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Thursday, November 29, 2012
Store decked for the holidays
Partridge in a Pear Tree, our signature red ribbon everywhere, winter hat and scarves, soft glow candles, sparkling jewelry, festive cards, Christmas quilts, gifts of carved and turned wood, ceramics and coasters, gingerbread and peppermint soaps, snowmen, and more gifts and more holiday red...
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Creative pursuits welcomed the holiday season at Think Long Island First
Yesterday, holidays officially started at Think Long Island First with the Small Business Saturday events.
Modest but enthusiastic group of guests and artists gathered around our table to decorate majolica ornaments under the guidance of potter Sue Adler, tie impressive bows and gift wrap in eco-friendly fashion as introduced by Kristi Halpern, Jolanta Zamecka, and Ewa Rumprecht respectively, and benefit from the expert knowledge of Feng Shui presented by Sharon LaMonica.
Award winning Long Island limericks were read by one of the judges, poet Joan Digby. Evening ended with holiday poetry reading and music cum historical commentary by fiddler Eric Marten, and his limber jack and beating straws playing wife Trudy.
Painter Yvonne Dagger and wood carver Don Dailey provided live demonstrations throughout the day.
We want to thank All Artists who made the day so special and All Guests who graced us with their company.
Happy Holidays!
Modest but enthusiastic group of guests and artists gathered around our table to decorate majolica ornaments under the guidance of potter Sue Adler, tie impressive bows and gift wrap in eco-friendly fashion as introduced by Kristi Halpern, Jolanta Zamecka, and Ewa Rumprecht respectively, and benefit from the expert knowledge of Feng Shui presented by Sharon LaMonica.
Award winning Long Island limericks were read by one of the judges, poet Joan Digby. Evening ended with holiday poetry reading and music cum historical commentary by fiddler Eric Marten, and his limber jack and beating straws playing wife Trudy.
Painter Yvonne Dagger and wood carver Don Dailey provided live demonstrations throughout the day.
We want to thank All Artists who made the day so special and All Guests who graced us with their company.
Happy Holidays!
Holiday poems by Edmund Miller, Long Island Poem for Sunday
We had a great pleasure to hear Edmund Miller read the following poems at the Music and Poetry afternoon at Think Long Island First this Saturday. Edmund started with the Going Home for Christmas and continued to haiku poems. The one about chestnuts, New Year's, and an old man was particularly well received, Edmund was asked to read it again.
GOING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
Edmund Miller
Chewing gum like Zeno's Paradox
a classical marine
passes through Penn Station
with a dufflebag
with roses
with a teddy bear tucked under his arm.
CHRISTMASTIDE HAIKU
Edmund Miller
The wind is nippy,
But the poinsettias sing–
Then it's warm inside.
In the afternoon
Overlooking Christmas shoppers,
Just half the moon.
Overcast in pink.
The clouds lower upon us
To bring virgin snow.
Cold wind through the trees
Then across the clear black sky
Comes the Christmas star.
The gift wrap of snow
melts, washing slowly away
with the holiday.
Rat-a-tats of rain,
clearing the dawn sky, invite
bright light for New Year.
Here in Central Park
Roasting the New Year’s chestnuts
Still the same old man.
The fragile trees
break . . . icicles
in the breeze.
Winter morning
Ice in the milkbottle
Still the stars
The cold freezing rain
weaves trails of tiny paw prints
in yesterday’s snow.
Nutmeg in eggnog
Birthdays the room with New Year’s.
Outside . . . icicles.
Stormy dark above
pink underneath at sunset
chiaroscuro clouds.
Published with author's permission. Included in Stocking Stuffers / seasonal and holiday poems by Prehensile Pencil Publications. For purchase at Think Long Island First.
Edmund Miller, Senior Professor in the English Department at LIU–Post, is a widely published scholar and creative writer. In addition to books about seventeenth-century British literature including three about the poet George Herbert, he has published a collection of stories called Night Times and many volumes of poetry, including the major poetic work The Go-Go Boy Sonnets: Men of the New York Club Scene(2005). Using the traditional sonnet sequence to explore the world of the male dancers, this unique work combines lightness of tone with a seriousness of purpose by including biographical notes, a glossary, and seven indexes as well as translations of individual poems into nearly two dozen languages. Recently, Miller has been writing plays, including The Greeks Have a Word (which revives the form of the Greek satyr play), Royal Favorite (a Jacobean tragicomedy in blank verse), The Last Conquests of Beau Fersen (a Shavan political comedy), and The Colonel’s Lady (a Restoration mystery) besides short plays. He has had several staged readings.
Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Sandy Poems, Long Island Poem for Sunday
GOING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
Edmund Miller
Chewing gum like Zeno's Paradox
a classical marine
passes through Penn Station
with a dufflebag
with roses
with a teddy bear tucked under his arm.
