A.D. Winans: 3 POEMS in Children’s Anthology

I’m pleased to announce I have three poems in a new poetry anthology for Children:A unique and culturally diverse anthology of poetry for children and youth by over 50 San Francisco poets. It Includes an appendix of 26 poetry lessons for teachers and parents based on poems in the book. Copies of the book have been distributed free of charge to all the public elementary and middle schools in San Francisco as well as all the branch libraries of the city system through a public fundraising campaign.
A portion of the proceeds from sales goes to support poetry workshops in schools and community centers.

Feather Floating on the Water is fully illustrated with black and white drawings by Jack Micheline, Adrian Arias, Claire Bain, Virginia Barrett, and Ravenna Osgood. The cover image is by San Francisco artist Marius Starkey.

Feather Floating on the Water-poems for our children
published by Jambu Press-Studio Saraswati
San Francisco, California, 2014
ISBN: 978-0-9824673-8-1
Library of Congress Catalogue Number: 2014932647
Paperback. 212pp.

$15 (normal retail price is $18), plus $3 shipping and handling.
Payment may be made through Pay Pal.
If shipping address is different than pay pal account information, or you wish to order internationally, please email publisher at: saraswati.sf@gmail.com

A.D. Winans: This Land Is Not My Land

The book itself can't be bought at Amazon or other outlets until it is released to coincide with European distributor this Fall. It was originally published as a chapbook, but is now available perfect bound with nine new poems not in the original chapbook.

 

Advance copies can, in the meantime, be purchased only through the publisher, Presa Press, and myself.

 

Details available to anyone interested.

A.D. Winans

http://winansfansite.blogspot.com/

Spike Sikes: « Prisoner of Loneliness » by A.D. Winans

Prisoner of Loneliness  : https://soundcloud.com/spike-sikes/prisoner-of-loneliness


song based on the poem "Prisoner of Loneliness" by A.D. Winans, with a nod to his old friend Kell Robertson


More songs by Spike Sikes at https://soundcloud.com/spike-sikes/

A.D. Winans: new book out by middle of march

The re-issue of my award winning book (This Land Is Not My Land) by Presa Press will be out in March.  The new book will be perfect bound, with a new cover photo, and distributed in both the U.S. and in Europe.  The new cover is based on the old "New Directions"B & W look.  I'm psyched (not psycho) about the book.


A.D. Winans

http://winansfansite.blogspot.com/

Charley Plymell Tells and Shows in Strings of Emails

http://www.artsjournal.com/herman/2014/02/charley-plymell-tells-and-shows-in-strings-of-emails.html
February 26, 2014 by Jan Herman


Charley Plymell’s long, seemingly endless strings of emails are fascinating to read. He has known so many Beat writers and artists and has popped up in so many places with them that I can’t help thinking of him — half in wonder and half in disbelief — as the Zelig of the Beat Generation. Unlike Zelig, however, he has actual evidence to support his many, many tales. There he is in snowy Cherry Valley, for example, displaying a painting by William Burroughs that Burroughs once gave him and his wife Pam. “We sold it over phone … 3 grand,” he noted, and attached the photo. And there he is, in another attachment from another email, on a poster to promote a recent appearance in Brooklyn with Gerard Malanga. Of course, if you call Charley a Beat poet, he’ll tell you he is no such thing and you may be subject to a lengthy rant about various Beat luminaries who failed to live up to his ideals.

+++ More in the blog Straight Up | Herman at http://www.artsjournal.com/herman/2014/02/charley-plymell-tells-and-shows-in-strings-of-emails.html

A.D. Winans: Dead Lions

A new book of poems by A.D. Winans:  Dead Lions, by Punk Hostage Press, out on 3/15.

 

AD Winans: Presa Press to reissue my award winning book: This Land Is Not My Land with distribution in both the U.S. and Europe.

Just a note to let you know that Presa Press is re-issuing This Land Is Not My Land in a 2nd, improved edition.


The new printing will have a perfectbound spine and an ISBN and Library of Congress number, bar code, etc.  They will nclude the Panama poems that were later published in Presa Magazine.


The  book  will also be released in Europe in 22 countries, through Gazelle Books Ltd.

I'm pleased that the book will move from the previous chapbook status to a perfect bound book with distribution in both the U.S. and in Europe.


