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Poetry Group Sample Work

Occasional Quatrains for Sarah

Bright eyed, too young to have spent her 15th year
as mother of Poetry for You and Me
and so well hatted is our Sarah. Without peer
she opens the glorious world of poetry

to all who want to extend their vision,
to rhymers, free versers, the sonnetters,
leads us through iambs, trochees, verbal collision,
teaches us to explore and never to fear

like her world traveler from Peru to Ceylon
to China and Korea through India too
she took it all in and passed it on,
elegant as wine, earthy as home brew.

So to Sarah we wish 15 years more
(such lucky poets to attend her class)
to learn from her the world’s an open door
opened by Sarah our bonnie tattersalled lass.

George Spencer
June 2007

-----

I Am the Wind

I push the clouds across the sky
Rippling Old Glory as it doth fly.
Giving relief in the summer hear,
I’m a welcome guest at the meet,

I love to toss the ladies hair
I blow their dresses up in the air.
You may call me an unruly tease,
But I am only a gentle breeze.

I fondly form the tumble weed,
Conveniently scattering the falling seed.
It falls to the ground to germinate,
I help the earth to create.

Filling the sails of mighty ships,
I helped Columbus on his trips.
But when I get angry I am at my worst,
That’s when I pack my hurricane gust.

I pick up houses, toss them around,
I knock big trees to the ground.
When I get mad I cut a swath,
You can’t see me but you’ll feel my wrath.

So remember when the day is calm
I will not cause any harm.
But I am the wind and you never know
When I’ll get mad and start to blow.

I may develop into a gale,
So if you see a spiraling tail,
Go and seek protective shelter
‘Cause I am now a killer twister.

Being the wind I must confess
There are times I create a mess.
But, let me say before, I go,
Forgive me please, I’ve got to blow.

Barney Mulligan

-----

Why

Why do I laugh when I want to cry
Why give when I want to take
Why do I speak without a thought
then silent
Why do I care when I want to neglect
Why seek truth, then fabricate lies
Why do I love instead of displaying contempt
Why look neat, rather than unkempt
Is the real somewhere in between
Fragile, most difficult to grasp, intangible.

Delving into the human psyche
the trend today
You can’t do it, someone will do it for you
In a group or on a couch
behind a locked door
Would-be gurus, self-appointed
The problem solver, in control of others
Emotional stripping, acceptable
Privacy and dignity no longer respectable
Assumptions are made
without knowing facts
Reputations are created, often faded.
Truths become lies, lies truth.
Confiding to a friend is pass?
Only fragmented moments barely touching
each day.


The Park Bench in the Square

Summer long gone.
Few leaves remain in faded greens
Clinging to live on twisted, frail branches
A tree with bud-like lights remain
In the chill of winter’s last Christmas
Jenny, who fed the pigeons with
such fervor is gone
Crumbs have turned to dust
Some people resemble those of last year
There is a faint “Hello.”

Florence Neil

--

Silent Weapons For Quiet Wars

Silent weapons for quiet wars
replete with whispers
murmurs of secret societies
brotherhoods of elders & priests
forbidden knowledge changed
in corridors and chambers
of ancient peoples’ euthanized
by prominent men of women
meeting in secret lodges & halls
of sorcery, spell & witchery
directing the movement & pace
of the unnecessary breeders
Coup de Grace
New World Order
vaccination, incarceration & extermination
Are the sheep ready to shear?

Lorraine Gibney
July 17, 2007

--

Love Poem For My Woman

It’s easy to be the world’s champion lover
When your lips are soft and full,
When your breasts demand attention, your arms,
Your hands and fingers are so graceful,
Your legs so long and slender.

It’s easy to be the world’s greatest lover
When mornings your dark hair cascades
Down your gently rounded shoulders
And your pale bare back.

It’s easy to be in love with your geography:
Your mountains and your valleys.
It’s easy to fall head-over-heels
For your geometry: your ellipses,

Your trapezoids, your triangles.
It’s easy to be bewitched by the way
You speak, the way you gesture -
All quirt and absurd.

It’s simple to love your when
I feel your body up against mine.
Can ever I forget you when
You dance in my dreams?

I am the world’s greatest lover
When you take me in your arms
And kiss me long and full on my
Lips and sigh for the days,
The weeks, the months, the years
That we lost.

Jerry Halpern
April 1, 2007

--

I am a member of
Sarah Zenis’ poetry group.

I have attended her class
with special enjoyment.

The criticism is constructive,
friendly and spirited.

Every class is a plus
that leads me to a higher level,
both as a poet and human being.

May these classes go on forever.

Max Nemerovsky

--

Testimonial

Greenwich House is a venue for many things.
I was not prepared for the startling revelation
that upon finding myself unexpectedly in Sarah
Zenis’ poetry workshop, I would conceivably emerge
a poet. I had no expectations when I accompanied
a newcomer to Greenwich House for lunch and found
myself trailing along out of curiosity. However,
I soon found that the genuinely unjudgmental
encouragement afforded this newcomer, allowed me
to explore further and find creative nourishment
in this long-standing and up-to-date gathering.


Miraculously

In the scheme of anabolistic systems -
Tin creatures:
- Are they kin to those bacterias
spied through microscopes?
Are they buoyed by an alchemistic hand
Created from meteors,
Stirred by a stew of surging seas,
Unseen and nurtured by a divine spark?

Perhaps, further, can be asked anaerobically -
What long since forgotten memories
Of conscious life stored up glacially
And with the passage of time,
moving inexorably forward,
has emerged?

We probably, despite all the “Sturm and Drang”
That we associate with today’s age -
Have not really journeyed much further
Than the tiny specks of cosmic dust
That somehow miraculously emerged and became us

Tom Sergott

--

Poetry For You and Me
My Extended Family …

Meeting on Tuesdays in the Greenwich House room
our poetic souls have a place to bloom,
sitting ‘round the table reading each others’ lines
full of free verse, haikus, and old fashioned rhyme
Feelings, of love, sadness, hope and beauty, soar,
Wisdom gained from our lives and what we are living for.
Some poems puzzle, others are clear as a bell.
Some pour our quickly, Some ooze our slowly,
like a snail from its shell.

And though our bodies keep aging year by year,
To the hearth of Greenwich House we poets steer.

Lily Geogick

--

The Family of Poets

My family of poets
We are of the occult
Of the real
Of the fanciful
Even unto death

We are truly related
Bounded by no spaces
Only by experience and love
My beguiling family
Of the heart, of the soul.

I love my cousin poets
For their daring
For their sincerity
Their endless presence and hope

The variety of my poet family
Is endless.
All colors, ages and sizes and shapes
It is a huge family.
Spilling over into city streets
I am grateful for their
World of no boundaries.

Ricki Stuart
June 12, 2007

--

Tuesday afternoon at Sara Zenis' Poetry Sessions
at the Greenwich House

A place where
you are comfortable
accepted, appreciated
people there
vibrate
to your being
your voice,
Your Poem
brings smiles
nods Thanks.
An island of Inspiration .at
Sarah’s Poetry Session
at Greenwich House.

Rebecca Lepkoff

--

The Min Jo Si (15)

An Immigrant’s Elegy of America
- Disease of the Aged

Many old
Are full of greed
And discontented
Just seeking their own way.

Many old
From east and west
Only talk about
Chattering their pleasures.

Some aged
Are indecent
With their endless grief
Dissipating their love.

I am old
Short life to live
Confused they may say
But living it my way.

They tell me
It’s balderdash
To make a living
Purely done on my own.

Peter Whang



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sgabin@greenwichhouse.org



 

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