CHRISTMASTIDE HAIKU
Edmund Miller
The wind is nippy,
But the poinsettias sing–
Then it's warm inside.
In the afternoon
Overlooking Christmas shoppers,
Just half the moon.
Overcast in pink.
The clouds lower upon us
To bring virgin snow.
Cold wind through the trees
Then across the clear black sky
Comes the Christmas star.
The gift wrap of snow
melts, washing slowly away
with the holiday.
Rat-a-tats of rain,
clearing the dawn sky, invite
bright light for New Year.
Here in Central Park
Roasting the New Year’s chestnuts
Still the same old man.
The fragile trees
break . . . icicles
in the breeze.
Winter morning
Ice in the milkbottle
Still the stars
The cold freezing rain
weaves trails of tiny paw prints
in yesterday’s snow.
Nutmeg in eggnog
Birthdays the room with New Year’s.
Outside . . . icicles.
Stormy dark above
pink underneath at sunset
chiaroscuro clouds.
Published with author's permission. Included in Stocking Stuffers / seasonal and holiday poems by Prehensile Pencil Publications. For purchase at Think Long Island First.
Edmund Miller, Senior Professor in the English Department at LIU–Post, is a widely published scholar and creative writer. In addition to books about seventeenth-century British literature including three about the poet George Herbert, he has published a collection of stories called Night Times and many volumes of poetry, including the major poetic work The Go-Go Boy Sonnets: Men of the New York Club Scene(2005). Using the traditional sonnet sequence to explore the world of the male dancers, this unique work combines lightness of tone with a seriousness of purpose by including biographical notes, a glossary, and seven indexes as well as translations of individual poems into nearly two dozen languages. Recently, Miller has been writing plays, including The Greeks Have a Word (which revives the form of the Greek satyr play), Royal Favorite (a Jacobean tragicomedy in blank verse), The Last Conquests of Beau Fersen (a Shavan political comedy), and The Colonel’s Lady (a Restoration mystery) besides short plays. He has had several staged readings.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Welcome the Holidays at Think Long Island First
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| Holiday hand painted majolica ornament by Sue Adler. Photo by Sue Adler. |
You will paint your own holiday ornaments, learn to decorate with ribbons, find a perfect stone or crystal for your mood level. You will learn to wrap holiday gifts with minimal environmental impact. You will get a chance to read your poetry and have it published, listen to authentic fiddle music and limber jack, observe live painting and wood carving demonstrations.
You will find a full program of events here.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Winners of the Long Island Limericks Competition are announced
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WINNERS OF LONG ISLAND LIMERICK COMPETITION ARE ANNOUNCED
Poetry Center of LIU Post and Think Long Island First are pleased to announce winners of the Long Island Limerick Competition 2012.
Limericks had to include a name of Long Island town, village, or site and many entries played the local references - (in)famous person, geography, or local patois - very effectively.
Limericks were judged for their creativity, metrics, and language by three distinguished Long Island poets and teachers: Joan Digby of LIU Post, Barbara Novack of Molloy College, and Diane Simone Lutz of Queensborough Community College.
The winners are:
FIRST PRIZE — $25 gift certificate to Think Long Island First
K. Naomi Hann of Amityville
There once was an Amity-villain
Who went on a rampage of killin'
Great fame came and went
Now the ghosts are all spent
And the villain's in prison still chillin'
SECOND PRIZE — $15 gift certificate to Think Long Island First
Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset
A Park Ranger from Sagamore Hill
Said my job never ceases to thrill
Except when the ghost
Of the resident host
Cries "Charge!" then I feel a cold chill
THIRD PRIZE — $10 gift certificate to Think Long Island First
Eileen Hession of Long Beach
Oceanside’s name, I must say,
Is geographically in disarray,
You know that it oughta
Be next to some water
But the ocean’s 5 miles away.
HONORABLE MENTION
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)
Said a clam to a mussel, “I say!
Do you not want to marry one day?
Let us fetch you a bride
On the very next tide!”—
which took them to Oyster Bay.
HONORABLE MENTION
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)
“Mosquito” as most would say
Is “Skeeter” in Oyster Bay,
and the name of a boat
on which we would float,
summer day after day after day.
Congratulations to Winners!
Award ceremony takes place on Saturday, November 24th, at 4 pm, at Think Long Island First in Oyster Bay.
Many thanks to All Authors who submitted limericks to the competition. We hope they had as much fun writing them as we had reading them. The limericks below are listed in the order of submission.