Al

http://www.adwinans.com/ 

The A. D. Winans Fansite

This blog is administered by Ginger Killian Eades. It hosts A.D. Winans' poems.


http://winansfansite.blogspot.com/2014/01/three-poems-by-d-winans.html

AD Winans: 4 AM INSOMNIA POEM

lost in the never never land of insomnia a dark forest ravished by storms where dreams go to perish my  mind hijacks my destiny speaks in tongue devours the silence walks hunchbacked like a gypsy tailor pushing a garment cart a sacrificial virgin burns in volcano ash a Tiajuana Jesus nailed to a plastic cross winks at the twelve wise men making a return trip to the manger after a shopping spree at Walmarts a fortune teller trades in her crystal ball for a tarot card reading the lone survivor of a shipwreck floats aimlessly at sea my love returns from the  bermuda triangle in the disguise of a mermaid the pope pleads for humility god answers with lightning jesus responds with thunder a bee colony drips honey between the legs of a dairy queen a haunted house coughs up an angry ghost drunk on death dante gives up his seat in hell to Rosa Parks who recites the lord's prayer backwards to a  honky sheriff in Selma, Alabama  Saint Peter empties purgatory the FDA declares sleeping masks a fraud Van Gogh demands his ear back a new born baby is sacrfiiced at the Louve a french Mistress closes her legs in protest| the mirror mocks my image twenty-plus years of sleeplessness camp inside my skull hot as volcano ash satan recruits me god makes no counter offer a whisper of sleep camps inside my eyeballs I surrender with a whimper drown in a series of Hail Mary's recited by sexy nuns in see-through attire

A.D. Winans: EARLY BIRTHDAY POEM

sitting here fifteen days
before my seventy-eight birthday
I drink my morning coffee in solitude

wear the early chill of morning
like a quilt of  stitched memories
my mind a nosy intruder
plots the course of my life

the eye can not see
the naked universe
nor caress the fertile stars

the moon a graveyard
shines its eyes down on me

surely that is not me
I see in the mirror

the months the years
revolving doors

like the trick mirrors
at the fun house
at Play land at the Beach

friends fewer in number
wait for me in my dreams

like ducks in a blind

left with a cup of morning coffee
a spoon that stirs memories
of  young women

the pleasure of warm flesh
on fresh linen sheets
hot as an iron pressed
to a a singed garment
turned to  bones that rattle
in the graveyard of my  dreams

the conversations that lasted
into the early morning hours
turned to idle chatter
with ghost's from the past

A.D. Winans: Li Po

LI PO

he sat beneath the trees
talking to the leaves
wine flowed into miniature glasses
of silent sound

intoxicated on its flavor
he tasted it like a brewmaster
gazed at the sky
spoke a poets dialogue
to the passing clouds
the red wine flowing
through his veins

his poems floated
downstream
calm as the aftermath
of a storm

poems swirling
swimming inside him
like a dolphin rises
from the heart of the sea

www.winansfansite.blogspot.com

www.adwinans.mysite.com

A.D. WINANS: POEM FOR THE FRIEND WHO TOLD ME I NEED TO STOP DWELLING ON THE PAST

a friend of mine tells me
I need to stop dwelling on the past
that nostalgia is an anchor
that will weigh me down
he's like the lyric
to that Hank Williams song
"I saw the light, "I saw the light."
a song he sang to Minnie Pearl
his feet sticking out the side
of an open convertible
on its way to Memphis
I'm still groping for that light
a hundred shadows from my past
hitch-hiking along for the ride

angels have traded in their wings
for a ticket to my dreams
the phantom of the opera
has a front row seat in my nightmares
mutilated poems wrap them self in my arms
pit tomorrow against yesterday
nomadic thoughts camp inside
my brain cells
master to none  servant to many

old flame's light burned out torches
in my loins
there is no place to flee
no resting stop at the end
of a long journey
from here to nowhere

I spend the afternoon
at Martha's coffee shop
with hot coffee and a newspaper
for company
tomorrow those same newspaper lines
will be past history
should I pretend they never existed?

I am ten months into
my seventy-seventh year
winter will soon be here
with her cold claws and heavy rain
forcing her way into the walls of my mind

were she of human flesh
she would crack open
my memory vault
find miles of past memories
that flow like Li Po poems
down a river old as time
should I ignore her
tell her to come back next winter
that now isn't the time?

I have written one too many memorial poems
for friends who have passed-away
should I shut them out of my mind
focus on tomorrow
build a graveled  path that leads
to the promised land?

my emotions are trapped in quicksand
no place to run
no place to hide
endless chatter comes from
the 4-walls where
death hides between the cracks

the past is my lover
she clings to my body
like a child to a mother's bosom
she sleeps in my memory cells
like a phantom bank that accepts
only deposits  refuses withdrawals

I think of her
like I think of San Francisco
the city of my birth
the salt air smell at ocean beach
the Marina Greens
north beach and the fillmore
all filled with memories
my past is my present
the future a gypsy fortune teller

my existence
a slow chugging locomotive
on an anonymous journey
known only to the conductor
punching invisible tickets in the hands
of faceless passengers

 

A.D. WINANS