First show of 2013......
The Bean Runner Poetry Project
at The Bean Runner Cafe, 201 S. Division Street, Peekskill, New York
28 December 2012
17 December 2012
A SNOWY NIGHT IN PEEKSKILL - DANCE PERFORMANCE AT EMBARK @ EMC to BENEFIT FRED'S PANTRY!!!
SAVE THE DATE!!
Saturday 22nd December 2012
A Dance Performance to benefit Fred's Pantry
14 December 2012
03 December 2012
28 November 2012
MAKE IT SNOW IN PEEKSKILL! Saturday 22nd December 2012, Embark at EMC.
Save the date!!!!
 |
3:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m.
Embark at Energy Movement Center, 925 South Street, Peekskill, NY 10566
26 November 2012
Grasping the Cliff
November PAD Challenge, Day 20. Prompt: Write a "letting go" poem.
you grasp the cliff with grace....
but will let go, in the end.
we all do....so
no shame in that
falling, perhaps, to a
more comfortable place (you
never know, really)
lodged in some crevasse
containing all those earlier losses--
the slow unfolding of a first love,
the origami squares smoothed out,
blank, waiting for your writing, better, truer, now.
the old hunger, too, to throw
coals upon the fire, to hammer
out steel for a new pen,
thick ink lines plowing through white
Gathering Leaves
November PAD challenge, day 20. Write a "gathering" poem.
in brittle circles they dance, their
green gowns changed for brown, wrinkled
past redemption, their dry chattering
echoes, then fades. they have escaped
the rake, the staid brown bags
marked over with text, fat barrels
of summer-canopy crumpled, crammed,
one atop another, so different from
their leafy springing, clear green, graceful
in the air, smooth to the touch,
without blemish, before the assaults
of insects, the buffeting of wind
and rain; they whispered, always,
amongst themselves, the taffeta-rustle
from the wind a great rushing, peppered
with birdsong, less lucky, the others, compressed now, in
stolid brown bags, an army of them
silent, curbside
in brittle circles they dance, their
green gowns changed for brown, wrinkled
past redemption, their dry chattering
echoes, then fades. they have escaped
the rake, the staid brown bags
marked over with text, fat barrels
of summer-canopy crumpled, crammed,
one atop another, so different from
their leafy springing, clear green, graceful
in the air, smooth to the touch,
without blemish, before the assaults
of insects, the buffeting of wind
and rain; they whispered, always,
amongst themselves, the taffeta-rustle
from the wind a great rushing, peppered
with birdsong, less lucky, the others, compressed now, in
stolid brown bags, an army of them
silent, curbside
Fortune, Circular
November PAD challenge, day 19. Prompt: Write a "wheel" poem.
so fortune spins and we with
her, her gauzy scarves and
sequin-spangles fascinate as a circus
does a child, full of sound
and sparkle at the highest
point, contrasting with the
stalls yet to be mucked out
tied to the wheel, we
rise and fall, the rattle,
relentless, turning to the words
that echo back to us under that
tinted sky of painted stars
torn, sometimes, limb from limb,
the sinews split at her turning,
as if a spit well-greased
with thick malevolence, the
careless, random riving of soul
from body, dearest wishes catapulted,
pale and shriveled, upon the ash heap
so fortune spins and we with
her, her gauzy scarves and
sequin-spangles fascinate as a circus
does a child, full of sound
and sparkle at the highest
point, contrasting with the
stalls yet to be mucked out
tied to the wheel, we
rise and fall, the rattle,
relentless, turning to the words
that echo back to us under that
tinted sky of painted stars
torn, sometimes, limb from limb,
the sinews split at her turning,
as if a spit well-greased
with thick malevolence, the
careless, random riving of soul
from body, dearest wishes catapulted,
pale and shriveled, upon the ash heap
How to Go On, Regardless
November PAD Challenge, Day 17. Prompt: "How to _________"
easier said than done, that,
after the crepe has been
packed away, the papers in
thick beige and black notarized and
filed at the courthouse
the sun still rises and sets,
ticking away hours, memory-thick,
a stew of all those long-ago
days, though unevenly seasoned
still, nourishing enough
to give you the strength to
slap your soles against the sidewalk,
walking, always, towards some uncertain end
easier said than done, that,
after the crepe has been
packed away, the papers in
thick beige and black notarized and
filed at the courthouse
the sun still rises and sets,
ticking away hours, memory-thick,
a stew of all those long-ago
days, though unevenly seasoned
still, nourishing enough
to give you the strength to
slap your soles against the sidewalk,
walking, always, towards some uncertain end
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