When we moved, I was put to the test
And, truly, this is not said in jest
'Cause for forty-two years
Amid laughter and tears
Mount Sinai is the place I love best
Sylvia Felsher of Mount Sinai
#####
You're moving to Israel, our Bklyn. neighbors
exclaimed
No, Mount Sinai, Long Island, we had to explain
Though we felt some distress
We feel truly blessed
This is OUR holy land, so very aptly named
Debbie Johnson of Mount Sinai
#####
Thinking Lincoln
There once was a fellow named Abe
And lots of reading he did crave;
He won all the debates,
Became one of the greats
By freeing Massapequan slaves
Dylan Baldino of Elmont
#####
A rich girl I knew from Glen Cove
Went shopping one day for a stove
When shown one in green
She made quite a scene
Til they brought her a stove colored mauve
Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset
#####
An Albertson man and his wife
Had a marriage filled daily with strife
She poisoned his luncheon
He attacked with a truncheon
Now they're both at San Quentin for life
Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset
#####
There was an old woman from Bayville
By whose singing her neighbors were made ill
It was truly pathetic
Not at all operatic
Sounding less like a song than a sawmill
Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset
#####
There once was a man from Syosset
Whom women were eager to cosset
But the din of their squawk
Could be heard in Montauk
Now he hides out in far off Nesconset
Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset
#####
There was a young lady from Merrick
Who had in her garden a derrick
When oil proved elusive
And neighbors abusive
She ran off instead with a cleric
Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset
#####
A Locust Valley potter had a very fine day
Throwing, trimming, and firing her clay
She drove off with a burst
to Think Long Island First
Bearing pots for Ewa and Jolanta to display
Sue Adler of Locust Valley
#####
It is great to live in Farmingdale
Where we bought a home that was on sale
Thought it was real cool
Got a swimming pool
It’s like living in a fairytale
Paula Camacho of Farmingdale
#####
A lonely young man in Ronkonkoma
Dreamt of true love while in a coma.
But when he awoke
He wished he had croaked:
He still longed for love in Ronkonkoma.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
There lived a poor poet in Patchogue
Who composed while he sat in a bog:
His poems were racy,
But sales did prove dicey
For that doubly poor poet in Patchogue.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
There once was a poet lived in Freeport
Who wrote about sailors and mermaids—that sort—
Till he angered a captain
With a satiric quatrain
And had to find haven in a new port.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A young woman from Bellport name of Vetch
Had a husband who was surely a wretch,
So she served him an aspic
And laced it with arsenic,
Thus leaving Vetch free for a stretch.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A shopper from Valley Stream
Awoke one night with a scream
Thought Bloomingdales closed
Knew the problems that posed
But, thank God it was only a dream.
Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach
#####
A lad from New Hyde Park
Was longing to make his mark
Tried writing a book
Critics did take a look
And said, "It's best read in the dark."
Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach
#####
A "prof" from CW Post
At a dinner, was to give a toast
When nothing came out
Not a whisper or shout
It was thought he was a poor host
Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach
#####
A Lattingtown farmer named Eddie
had 400 chickens at the ready,
They danced down Peacock Lane
high on beer and champagne,
dropping golden eggs like confetti
Joan Harrison from Glen Cove
#####
A major league prospect in Setauket
Could run fast, throw the ball hard, and sock it
Till he fell for a groupie
And his playing went loopy
And he wound up a stock boy in a market.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
The lady with the flaming red hair
is a resident of Franklin Square
with makeup galore
you cannot ignore
that women laugh and men stop and stare.
Maria Manobianco of Farmingdale
#####
There was a gent from Glen Cove
Most careful about how he drove
counted to ten at Stop Signs
so he never got fines
As down Main Street he wove
Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach
#####
A cyclist from Franklin Square
Said, "Catch me, if you dare."
Friends sped down the pike
Each one on their bike
And all said the race was fair
Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach
#####
A lady there lived in Bellmore
Decided to open a store
brought in all kinds of creatures
with very rare features
Quite an entrepreneur.
Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach
#####
A daring young poet in Farmingville
Flattered the gals in sonnets, lays, and vill
anelles, until they grew wise
To his philandering ways
And showed him the road out of Farmingville.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
The surfers in Long Beach are fit
Though I don’t understand it a bit,
The sea’s like a lake
So with no waves to take
It seems all they do is just sit.
Eileen Hession of Long Beach
#####
In Nassau it’s not good to mention
The size of your neighbor’s fat pension,
Dad said, “Be a cop!
Join a strong union shop!”
But I just wasn’t paying attention.
Eileen Hession of Long Beach
#####
A lovely young maiden of Speonk
Fell in love with a poet, a hunk:
They flirted and fumbled
And courted and bundled,
But she never laid hands on his junk.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A lively old widow of Wainscot
Hired a worker to trim her woodlot:
She plied him with cider
Till he lay down beside her
And did what he promised they would not.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A wealthy old man in Port Washington
Grew up wearing Father’s old hand-me-downs;
Then he won the state Lotto
And rose up from the grotto,
That lucky rich man in Port Washington.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A man drove a Hummer into Yaphank
And parked it in front of the loan bank;
He made such a withdrawal
That he did garner the awe
Of all patrons in that bank in Yaphank.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
Bald Hill: Why I Drink
In my home town of Farmingville,
resides Long Island's highest hill.
