Last night the poets gathered at Sushi Blues. By 8:30 the room was silent except for the readings of the poets who assembled to share their diverse work. The audience was enthusiastic and supportive, the writing discussions in between lively and provocative. We had members from the Colgate campus, as well as local life-long poets who live in these areas. We are eagerly looking forward to an even better turn-out on March 10. Please bring work to pass and post!
Rachael Ikins took photographs as the readings progressed through the night. A wonderful piece was read in duet form by a fabric and clay artist we are familiar with around Hamilton, Ms. Susanne Farrington, who asked Arthur Ramer to read with her.
Rachael Ikins read several of her current works preceded by Amanda Meeks of Colgate. Frannie Iacuzzi read two pieces in process from her Advanced Poetry writing class with Bruce Smith Andrea read a segment of a novel/memoir of women in the fifties which was so clear it felt not like decades ago but "just yesterday." If I left anybody out, I apologize. If anyone who did read would like their work posted on this blog, please email or give Rachael a copy and she will make it happen. Again, many thanks! to all who came and shared cookies, poetry, and laughter. See you next time! Life hones. Poetry abides! Read on....
Retired Couple Gossip
by Susanne Farrington by Rachael Ikins
When we retire Old purses's zippered pockets
we will get matching dogs. gap-tooth smiles, shoulder on.
Then, wearing leisure our twin leisure suits, Wrinkly gum-wrapper, stale mint,
we will walk our leashed dogs one 1986 copper penny's copper, blue;
around the block and to the park. an almost-full frequent buyer card
"A FREE BOOK" the store, long gone.
We will carry our camera phones They slouch
In case the grand-kids call. disconsolately from cellar pegs
And bring our I-pods and Blackberries on wall-board, pooched out lips, stretched
to enhance our gentle recreation. straps, abs gone to flab. Our cat hunts here
whispers among them, under them, through
We'll stop to rest on park benches. their inside-out secrets. I move them from
Then the dogs will sit one rusty nail to another. Their lips flap mutely.
Tell stories of the woman who toted
and not bark at squirrels. their weights, each like an infant (through Fire)
to this life. My right bicep bunches reflexively.
Skin there will always bear the scar.
by Arthur Ramer
I'm reading a book of short stories
written thirty thousand years ago
in nineteen eighty-nine.
If there are veterans
they're dressed in jeans, wear beards
and long hair. Swig whiskey
from tall glasses and refer obliquely to
I close the book on my chest
and marvel at how many more
vets there are now.
All in the name of God
and country and family,
baseball and booze.
Time has slipped away,
wetting swamps and sands.
I'm amazed at how we've wasted away
the fortune of our future