Poetry Sharing Page

You are invited to submit your poetry for consideration to appear on the library’s Poetry Sharing Page. Contact Tom Nicotera at tnicotera@libraryconnection.info.


This Is Not How I Thought It Would Be

Today
I wanted to finish
the closet–pull
dresses and finally
box them.
I can’t keep all
those books.
Water pools
in the basement.
This is not how
I thought it would be.

In my kitchen
I make coffee
and think of
you in your kitchen
taking you
chemo capsule
at seven. You
still have most
of your hair.

I dreamed I had
written a history
of plagues. I’d dated
the many times
black plague
flared in European
villages over and over–

Some evangelists
believe in a lifting
of souls.
Only the good ones.
Will there be a final
signal? There was
smallpox then cholera,
polio and malaria,
ebola and AIDS–

The clean sky
revealed nothing
about the day to come.
Yellow bees buzzed
around shrubbery leaves.
I wonder are hives still empty?

Winds last night
left plastic bags
floating
in trees
spaced almost
evenly apart.

You once said science
fiction stories always
play out in some
fashion. Here’s this
one, a plague.

Last week you looked
good in your hat at
the hospital.

I walked through
a tornado when
I was twelve
and didn’t pray until
I’d made it through
the yellow air
to our front porch
at the Red Bird Road
house in Georgia.

Yesterday my brother
called and wanted
to talk about our times
on Canal Road,
a favorite place
between the river
and the canal.
We saw an alligator
there once. I was
twelve and he
was nine.

Yesterday Sara
next door
swept her walkway
and sang “Willow
weep for me, hang
your branches down
upon the ground
and pity me…”
over and over.

The animal in me
wants to roam
a forest before
forests are off limits.
Before a final sequence
of shutdowns
happens– if it does.

I rinse my plate
and coffee cup.
I climb the stairs
with two long boxes
for the dresses
in my closet.

by Sherri Bedingfield


UPENDED BY COVID-19

Stores, schools, parks, and gyms are shuttered to public use.
The virus, an impartial prowler, is on the loose.
Business plans have swiftly been turned on their heads.
Workers, many laid off, look for sustaining bread.
In this sharp tailspin many harbor doubts and fear.
Recovery of all that’s lost is no longer near.

Days like falling dominoes turn dark and bleak
While an enemy carries damage yet to peak.
A siege without knowing the length of the attack,
We complain, then moan, then pray to have our lives back.
We are told to isolate and fill basic needs,
Social separation, a new wisdom to heed.

The highest source offers little to which to abide.
Governors for their citizens are to decide.
Even young bodies, toned and fit, are unequipped,
And freedom’s wings and promises are for now clipped.
Many stay at home scrambling to find things to do—
Friendships, memories, faith, and goals to review.

’Til now prosperity’s machine has hummed along
But today our spirits are challenged to be strong.
Our actions will determine when it all will end
And into our future changes we make will extend.

by John P. Kneal


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


CONTAGION

A hidden speck, neither dead nor alive
Nestles in a human passage, revived.
Over days it slowly aims its clones for disruption,
Marking its victims for maximum destruction.

It’s a frontal assault not known in time to contain
But one signaling death, sickness, and pain.
Fear radiates from the nation’s core and flanks
For the enemy’s more pervasive than AR-15’s or tanks.

A pandemic sadly thought to be so far away
And now like an unexpected blitz, here to stay,
The impending attack weighs mightily on the mind
With a safe fortress or refuge not easy to find.

No real ammunition yet to conquer the foe,
Deep-seeded pride has slowed tests and our preventive flow.
Business and recreation, like a bomb, has dropped.
We yell and cry that the contagion must be stopped.

Wisdom says that war takes a savage toll
And leaves its targets wounded, wanting, and cold.
Yet, with each day hope from rubble rises
And with concerted effort it revitalizes.
We humans at times suffer and can feel defeated
But we will advance and claim victory, completed.

by John P. Kneal


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