Its name is quite a mystery.
There soar: elm, oak, and hickory.
Its name: Bald Hill! Barkeep! Refill!
Herb Wahlsteen of Farmingville
#####
There once was a gal from Glen Cove
She loved the water .. by Jove
So she walked to the beach
The day sweet as a peach
And painted pictures unique as the fauves.
Time flew by faster than crows
How long she was there? ... Who knows!
It was time to pack up
Gathering paints and a cup
A beautiful day came to a close.
Alice Rhodes Farber of Huntington
#####
To uncle Charlie's in Belle Harbor we'd go
With suitcases and food in tow
Summers there we would spend
With family and friends
While Charlie traveled the world, you know
Before he went on his way
We kids drove him crazy you might say
Mixing sugar into salt pails
Sliding down banister rails
For the teasing and noise we would pay
Alice Rhodes Farber of Huntington
#####
My house in Huntington may be small
But the wooded landscape is my all
Nature's bountiful, peaceful calm
Is a healing, soothing balm
Be it summer, spring, winter or fall
Alice Rhodes Farber of Huntington
#####
Ann wrote letters to Jim many a time
And thought they'd be for the rest of her life.
But he left Oyster Bay
And preceded to L.A.,
So instead she became the mailman's wife.
Cathy Liu of Manhasset
#####
There was an old man from Baldwin
Who always won each hand of gin.
Friends never accused him
Of cheating to abuse 'em
For he'd never commit such a sin.
Ellen Pickus of Baldwin
#####
There was a young klutz from Baldwin
Whose wife was as neat as a pin.
When he made a mess,
He had to confess,
Then sweep it all into the bin.
Ellen Pickus of Baldwin
#####
There was a young boy from Baldwin
Whose Dad taught him to ride a Schwinn.
He loved that old bike
From his Uncle Mike.
He learned to be grateful to kin.
Ellen Pickus of Baldwin
#####
There was a poor gal in Baldwin
Whose triplets made quite a din.
She fed one, then the other
But still had to feed brother.
A mother quite simply can't win.
Ellen Pickus of Baldwin
#####
There was a young girl from Baldwin
Who was so remarkably thin
That when cold winds came
She bundled her frame
From her ankles right up to her chin.
Ellen Pickus of Baldwin
#####
A girl named Ann in Garden City
Gossiped secrets, big or tiny.
But the people in public
All began to feel sick
Since she was airing out her dirty laundry.
Cathy Liu of Manhasset
#####
A woodcock from Matinecock
Was seeking females 'round the clock
But springtime was finished
The supply was diminished
In Autumn a bird's not a jock
Diane Meltzer of Oyster Bay
#####
While waiting for Hurricane Sandy
I decided to have a small brandy
Our trees might come down
And our gardens all drown
But O.B.'s still historic and dandy
Diane Meltzer of Oyster Bay
#####
Riding the train from Penn Station
I start to feel such great elation
Soon I'll see Oyster Bay
Where ol' T.R. did play
When he served as the head of the nation
Diane Meltzer of Oyster Bay
#####
There was a young cleric lived in Mastic
Who suffered from a chronic facial tic,
So he prayed hard for relief –
“God spare me from this sore grief” –
Till a rictus took the place of that tic.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
Jim was having his ninth birthday,
So everyone gathered in Oyster Bay.
They had a good time,
But he gulped too much wine,
Soon enough having one over eight.
Cathy Liu of Manhasset
#####
She made the trees weak and flimsy,
Marching from Nassau to Suffolk County.
Buildings crumbled down,
The electricity went out,
because of her - Hurricane Sandy.
Cathy Liu of Manhasset
#####
Long Island has a myriad of different landmarks,
Ranging from Jones Beach to Bethpage State Park.
There's too many to list
In this small limerick,
So one should go visit them all for a lark.
Cathy Liu of Manhasset
#####
A boatman from Oyster Bay
had plenty and nothing to say.
So he built a boat
And set it afloat
And with it he sailed away.
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)
#####
In Speonk one day a merchant
sold me potions exceedingly fragrant,
to camp at Napeague
where mosquitoes feed,
except on those with repellant.
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)
#####
A one-legged seagull of Hempstead
for meals had been sorely tested,
and moved inland
to escape wind and sand—
a pegleg in dumpsters instead.
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)
#####
There once was a momma named Meg
who bore thirteen kids in Cove Neck.
She slipped on the dock
which caused quite a shock
to the twins wrapped around her leg.
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)
#####
There once was a wag of Quoque,
whose tongue was the scourge of her blog—
nor was she discrete
with Facebook and tweet—
a virtual pettifog.
