Beverly Finney's "Solitude" after Laura Crooks

Beverly Finney reads her poem inspired by a photograph taken by library director, Laura Crooks, at the tour of Alexander County Library on July 13, 2019.

SOLITUDE

by Beverly Finney

after One for Solitude by Laura Crooks

Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.
—May Sarton, Belgian-born American poet (1912-1995)

Take me to the place where things grow wild,
where brambles are bejeweled with berries,
vines hang with sapphires of muscadines.

Drop me off at the edge of the woods
where the stalwart poplars rise and the oaks,
wearing skirts of dogwood in spring.

Part ways with me near the rolling pasture
in which cows with languid brown eyes graze,
so I can follow them to the shaded winding creek.

In such uninhabited environs where the air
is sweet and the summer rain falls freely,
I will find what rests in the seed of my soul.

Betty O'Hearn's "Homes of Crayons" after Diane Podolsky

Art of Poetry Catawba Valley's Patricia Deaton reads the poem by Betty O'Hearn at the tour of Alexander County Library on July 13, 2019. The FOUND - Art of Community exhibit was curated by library board trustee chair, Miranda Burgin.

HOMES OF CRAYONS

by Betty O’Hearn

after The Neighborhood by Diane Podolsky

I grew up on a street of colored homes.

Each had a personality.

Inside the home was special.

Mother taught us to love on our neighbors.

Our neighbors were all pale until I was sixteen.

The colors of the homes outside were the same.

Inside the homes became colorful.

Some of our neighbors left.

They preferred only pale neighbors.

Mother taught us that God loved us all.

People were just different ‘crayons’ .

My personal preference is different colors.

My granddaughters grew up among crayons

of brown, black, yellow and white.

Love your neighbor as thyself.

Melissa Hager's "Reverie" after Cheyenne Chumley

The photograph by Cheyenne Chumley that inspired Melissa Hager's poem for the Art of Poetry Catawba Valley tour of Alexander County Library. 

REVERIE

by Melissa Hager

after Home by Cheyenne Chumley

"I wish you had a dishwasher,"
my mother chimes
as we stare at the mound of dishes,
relics from our luncheon.

"I don't mind," I tell her
and I don't, as I later stand
lovingly washing every plate,
each wine glass and fork.

Smile at the memories made
over pork barbecue, heavenly
beans, coconut rum soaked
ice cream with salted caramel.

I remember Dad's smug grin
seizing a round of tumbling dice,
daughter's gloat as she rolls
over three grand,

Mom's comically dejected
face of Farkle
as she forfeits a straight
to a die gone bad.

Grapefruit powered dish detergent
scrapes away sauciness, adds
to my heightened senses.
A quiet revisit of the day in soapy hands.

Doug McHargue's "Safe Shells" after Diane Podolsky

Doug McHargue photographed at Alexander County Library on July 13, 2019 at the FOUND - Art of Community exhibit tour. 

SAFE SHELLS

by Doug McHargue

after Little Pink Houses by Diane Podolsky

My mind now a gray film,

but I see the houses in pink,

boxy and square as the fifties

holding tight to things but the color

of Easter hats Jackie made famous,

pillboxes for our heads filled

with sedate dreams we thought

she'd have, and my A-line dress

pink, too, the color of a house

on the beach where you search

for shells and if lucky

find something big,

almost regal with curves

and flourishes, and you think

as long as the creature stays

deep in that pink,

safe myths live.

Beverly Finney's "Quest" after Shauna Caldwell

Beverly Finney reads her poem inspired by the Shauna Caldwell photograph exhibited in the FOUND - Art of Community collection at Alexander County Library. Art of Poetry Catawba Valley toured the library on July 13, 2019.

QUEST
by Beverly Finney
after Goldenrod by Shauna Caldwell

Already, I am missing you too much,
regretting what I can’t retrieve.
What I have, besides, are hazy memories
of laughter, shared heartaches, comfort.

