Poets

    Marty Giovan had been practicing as a registered poetry therapist facilitating the art of poem-making for more than 2 decades.  She had a masters degree in Creative Arts Education and was also the author of Mind Mender, a "how to" source book for expressive interventions. She had been a poet in the school system in Rhode Island and in the Virgin Islands as the "hidden agenda" in English classes. Mind Mender was also used with poetry in elderly groups. Marty was best known for her collections of creative and life-affirming poems written by prison populations. She conducted a seminar, Poetic Medicine, at All That Matters in Wakefield.

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2021 Update:  AUGUST 6, 1927 TO MARCH 3, 2020 -  Just learned of Marty's passing.  Lynnie Gobeille was kind enough to send a link to her obituary ( Marti Giovan's Obituary )

An excerpt from "In My Last Hour" by Marty Giovan:

In my last hour I wish to be like the swans
That float on my pond.
Dusk descends
Regal fullness reflects
In the stilling of the wind
Until their emergence into the space
Between the light and the darkening water.

► Marty's origami microchaps & selected poems are available below.

Origami Microchap	Poems
Want Ads
Click title to download PDF microchap Who will know me If I don’t advertise? Having crossed over Troubled waters To the kinder dreams Of being a fun-loving “Poetry Lady” •	Wanted:  House Friend A ‘house friend’ Must love horror movies Purple walls And cats in bed. Must know hot to rub tired toes Wear few clothes Pack picnic munchies Field my images And plant my field! I like long walks To gather wood To start warm fires Over hot rum toddies I am a talker And a listener A kisser and a snuggler Come and be my house friend Call, if interested • A MISFIT   Am mother of five Lover of wild flowers Have been sought after, wooed and wed Am wan on wrong choices Have traveled rough roads Now eager to seek joy, not troubles A believer in magic and mischief And once in a while a “misfit” Am looking for a soul mate Who loves warm weather And good companionship	WANTED - Ring Master Experienced ring master Should also be Freak show barker Bare back rider Snake charmer Fortune teller Certified animal analyst Must enjoy stars in children’s eyes Does not mind sweeping up popcorn If available visit us in person When the circus is in town • WANTED - Circus Person A circus person Who can pitch big tents Promote local show Sell tickets Control excited crowds Must love big cats Dub in as a clown Fly the trapeze Be at ease with elephants and antelopes shooter - Experienced trouble Finder of lost children Be willing to travel Consider the circus as home • Intangible Collectibles Over rocky roads And stormy shores I’ve collected toil and spoils That form bridges of memories To help me cross over The troubled waters To the peace of green And kinder dreams • Marty Giovan © 2011
My Vegetable Family
Click title to download PDF microchap     The Prompt:   Tell us about your family with you in it.   •	My Mother My mother was an avocado pear, A hard, green skin. Sometimes when she was ripe We made guacamole dip Enough for the whole family. Sometimes she’d peel herself too soon Becoming slippery, tasteless and gooey. We were always glad when the Avocado season was over • My Cousin My cousin was a watermelon Full of black, slippery seeds That could choke you When you slurped her juices. Once we poured a fifth of vodka Inter her pink, ripe roundness. We thought it would mellow her. That’s when she joined A.A.!   •	Me I am a coconut, headed rust - A round ball of hard But opens nicely when dropped from a tree Knocking sense into me So I don’t end up in frozen piña colada •   My Father My father was a white, Irish potato. He mashed easily With plenty of cream and butter But he’d get lumpy When we were late for dinner. Then my mother would scrape him Off the plate For tomorrow’s leftovers. •   Marty Giovan © 2010

 Bill Carpenter recently compled a long collection of his poetry called Templates: collected poems. Contact him at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. for purchase.  The book "explores universal patterns using the poet's toolbox of language, metaphor and simile.  It is an effort to empathically understand and connect our world."  It contains selected poems from Meaderings, Vestigial Wings, Templates and newer poems grouped under a heading called 'Postcards.'  The book is 72 pages, soft-cover printed through Create Space. 

Bill's poetry has appeared in such journals as Runes, Blueline, Chest, Balancing the Tides, July Literary Press and the RI Writer’s Circle Anthology, He’s a member of the Ocean State Poets whose mission is to bring poetry and give voice to divergent populations, such as prisoners and children at risk.

* Bill's poem, "Arms Wide Open" is a finalist in the Origami Poems Kindness Contest 2016.  His poem can be found under the Introspection category in the Origami Poems anthology The Best of Kindness available on Amazon.

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► Bill's Origami microchaps & selected poems are available below. Click on the title to download a printable, one-page PDF.  Free poetry!