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)
#####
I once had a cousin in Bayville,
who could be annoyingly playful.
She’d chase my poor brother
one yard to another,
until my brother went naval.
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)
#####
A cagey old accountant in Woodmere
Would, for a price, cook your books without fear;
But the IRS caught him
And on trial they put him,
Whence the judge sent him to jail for a year.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A professor of Drama at Oakdale
Gave a part to a dazzling young female:
But her décolletage
Took his mind off the stage
And they rode him from Oakdale on a rail.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A thin farmer in Center Moriches
Eschewed a belt to hold up his britches
But when they fell down
He put on a frown
And lambasted those sons of a britches
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A dashing young man lived in Wantagh,
Who copied Clyde Barrow, the outlaw,
So he dressed up real swank
And tried robbing a bank
But garnered no cash, just a guffaw.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
There once was a Superstorm Sandy
That ravaged our shoreline so dandy,
Such when snow followed suit
Even those resolute
Were heard saying so Long Islandy.
Clinton Weaver of Stony Brook
#####
A Priscilla who lived in Sag Harbor
Grew clematis to climb up her arbor,
But its redolent odor
Made her asthmatic suitor
Sail off in a ship bound for Labrador.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
An old hobo who lived in Nesconset
Was there housed in an old Army Quonset,
Which he papered with pin-ups
And he daily did push-ups,
That naughty, fit hobo in Nesconset.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A grizzled old fisherman in Bayville
Tried cooking his catch on an open grill,
But the haddock turned black
And caused a reflux attack
So he tossed his seared catch in the landfill.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A hustler named Eric in Babylon
Made a bet he could sink a hole-in-one:
When his signature ball
Landed close to the hole,
Radio magnets completed the con.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A misogynist in Amagansett
Excluded himself from the fairer set
Till a gorgeous young temptress
Slipped out of her summer dress
And danced on his lawn until the sun set.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A wily old celibate of Speonk
Led a life benevolent as a monk.
When a lusty young neighbor
Suggested lewd behavior,
He moved to a rectory in Armonk.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
The artist Jackson Pollock in The Springs
Garnered the prizes and fame that art brings,
But his demons still haunted,
Making life seem unwanted,
So he crashed his car and put on his wings.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
A lyric tenor from Bohemia
Drank himself into septicemia
He lost his lead at the Met
And was banished from the set
And heard his rival sing his aria.
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
An Islander fan based in Uniondale,
Let out a shout and then started to wail:
“Don’t trade the Colisseum
“In for Barclays of Brooklyn
“And leave all us fans the card ‘Go to Jail.’”
George Held of Sag Harbor
#####
I come from the hamlet of Glen Head.
A place that we used to call Dead Head.
Now theres traffic and stores,
so I close all my doors
and sleep with a pillow on my head.
Barbara Karyo of Glen Head
#####
Visiting the hamlet of Oyster Bay
You can shop, dine or play
A walk in the park
Just before dark
Will make it a perfect day!
Barbara Pollock of Oyster Bay
Sandy Poems, Long Island Poem for Sunday
Storm Sandy, damaging and disruptive as it was, inspired poets to write about their experiences during or after the storm. We have already published poem 'Sandy' by Barbara Novack and 'The Wake Of The Flood' by Peter V. Dugan. We have more poems to bring to you:
In Sandy's Wake
Patti Tana
Strong winds thicken the air
with the fury of leaves ––
skeletal branches become spears
we ride out the storm together in the dark
the dog between us quaking
morning reveals a hundred-foot tulip tree
fallen across the Japanese garden
sparing the red bridge and our home
you take the guitar in your arms
& make the wood sing "Amazing Grace."
'In Sandy's Wake' by Patti Tana of Locust Valley.
Published with author's permission.
#####
Community
Karen Jakubowski
Flicker of candlelight
my only heat, but
not my only warmth.
Why does it take
natural disaster to bring love?
Long Island is somber.
We have been warned by Sandy.
Humbled by a hurricane.
Men in yellow trucks
swarm like bees.
Flitter to each yard,
each devastation.
They come with gloved bulk, and
We watch our lives being carted away.
I pass military vehicles
in my neighborhood.
It has become a community.
We are stoic and proud.
Stand in streets sharing losses.
Few tears are shed.
We are lost souls
trying to salvage what is left
our homes, our memories, our lives.
It is so much more
Than replacing a favorite
sweater or waterlogged book,
more than a landscape destroyed.
We are base.
Our basic needs
now the root of thought.
No heat, no power,
for some no shelter or food
We huddle together.
We pray.
We wait.
Aid please come
soon.
'Community' by Karen Jakubowski of Massapequa.
Published with author's permission.
#####
Untitled
Marc Rosen
A woman comes into the FEMA site
Speaks with the staffers,
Then comes into the room I'm in, to the left
A screening room, with comfy seats, the local news on TV,
And most importantly, a giant pile of clothes,
All over the stage up at the front!