Now, I am a beggar wishing
for a winged horse I could ride
into the deep hereafter
in search of hours carelessly lost,
strike some bargain to retrieve them.

In its place, I shall climb to the stars
in the dark, looking for the tall stalk
of fire you have become, ethereal,
now too perfect for this day-to-day world.

—In memory of Betty Jean Farthing Hughes—

Patricia Deaton's "The Year We Lost Ourselves" after Mona Woody

Patricia Deaton photographed beside the Mona Woody painting that inspired her poem at Alexander County Library on July 13, 2019.

THE YEAR WE LOST OURSELVES

by Patricia Deaton

after Dream Up by Mona Woody

She was gone in March, unexpectedly.

We collectively missed her; 

the mother, daughter, wife, sister,

cousin and grandmother of two

who eventually wouldn’t remember her at all.

Without warning, no more of her laughter

or self-deprecating humor; no one to ask 

when her helpful heart gave out. 

We tried to celebrate the birthdays that came.

Without her, our cheer rang hollow, especially 

on her own birthday. Then on her son’s,

who gulped and smiled through his bewilderment. 

Easter, and the little ones wore rabbit ears

hid plastic eggs, a surprise in each. We knew 

we would never be surprised again by anything.

Mother’s Day lasted a thousand days.

Fireworks on the 4th lit our faces 

hollow-eyed and reverent in a shower of light

that disappeared like sparks going out.

On Halloween, no one wanted to participate.

No trick could match Death’s trick. No treat, enough.

We bowed to Thanksgiving and Christmas, still

couldn’t say that she had died. Instead we said

When she was sick or when that happened to her

as if she had miraculously made it through 

and we weren’t all changed forever.

Betty O'Hearn's "Touching Digits" after Chris Parsons

TOUCHING DIGITS

by Betty O’Hearn

after Different and Yet the Same
by Northview Middle School 6th Grade Students
                                                                  with teacher Chris Parsons

         

If only more of them touched.

If only more of you cared.

If only there was not so much hate.

We need to listen to their pain.

We need to reach out.

We need to show more tenderness.

It doesn’t matter if they are strange.

It doesn’t matter if they are soiled.

It doesn’t matter if they are unusual.

If only we touched each other more.

We need to touch a stranger’s digits.

Just reach out, and spread your love!

Melissa Hager's "Stained" after Paul Sink

STAINED

by Melissa Hager

after Paul Sink’s Open Doors Lead

                           to New Experiences of Community

Hundreds of meals dished, donated

Trader Joe's steaks ground to make

meatloaf. Buttered bread, baskets

passed back for more. Big people,

little people, homeless on the streets,

community surviving day by day

on handouts, shared cigarettes.

Mary in the kitchen works

magic on beef, stewed cabbage,

fluffy biscuits. Sherrill mans the pans,

baking sheets filled with golden

topped delicacies. Amy directs

serving bowls; knows every square

inch available on countertops to fill.

Served home-style, the closest

many will get. All said and devoured,

kitchen to clean, mats to carry

out and wash. Later notice stains

on T-shirt, pray they will wash

away. But they don't; meat grease

marks its territory for keeps.

Then, like grandma refusing to wash

window fingerprints left from grandbaby

visits, decide to like imperfections.

Testimony for the day the body of Christ

was served on the streets. Of His damaged

hands, bloodstains, a great sacrifice.

Amen, amen.

-for Haywood Street Congregation, Asheville, NC

Courtney Gant's "Why Creativity?" after hannah grace

WHY CREATIVITY?

by Courtney Gant

after Don’t Forget To Dream by hannah grace

Because my feelings are

As a river

Flowing through and through

Because my life is parchment

And my soul is the quill,

Dripping in ink

Because my mind is

Words, words,

Oh, so many words

Because my aspirations

Lie within the very craft

Of a word, a note, a stroke

Because I am

A communicative being

And those surrounding me are as well

Because I connect

With others through things

Opposite from the superficial

Ask me, “why creativity?”

And I’ll say,

Because it is me.