Origami Microchap	Selected Poem(s)
Reimagining the Cosmos
Cover: Raven Restores the Stars, button blanket in the style of Native Americans of the Pacific Northwest by Emily Westcott Photo by Bill Carpenter •	Love Triangle The Land basks in her suitors’ attentions, aroused by Sky’s torrid caresses, lifting her tidal skirts to Ocean’s brine, blushing in foreplay, she gives herself freely to both. But Sky is a jealous lover, smothering Land, turning green at Ocean’s advances. The Sky scrolls love letters on clouds to dissuade her from Ocean’s pandering. His missives range from pastel dusks and dawns to dark rants billowing wrath. Nor will Ocean willingly share the lover he cannot stop kissing. As they lie together beneath suspicious heaven, hopeful of touching places only Sky can reach, Ocean washes ever higher up the rocky knees of her shores. This struggle unravels as heartache for Land’s inhabitants, who thrive on the planet’s marbled blue harmony, but cower when Land spurs her suitors to jealousy as they whip up cyclones and ocean-driven maelstroms, when all earthlings can do is pray to their gods, amid the throes of these tempestuous lovers. • Bill Carpenter © 2015
Kayaking the River Styx
Cover Photo by Bill Carpenter •	Dream Time Our kayak cuts through the unevenly toned darkness, wakes aglow in bioluminescence, each stroke a green-white flame below the black surface- an aurora borealis beneath the sea. In this world, of darting fish and kelp beds as thick as cables, we shake stardust into the depths. It's dream time- as we listen for blackfish, imagining them surfacing in brilliantly illuminated auras. • Bill Carpenter  © 2014
Creation Myths
Cover artwork by Bill Carpenter •	Creation Myth - Whales I. Gray Whale   She rises with a “humph” a misty exhalation over Magdalena Bay. Her back encrusted with barnacles and amphipods as if carrying a dark arc of sky full of star clusters and dust, nebulae and contrails, planets and moons, an untold creation myth, a seafaring galaxy. Her long spine ridged with knuckles, this storied sea serpent or “devil fish” has come to calve in sheltered lagoons. Surfacing and submerging, lifting her fluke, and plunging into the deep leaving a massive oval footprint, a black hole in her wake. • Bill Carpenter  © 2011
Selections From Templates
Cover artwork by Bill Carpenter •	Ode to the Wind Oh, to be the wind, cling to you like rain, run invisible fingers through your hair, sculpt your cotton dress to your contours like Venus, run away with your sweet perfume tossing it like petals in my wake. To billow your skirts, animate your breath with my spirit flowing in your veins as life; to cling, caress and kiss your moist mouth dry.   Oh, to be the wind and take you as my lover. • Bill Carpenter  © 2010

John Kotula has probably been an artist for lifetimes.  In this incarnation, his work can be seen at Hera Gallery, Wakefield, RI.

Visit his blog, Portrait of the Artist as an Old Man, at blogspot.com for his insights.

"I have been drawing continuously, at times obsessively, for more than fifty years. My choice of materials comes and goes and comes back again: pencils, charcoal, conte, ink, crayons, Sharpies, china markers, pastels, chalk...  Through all the changes in materials and subject matter, what has always been true is that I love making marks and seeing them accumulate to reveal an image."   

► John's Origami micro-chapbooks & selected poems are available below.  All cover art is by John.