We exchange words, and she asks:
“What's all this clothing for?”
A Red Cross volunteer asks if she needs anything
In these times, with a nor'easter approaching,
And the woman herself underdressed for the temperatures,
Warm clothing for her and her daughter is clearly called for
The young mother hesitates, stubborn pride telling her to balk.
She's fine! Save the clothing for someone who really needs it!
Her protests fall on the deaf ears of her new-found personal shoppers
Red Cross and FEMA ask about what she'd like,
Tell her how great she'll look in this coat,
Help her fill a giant storage bag
With the yield of her free shopping spree
Tears of joy stream down her eyes
After enduring silence and indifference from agencies, her daughter's school, doctors,
She finally laughs; She finally smiles
Clothes damaged in the rains, replaced with new
Needs neglected for lack of shelter and warmth, met
For this family, it won't be as cold a winter as it seemed
'Untitled' by Marc Rosen of Glen Cove.
Published with author's permission.
Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - The Wake Of The Flood, Long Island Poem for Sunday
In Sandy's Wake
Patti Tana
Strong winds thicken the air
with the fury of leaves ––
skeletal branches become spears
we ride out the storm together in the dark
the dog between us quaking
morning reveals a hundred-foot tulip tree
fallen across the Japanese garden
sparing the red bridge and our home
you take the guitar in your arms
& make the wood sing "Amazing Grace."
'In Sandy's Wake' by Patti Tana of Locust Valley.
Published with author's permission.
#####
Community
Karen Jakubowski
Flicker of candlelight
my only heat, but
not my only warmth.
Why does it take
natural disaster to bring love?
Long Island is somber.
We have been warned by Sandy.
Humbled by a hurricane.
Men in yellow trucks
swarm like bees.
Flitter to each yard,
each devastation.
They come with gloved bulk, and
We watch our lives being carted away.
I pass military vehicles
in my neighborhood.
It has become a community.
We are stoic and proud.
Stand in streets sharing losses.
Few tears are shed.
We are lost souls
trying to salvage what is left
our homes, our memories, our lives.
It is so much more
Than replacing a favorite
sweater or waterlogged book,
more than a landscape destroyed.
We are base.
Our basic needs
now the root of thought.
No heat, no power,
for some no shelter or food
We huddle together.
We pray.
We wait.
Aid please come
soon.
'Community' by Karen Jakubowski of Massapequa.
Published with author's permission.
#####
Untitled
Marc Rosen
A woman comes into the FEMA site
Speaks with the staffers,
Then comes into the room I'm in, to the left
A screening room, with comfy seats, the local news on TV,
And most importantly, a giant pile of clothes,
All over the stage up at the front!
We exchange words, and she asks:
“What's all this clothing for?”
A Red Cross volunteer asks if she needs anything
In these times, with a nor'easter approaching,
And the woman herself underdressed for the temperatures,
Warm clothing for her and her daughter is clearly called for
The young mother hesitates, stubborn pride telling her to balk.
She's fine! Save the clothing for someone who really needs it!
Her protests fall on the deaf ears of her new-found personal shoppers
Red Cross and FEMA ask about what she'd like,
Tell her how great she'll look in this coat,
Help her fill a giant storage bag
With the yield of her free shopping spree
Tears of joy stream down her eyes
After enduring silence and indifference from agencies, her daughter's school, doctors,
She finally laughs; She finally smiles
Clothes damaged in the rains, replaced with new
Needs neglected for lack of shelter and warmth, met
For this family, it won't be as cold a winter as it seemed
'Untitled' by Marc Rosen of Glen Cove.
Published with author's permission.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Wake Of The Flood, Long Island Poem for Sunday
The Wake Of The Flood
Peter V. Dugan
Boats from marinas miles away
washed across highways, carried
down Reynolds Channel, swept up
Mill River and Swift Creek
beached on fairways and bunkers
of Bay Park Golf Course.
Further up river at East Rockaway High School,
the newly renovated auditorium
lies in ruins, all seats submerged
except those in the balcony.
The gymnasium floor, its
wood warped, resembles ocean waves,
complete with fish and crabs.
Cars and trucks are immobile,
askew in parking lots and on lawns.
Sink holes erode streets;
branches and uprooted trees block roads,
crush cars and lean on homes.
Television, telephone, internet cable
and power lines torn down,
communication and information cut off
or extremely limited.
Up river and up the road
a woman finds her undamaged hot tub,
still filled with water, standing alone
in the center of Lister Ball Field.
At night total darkness envelopes
the neighborhood, save for the flash lights
and lanterns inside occupied houses.
The smell of low tide, sewerage
and burnt gas and oil permeates the air.
The sound of autumn crickets drowned out
by the drone of generators.
