches of snow by the dog house outside and
Hot chocolate and warm blankets on the inside.

by Jordanie Joseph


Superstar

So you say your dream is to become a great big Superstar,
living in luxury and driving in a great big expensive car.
You want the notoriety ‘cause everyone will know who you are,
because you would be living the life of a great big Superstar.

But be careful what you dream for and what you wish for in life,
because many Superstars are now living in pain and in strife.
They either owe a lot of tax money or they are stone broke,
dreaming and living the crazy life of a Superstar ain’t no joke.

Many people in life want to be known as a great big Superstar,
because they think their name and fame will take them very far.
But once they make it to the top they forget who they really are,
until they lose all their fame and their great big expense car.

Once you lose all or most of your Superstar notoriety and fame,
as well as your Superstar status and that big time Superstar name,
then you finally realize that being a Superstar is nothing but a game,
because you have to live it 24 hours a day or just fade away in shame.

by Woodrow Dixon


The Old Men On The Corner

The old neighborhood corner is not what it used to be,
when the old men on the corner would gather and talk by a tree.
But that was decades ago when I was a young kid living in the hood,
when the old men on the corner would tell you to be smart and to do good.
In today’s world, the neighborhood corner is owned by hustling men,
who sell drugs, prostitute women and promote anything that is a sin.          
These hustling men are deadly and don’t care about hurting each other,
so you know they don’t care about hurting you or your elderly mother.
Where are the old men on the corner when we need their wisdom,
so that we can defeat these hustling men during the days to come?
Are the old men still alive and still breathing, or have they all passed away,
or have they given up on the generations that have come since their day?
The old neighborhood corner is not what it used to be,
when the old men on the corner would gather and talk by a tree.

by Woodrow Dixon


When it gets dark

When it gets dark and night begins to creep,
normal people are in their beds fast asleep.
However, those who run the streets at night
come out when it gets dark but keep out of sight,

The streets are their kingdoms to rule and to run
and their weapon of choice is the use of a gun.
But one must be quick and good with a gun in hand
in order to rule  or else one will become a dead man.

Many men have fallen trying to defend their territory,
those who have survived will tell you their story.
When it gets dark at night only the strong at heart survive,
but they don’t know how long they will stay alive.

When it gets dark at night and you’re on the street,
you must listen for the people with the silent feet
because they may be coming to take you down
and you’ll wind up being another body laying on the ground.

by Woodrow Dixon


Where are Those Villages?

Where are Those Villages that we once knew,
where parents and other adults watched us as we grew?
Those Villages always had eyes watching what we’d do,
but we never saw those eyes, so we never had a clue.

Where are Those Villages with the loving and the caring mom and dad,
Those Villages and those people no longer exist – this reality is so sad?
Those Villages were the heart and the soul for us back in the day,
but now gentrification and a new attitude is now the prevailing way.

Those Villages of old are now just memories from the past,
which proves that nothing on this Earth is meant to last.
But Those Villages living inside of us will never go away or die,
hold on to those memories of Those Villages and don’t be afraid to cry.

Where are Those Villages that we once knew,
where parents and other adults watched us as we grew?
Those Villages are still deep inside each heart and each mind,
keeping those memories will provide the comfort we need to find.

by Woodrow Dixon