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!