The next day, piles of carpet, furniture,
and other remnants and wreckage
form mounds in driveways and on front lawns.
Someone plants the American Flag atop one.
Curbside I find a child's index card
from school, labeled #10 and it reads:
"Fearing death for himself and the rest of the men,
they decide to build boats and float them down
the Mississippi in hope of finding a Spanish settlement."
The Wake Of The Flood by Peter V. Dugan.
Published with author's permission.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Sandy ... we stare dully at destruction, Long Island Poem for Sunday
We want to thank Barbara Novack, poet and Writer-in-Residence at Molloy College in Rockville Center, for sending us this poem.
Sandy
Barbara Novack
Benign old trees in front of houses
shading the way along the street
loom darkly in the storm
wind-whipped and creaking
branches lashing, leaves flying
crack crash BOOM!
The neighbor's tree across our driveway
limb branch leaves pressing upon our car
Then crack crash BOOM!
Our tree uprooted
to pound in upon our house
top to bottom
and in one gasping death heave
flail five feet of limb through our attic window.
In the aftermath, that lighted day,
we stare dully at destruction
both cracked trees, their
burgeoning springs and summers
an ironic lie:
City tree trimmers each year
rising in their buckets
to whittle away dried twigs
while no one thought to tap the trunks
and listen for the echo.
'Sandy' by Barbara Novack.
Published with author's permission.
Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Westhampton Cemetery founded 1795, Long Island Poem for Sunday
Sandy
Barbara Novack
Benign old trees in front of houses
shading the way along the street
loom darkly in the storm
wind-whipped and creaking
branches lashing, leaves flying
crack crash BOOM!
The neighbor's tree across our driveway
limb branch leaves pressing upon our car
Then crack crash BOOM!
Our tree uprooted
to pound in upon our house
top to bottom
and in one gasping death heave
flail five feet of limb through our attic window.
In the aftermath, that lighted day,
we stare dully at destruction
both cracked trees, their
burgeoning springs and summers
an ironic lie:
City tree trimmers each year
rising in their buckets
to whittle away dried twigs
while no one thought to tap the trunks
and listen for the echo.
'Sandy' by Barbara Novack.
Published with author's permission.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Preserving history is important
Now more than ever it is apparent how important it is to preserve what we know and see. Chunks of our beautiful South Shore disappeared in front of our own eyes a few days ago.
It was equally important and much more technically difficult in the past. We are deeply indebted to photographers and record keepers who immortalized places and scenes of the past.
Arcadia Publishing, South Carolina based company, specializes in historical books of local interests. Books are created by local authors, like Joan Harrison, Amy Driscoll, John Hammond, or Paul Mateyunas, who, having burrowed through various family archives, libraries, documents, and printed materials, bring to us a sliver of the world of old.
Below please find some of the titles we carry in the store.
We are glad to report, all books are printed domestically on 100% Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) certified paper.
It was equally important and much more technically difficult in the past. We are deeply indebted to photographers and record keepers who immortalized places and scenes of the past.
Arcadia Publishing, South Carolina based company, specializes in historical books of local interests. Books are created by local authors, like Joan Harrison, Amy Driscoll, John Hammond, or Paul Mateyunas, who, having burrowed through various family archives, libraries, documents, and printed materials, bring to us a sliver of the world of old.
Below please find some of the titles we carry in the store.
| 
|
| LOCUST VALLEY Joan Harrison, Amy Dzija Driscoll | BAYVILLE Incorporated Village of Bayville |
| 
|
| GLEN COVE Joan Harrison | GLEN COVE REVISITED Joan Harrison |
|  |
| HICKSVILLE Richard E. Evers, Anne Evers | SYOSSET Tom Montalbano |
|  |
| OYSTER BAY John Hammond | ROSLYN Ellen Fletcher Russell, Sargent Russell, Roslyn Landmark Society |
 |  |
| THE LONG ISLAND RAILROAD 1925-1975 David Keller, Steven Lynch | LONG ISLAND RAIL ROAD STATIONS David D. Morrison, Valerie Pakaluk |
 |  |
| LONG ISLAND AIRCRAFT MANUFACTURERS Joshua Stoff | BUILDING MOONSHIPS: THE GRUMMAN LUNAR MODULE Joshua Stoff |
 |  |
| LONG ISLAND'S MILITARY HISTORY Glen Williford, Leo Polaski | NEW YORK STATE NATIONAL GUARD Anthony Gero, Roger Sturcke |
 |  |
| LONG ISLAND'S GOLD COAST Paul J. Mateyunas | OHEKA CASTLE Joan Cergol, Ellen Schaffer |
We are glad to report, all books are printed domestically on 100% Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) certified paper.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Westhampton Cemetery founded 1795, Long Island Poem for Sunday
Westhampton Cemetery
founded 1795
for Jim and Tanya
Philip Appleman
No place for elegies, in these stern
stones, bleached
by the misty light that haloes gulls
and weathers the gray shingles
of the Hamptons—no elegies, but grace:
Blessed are the dead
which die in the Lord: my flesh
will rest in hope.
