April 26, 2013, 7 pm at the Harlow Gallery, 160 Water Street in Hallowell.  Light refreshments served.  Suggested contribution: $3.00. For further information call Ted Bookey at 685-3636.

Here’s a sampler to whet your appetite: 

I Was Slothful Today

I didn’t take a walk

I did play solitaire

I didn’t clean the house

I did do too many puzzles

I didn’t call my mother

I did eat a cookie

I didn’t make the bed

I did read a book

I didn’t pay the bills

I did enjoy the day. –by Martha Floyd


Mission Accomplished (Triolet

As she started down the aisle

I had a premonition

that she’d used a bit of guile

As she started down the aisle

she wore a very pregnant smile

Though she’d not mentioned her condition

as she started down the aisle

I had a premonition) – by Anne Rosenthal


Personas Plus

To become a really successful poet

I thought I needed a new persona

My younger personas no longer fit

My present one was old and worn.


My wife said I didn’t need one

And we couldn’t afford it anyway,

But I knew that there was a sale

In the mall at “PERSONAS PLUS”.


Lots of plastic and large displays

Movie stars and famous athletes.

Forty percent off on politicians.

But all I wanted

were poet personas.


I finally found a wild-eyed radical

A dreamy romantic and an epic rhymer

A drunken genius and a nature lover

Together in a pile of “Clearance Bargains.”


I tried them all on but none would fit.

And all were past their “Sell By” date.

So I went back home in my old persona

And wrote poetry. –by Jim Todd


Looking Ahead

My dog has lived

longer than I thought

He moves more

slowly than I

When completely

unaware of others,

he moans.

It seems to comfort him

I wonder what kind of dog

I’ll take home

when my old friend

is gone


He’ll have to be smaller.

One I can lift, yet not so tiny

He will scramble around my feet

Cause me to fall


A lady I know

has similar thoughts

about her aged husband

He moans quietly too  –by Joan Nicholson


She Sits Quietly

She sits quietly

This frail old person—

Over one hundred years

Are jumbled in her head.

She hums a Swedish lullaby

And rocks in gentle rhythm

As the pulse of decades

Throbs through her being.


The flirty young girl is woven

Across the woman’s buxom dignity

And forms a living tapestry

Of blood and bone and mind and souls.


The stereo-typist’s skills are gone.

The eyes no longer see with clarity.

Sounds are softened, often lost.

She’s cold despite the summer heat.


But let a man approach—

She’ll hear that lower voice

And out come all the old responses.

The fluting laughter and breathy voice

And sparkling wit and swift riposte

Come bubbling up from that deep well

Of basic unquenchable femininity. –Betty Bernstein