Painting & Poetry Exhibit 2017

















I LEAVE YOU
by Laura Maschal

The great migrations of sea and sky -
of whale and warbler and butterfly.
I leave you the deep faith of hibernation,
the dark sky to see every constellation. 

I leave you a meadow, an expanse of space,
long sips of summer, a slower pace,
buzzing fields and drinkable streams,
sunlit napping and animal dreams.

I leave you awe and the northern lights,
that feeling of small it reignites.

I leave you the quiet air, oh yes and seeds, 
soil and microbes to grow more trees. 

I leave you the planet, this breathing enfold
of bear and narwhal and marigold.

I leave you the magic of fish and of stone,

I love you, I leave just my breath and my bone.

MEMORIAL
by Kath Santangelo

I wrap myself up in a quilt
that you owned,
red stars hold down
a warm summer sun.
Did you make it yourself
on a gray winter’s day
when thinking of home
swept all thoughts away.

I wrap myself up in a quilt that you owned.

Did you make it yourself
out of pieces and patches,
strips of bright sunlight,
brazen blue sky, cold drops of rain.
You sew with silk thread
You sew with your heart strings…
Together the seams burn my 
skin on this day.

I wrap myself up in a quilt that you owned.

Did you walk down the aisles
of some foreign market…
Tired of threads all in tangle
and stitches askew.
Did you seek the one pattern 
that made your life clear,
to dream vivid colors,
to think big and bold.

I wrap myself up in a quilt that you owned.


WORK
by Karen Topham

She weaves
Not as Penelope passing years of longing
Unbinding a shroud’s weft each night

She weaves
Magical orbs deftly capturing lacy winged creatures
Glittering transparent pearls in early morning 

She weaves
Invisible threads binding delicate trophies 
To her realm throughout the day

She weaves
A castle spun from purest silk to cocoon her eggs
Keeping her spiderlings safely ensconced  

She weaves
And almost heard is the hum of robust strings
As she plucks her bow across a curving bridge 

She weaves
She weaves
She weaves
She weaves
She weaves













SUNDAY NOON
by Norma Paul

I want them off--
these heavy shoes--
let me push my feet out of them
to pad about in freedom
from control
on an airy path
through a pensive house
where I can be alone
at peace
without a fault to call my own.

I slide across the wooden floor
on slippery socks
and sigh the sign of contentment.
The dog grins back at me
from his coveted perch
on the leather sofa,
his tongue hanging limp
from his open mouth,
his body panting like a 
slow beating drum.

Surf City Library
Painting 'Leaving' by Irene Bausmith
Painting 'My Blankie' by Paul Daukas
Painting 'That Sunday' by Linda Werner
Painting 'The Weavers' by June Merrifield