No place for elegies in this austere
devotion to joy, the faith
of the departed:
They do not die nor lose
their mortal sympathy,
nor change to us, although
they change.
No elegies for Mehitable, wife
of Enoch Jagger, died
1799 in the twenty-fifth
year of her age;
for Warren Goodall, drowned at Fire Island,
1832;
for Jennie McCue, died 1871,
aged three years, nine days—no
elegies, but grace:
Precious in the sight of the Lord
is the death of His Saints: we sorrow not
as those which have no hope.
But for the backs that wearied out
these scars in the pale earth,
and for sailors at the aching capstans,
for fishermen scanning
the ashy sky—elegies,
yes, for all
of these—for bonneted girls
stooping till sundown in the itch
of potatao fields, new widows walking their roofs
for the overdue whalers,
maids in the faded Hamptons
staring at hope chests—elegies,
chiseled in mossy stone:
From sorrow, toil and pain
and sin we shall be free.
This misty light is an elegy
for the living:
bleaching our blood to water,
scaling our bone to chalk,
fading every morning song
to the minor of farewell.
'Westhampton Cemetery' by Philip Appleman from the 1986 'Long Island Poets' collection by The Permanent Press in Sag Harbor. Reprinted with with publisher's permission.
'Long Island Poets' can be purchased from The Permanent Press.
Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - A Flowering Twig, Long Island Poem for Sunday
founded 1795
for Jim and Tanya
Philip Appleman
No place for elegies, in these stern
stones, bleached
by the misty light that haloes gulls
and weathers the gray shingles
of the Hamptons—no elegies, but grace:
Blessed are the dead
which die in the Lord: my flesh
will rest in hope.
No place for elegies in this austere
devotion to joy, the faith
of the departed:
They do not die nor lose
their mortal sympathy,
nor change to us, although
they change.
No elegies for Mehitable, wife
of Enoch Jagger, died
1799 in the twenty-fifth
year of her age;
for Warren Goodall, drowned at Fire Island,
1832;
for Jennie McCue, died 1871,
aged three years, nine days—no
elegies, but grace:
Precious in the sight of the Lord
is the death of His Saints: we sorrow not
as those which have no hope.
But for the backs that wearied out
these scars in the pale earth,
and for sailors at the aching capstans,
for fishermen scanning
the ashy sky—elegies,
yes, for all
of these—for bonneted girls
stooping till sundown in the itch
of potatao fields, new widows walking their roofs
for the overdue whalers,
maids in the faded Hamptons
staring at hope chests—elegies,
chiseled in mossy stone:
From sorrow, toil and pain
and sin we shall be free.
This misty light is an elegy
for the living:
bleaching our blood to water,
scaling our bone to chalk,
fading every morning song
to the minor of farewell.
'Westhampton Cemetery' by Philip Appleman from the 1986 'Long Island Poets' collection by The Permanent Press in Sag Harbor. Reprinted with with publisher's permission.
'Long Island Poets' can be purchased from The Permanent Press.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
A Flowering Twig, Long Island Poem for Sunday
A Flowering Twig
Ken Kenigsberg
There is in my parlor, a sere, skinny stick
rising above a plant that looks sick.
It stands there for months, lone and defiant,
I think it is dead, it's not even pliant.
Then, in a burst, a resurgent epiphany,
gorgeous gems appear, as if from Tiffany.
Nature brings life to a dried out stake;
orchids so perfect, they almost seem fake.
For thirteen years this Phoenix has stood,
Looking like a carved piece of wood.
At varying seasons, I do not know why,
a resurrection occurs to dazzle the eye.
If there is analogy in this to man,
it might be that, in the end, we can.
A Flowering Twig by Ken Kenigsberg from A Flowering Twig booklet published by The Feral Press.
Reprinted with publisher's permission.
Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Merlin Talking to Himself, Long Island Poem for Halloween Sunday
Ken Kenigsberg
There is in my parlor, a sere, skinny stick
rising above a plant that looks sick.
It stands there for months, lone and defiant,
I think it is dead, it's not even pliant.
Then, in a burst, a resurgent epiphany,
gorgeous gems appear, as if from Tiffany.
Nature brings life to a dried out stake;
orchids so perfect, they almost seem fake.
For thirteen years this Phoenix has stood,
Looking like a carved piece of wood.
At varying seasons, I do not know why,
a resurrection occurs to dazzle the eye.
If there is analogy in this to man,
it might be that, in the end, we can.
A Flowering Twig by Ken Kenigsberg from A Flowering Twig booklet published by The Feral Press.
Reprinted with publisher's permission.
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