Doug McHargue's "Blackberry Nation" after Laura Crooks

Doug McHargue photographed at the July 13, 2019 tour of Alexander County Library and FOUND: The Art of Community exhibit curated by Miranda Burgin. The photograph that inspired her work was taken by library director, Laura Crooks.

BLACKBERRY NATION

by Doug McHargue

after One for Solitude by Laura Crooks

Blackberries in the foreground, they are wild,

ready to swallow the chair.

In the grocery, they lie fat and indolent,

anemic hothouse plastic.

At the river they grew all over

and I picked two gallons

in a morning, smaller but real

and wicked little tarts, lost.

Now my fog eyes think vines

are city skylines, blackberries

inching their way up concrete, steel,

crawling up from the river

where they were stepped on,

chainsawed, bulldozed,

a blackberry nation rising,

then fruit raining

into the river, Catawba running

with its secret pouring

into a front yard near you.

Ann Chandonnet's "Wet Clover" after Eric Schumacher

Artist Eric Schumacher joined the tour of FOUND - Art of Community at Alexander County Library on Saturday, July 13, 2019. Eric's photograph inspired one of Art of Poetry's first contributing poets, Ann Chandonnet who now lives in Missouri, to share this poem from afar.

WET CLOVER

by Ann Chandonnet

after Water Bubbles by Eric Schumacher

My Mom was born on a 13th in August.

She always considered it her lucky day,

no matter the month.

She enjoyed sitting under the maples 

shading the front lawn

looking for four-leaf clovers.

She had little patience with her five kids

but lots for clovers.

Farming is a hard life,

which did not agree with Mom

who preferred sun bathing

in skimpy halters

to weeding corn,

canning jars of staples

or slinging bales of hay.

So although she had bid

for this farm life,

she left, hovered

elsewhere;

looked for four-leafed clovers elsewhere.

None of us accompanied her.

Beverly Finney's "Found" after Vickie Jo Franks

Beverly Finney photographed on tour at Alexander County Library, July 13, 2019. Her poem was inspired by a Vickie Jo Frank's collage. The exhibit FOUND - Art of Community, curated by Miranda Burgin, will be on display until August 2.   

FOUND

by Beverly Finney

after A Pilgrim’s Song by Vickie Jo Franks

What of those who live found lives,
cobbled together from the scraps and refuse
discarded by those who have too much,
piecing a bare-knuckles tapestry of survival?

Intrepid scavengers with eyes that see
in a different light, creative imaginations
full of new visions for what’s tossed aside,
clever hands, forging hearts fashioning anew.

How rich are they in fierce attention
to the overlooked, in the satisfaction
of self-sufficiency, the prayer of gratitude,
the tiny fragments of beauty, hope and joy?

Patricia Deaton's "First Things, First" after hannah grace

Art of Poetry Catawba Valley's Patricia Deaton emulates the painting by hannah grace that inspired her poem. Poets toured Alexander County Library's FOUND - Art of Community exhibit on Saturday, July 13, 2019. Curated by library board trustee chair, Miranda Burgin, the collection was procured from local and regional artists, photographers. The artworks and poetry will be on display until August 2.

FIRST THINGS, FIRST

by Patricia Deaton

after Not Your Babe by hannah grace

With a flash, that day comes back.

Eyelids lifted gently, one at a time 

by one small finger; a small face, close. 

Light seeps in-through a window 

full of sky so blue, you worry;

not about things that might happen, 

but things that might not.

Her first April Fools, brown eyes wide,

there is salt in the sugar bowl.

Spit-cereal with the first spoonful

then laughter fits; wonder at the kind of mind

that even came up with this. 

We ate sliced-off ends of the pan blanco,

bread carefully-made, though overworked 

the night before; her abuela’s recipe 

from a country where a little means a lot.

At the top of the school steps

butchered bread held upright, resolve slipping,

plastic wrap unfurls itself from the loaf

and flutters like the flag of a fallen land.

What valor to stand that first day

and wave the loaf, then hand it

to someone who swings open a door.