Ann Falcone Shalaski, Poet

Writing poetry can be as difficult as carrying water in a sieve and as rewarding as growing wings.
** Poetry is the chiseled marble of language.
** It uses words that go beyond words.
** It’s in the details that we communicate images.

Two examples from World Made of Glass:

Deep With Roots

Sorrow is my own yard
where new grass never grows.

Flowers, fisted,
sink into time.

Sadness scallops its paws,
pushes me down in the same bed,

and the bones are yours.
I pull on dying,

smell stars,
approach God angry.

Twist of Lime

I remember the night we had
Mexican food. Green chilies sizzle
on porcelain plates,

salty margaritas, smooth as river
rocks. Ceiling fans stir
the amber air,

a man at the bar neatly stacks
empties. Guitars strum,
you slow dance me through

leaving, hum that no one
stays together for long.
I think of you summer nights,

pass the open door of the restaurant,
legs bare, tomato red lipstick.
Cotton soft skirt flaring.

Ann Shalaski was born in Connecticut and lives in Newport News, Virginia, where she serves as president of the advisory council for Christopher Newport University’s Writers’ Conference and Writing Contest. She is a workshop presenter and hosts monthly open mic poetry events. Her poetry collection, World Made of Glass, published by San Francisco Bay Press, is available at ashalaski@msn.com

Nancy O’Berry, writer of fantasy romances

ENCHANTED, excerpted below, is now in a four story print digest called UNDERSEA DELIGHT and as a large print edition by Midnight showcase. It can be downloaded as a ebook as well.

…Later that evening, after leaving the office, Dominic felt drawn toward the parking lot again. Pulling into the spaces, he cut the motor and sat before the waning tide watching the sun lose its grip on the sky.

Slowly, the bright ball was sinking in the western sky casting its long gold fingers across the Elizabeth River. The color reminded him of a ripe cantaloupe. Opening the door, he extricated himself from the SUV. Transferring the keys, he slipped them into his pocket and moved toward the edge of the pavement to stand. Across the way, the old gaslights around downtown Portsmouth twinkled on. He paused placing a hand upon the outstretched arm of the statue.
“How lucky you are,” he whispered. “You are nothing more than fiberglass, a man-made product with no heart. I, on the other hand, must keep mine protected from wellmeaning friends.” He gazed into the blue green eyes. Funny, he thought most of the statues around the city had painted eyes. Again, the great detail of the artist amazed him for the mermaid’s eyes seemed to be made from glass. Even the stone around her neck seemed real for no bauble of cut glass has such a deep blue hue. Could he be mistaken? Did he hear a sigh? Was she almost human?

A fresh wave of melancholy rolled over him. “Yet, in some ways we are very alike, Miss Mermaid, both of us have been put on display. At least you are lucky enough to not feel the pain and embarrassment when family honor is at stake.” Then for no other reason than whimsy, Dominic kissed the outstretched fingers. “Perhaps you will bring me luck.” With a tired smile, he turned away.

Moving further down the pavement, Dominic Theodopolis took his seat upon the park benches under the soft light and watched the young lovers stroll lazily in the dying heat of early evening.

Serena felt what was left of her heart contract. If only she were not hidden behind the metal of this body. In silence, she cursed her ill begotten luck thinking to herself, “if only”. She watched the man as he stretched his long legs out before him. I wonder how he would look in scales. His upper torso was broad at the shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. With his sleeves rolled to the elbow, she could see the rich tan to his skin like the golden sand along the Mediterranean coast.

The breeze ruffled the dark curls along his head, sending a strong desire to run her fingers through it just to see if those locks were indeed as thick as they appeared. He was one gorgeous specimen. The very type she would be drawn to especially if he was a merman. It was a shame he was one of the human race. Still, Serena could feel her mouth water. The man was nearly good enough to eat.

* * * *

Nancy O’Berry loves a good story. Growing up along the Elizabeth River in the Indian River section of Virginia Beach, she listened to the tales of the ocean at her Grandfather’s knee. So its not a coincidence that her first published story involves the sea. She has been writing for her own enjoyment since 1968 and with encouragement from friends, she decided to try publishing.

ENCHANTED, her first published work for Midnight Showcase, involves a Greek shipdesigner and a mermaid who both must fine love before their parents deadlines or face the consequences. She is currently working on several full length novels and short stories which she hopes will soon find a home.

When not writing in her own little world, Nancy lives in Southeast Virginia with her husband, family, and her pets which include two angus cows. She serves as president of the local Romance Writers of America chapter which meets at Russell Memorial Library, behind Chesapeake Square Mall, the first Saturday in each month.

You may reach Mrs. O’Berry at peanutgallery14@charter.net

Sharon Weinstein, Poet

Sharon Weinstein’s creative vision centers around these ideas:
* Poetry is about the truth bared.
* It also the act of shaping your feelings and observations into a beautiful whole.
* A good poem needs to be aesthetically sound, beautiful on the tongue, and an oral gift to its listeners.

Here are two short examples.

MARRIAGE

He studies his plate.
She studies him.

ON TURNING FIFTY

Actually,
I have stopped
turning;
arrived
somewhere
in a place
I recognize
as mine,
I shape
my mouth
in an O
of welcome
and surprise
and swallow
fifty,
whole.

Dr. Sharon Weinstein (at piano@exis.net) is a Virginia Beach poet who writes poems from an interdisciplinary perspective. She is a classical musician, watercolor and Asian Brush Painting artist, who is an emotionally evocative writer and speaker. She has performed from her book of poems, Celebrating Absences, and given creative workshops at many national venues, including as Keynote Speaker for the International Society of Poets in Washington, D.C.; in Portland, Oregon; Tennessee State University at Johnson City; at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst; Berklee College of Music in Boston, and many other venues.

Phyllis Johnson, Poet

For Anne Frank, each day melded into the next in the Annexe. The unabridged version of Being Frank with Anne interprets her diary entries in unrhymed verse while noting the date of the entry inspiring each poem. This version of the book assists with cross referencing the poetry with the diary.
I shared this book and my other book, Hot and Bothered By It, when I came to visit Hampton Public Library. I had the pleasure of doing a book presentation there with Pete Freas. He and Nathan Richardson are great role models.

See more about me at http://www.phyllisjohnson.net.

Welcome!

We started a program series in 2007 at our library called Writers on Writing on Thursdays, which features local authors reading and giving background on their work. The programs have been very successful, both because the authors have been fabulous and because we serve refreshments. )

We’ve invited the participants to share blog-sized bits of their work with you here, and to let you know where you can find more.

We hope you’ll visit often!