Origami Micro-Chapbook	Selected Poem(s)
What The Dead Have To Say
•	{mooblock=Harriet} Look, the dead don’t miss you. It doesn’t work that way. No matter what you do. No matter what you say. We’ve got perspective. We’ve got the long view. I’m beyond being protective. Even with Asa and Moshe, There is nothing new. Every story’s an old one. It’s all been told before. You miss me? Yeah, yeah. My loss makes you weep? What should I do for you? Put a broom up my ass? Give the floor a sweep? • John Kotula © 2011 {/mooblock}
An Old Guy's Love Poems, Part 2
•	{mooblock=Swanee River} Here’s the way it is: I’m often on the shore Watching you splash and play In ocean, river or lake. Way down upon the Swanee River On a steamy summer day. There’s you In silvery white light Like a photo taken from underneath a black cloth Blurry edges with you at the center Glowing. That’s where my heart is yearning ever. Like Popeye, the river swims between your knees. The pebbles tickle your feet. Minnows nibble your toes. Trout delight in their fish eye view of your Banjo-shaped ass. The lazy ‘gator thinks, “Hum… probably tastes like chicken.” The lazy husband thinks, “Enough poetry. Enough lying on the bank While Deb’s far, far away. I’m going in.” • John Kotula © 2011 {/mooblock}
An Old Guy's Love Poems
•	{mooblock=Husband in Winter} In the middle of the night I wake up in my warm bed. I nudge Deb softly. Yeah, she is still there. I get up to pee, Walk past the coats in the hall, The door to the basement. The clock on the stove says 2:10. My old bladder knows the hour, If not the minute. There is moonlight coming in the back door. I can make out the silhouette of the big rosemary plant. I sit. No sense in trying to steer When I’m half asleep. The thermostat is set at 58. I’m cold When I slip Back under the covers. But, Deb is warm. I press against her, Snuggling, spooning. One day, One of us Will be alone In this bed. One of us Will have to wait While the heat of one body Warms it up. • John Kotula © 2011 {/mooblock}
Honduras
•	{mooblock=Gringo Time, Honduran Time} El tiempo del gringo Es bien organizado. It has a beginning, a middle and an end. Honduran time flows and loops. Si Dios quiere. Gringo time falls on the beat. At best it waltzes. 1-2-3, 1-2-3. El tiempo Hondureño baile la bachata. The feet execute a sexy little two-step While the hips elaborate. But Honduran time is a Bromista cruel. Its jokes are merciless. The hours glow. The days rhyme. The weeks nap in their hammocks. The months pass in ciclos de sol y lluvia. But the years kill you. You are old at forty. At fifty you look seventy. Before long, There is a tent in the street In front of your house. Your family weeps in rented folding chairs. A black bow droops on your door. Gringo time is a negotiator. (Even time knows that gringos are powerful.) In the end it is all the same. Time has nothing to lose By relenting a little Here and there. Five years if you go to the gym Three times a week. Ten years if you take your Lisinopril daily. Gringo time is patient. It’s all the same in the end. • John Kotula © 2010 {/mooblock}
Cross Country Haiku I. Road Trip
•	{mooblock=PA and NY} Pennsylvania   Freight trains pass by me Headed west. I am going east. I can’t count that fast. Coming back seems fast. Faster than going. Tail winds? Anticipation? New York   New York, the cool state. Just a corner of it is Cooler than Texas. • John Kotula © 2010 {/mooblock}
Cross Country Haiku II. The Social Lives of Cities
•	{mooblock=Biloxi and Austin} Two towns up a tree K-i-s-s-i-n-g. One thing then another. A well-known story, A different order for the Carriage and marriage. Biloxi loved Austin. Austin loved Biloxi. But still, would it last? • John Kotula © 2010 {/mooblock}

Maurice Mancini 

destruction precedes construction -  Picasso

objects are just an external manifestation of an internal process  -  Mo

put it on ice, it don't go bad  -  Ray

Visit his Artist's Page and enjoy some guitar music while you read his poetry.

► Mo's Micro-chapbooks & selected poems are available below.

Origami Micro-chapbook	Selected Poem(s)
Sleeping with the Gypsy
Cover Art: Henri Rousseau 'The Sleeping Gypsy' •	{mooblock=Opening Lines} it perplexes her she says when pressed how he can make something so involved not knowing what it will be. become what it will become. he just stood there caught off guard stopped in his tracks that is all he's got he thought knowing starting somewhere he would rest somewhere here or there sooner or later and the journey would be the faces could be more or less familiar becoming or not • Maurice Mancini © 2014 {/mooblock}
Another Day
Artwork by Mo Mancini	{mooblock=Opening Lines} Six miles on the bike path, brings me through the edge of "The Great Swamp" ending at the train station, where I neither see someone off or on, as the case may be. I usually stay long enough to watch at least one train pass through or stop, on its way. This is not like Grand Central with its endless flow of travelers, local and beyond. The dearly departed and the recently arrived passing shoulder to shoulder, seeming to take no notice of the other. I notice their passing dissolving into the stream of passersby. • Maurice Mancini © 2013 {/mooblock}
Postcards from Paradise
	{mooblock=Postcards from Paradise} the faces look familiar though the names i don't recall i must have been there old photographs have no reason to lie. post cards from paradise but i'm left with a longing i just don't understand for something lost long ago beyond my grasp before kodachrome. post cards from paradise bring me no peace places forgotten, lost faces and this boat just carries me further from shore, drifting with this postcard from paradise. • Maurice Mancini © 2012 {/mooblock}
Street Corner Poet
Cover: Charlie Getter / Barts Street Corner Poets	{mooblock=Looking for you or someone like you all my life} a flicker caught in the corner of my eye as I drove home past the farm the full moon in the clearing running beside me as it rises in the heavens and while this motion drew me along on the radio “dreaming of a world” rose to awareness threshold I have been wondering about you, I have not seen you or any sign of you as of late and before I saw the moon before I began dreaming of this world I thought of you • Maurice Mancini © 2012 {/mooblock}
Shaking the ground where I rest
	{mooblock=Poem III} another bike ride brings me to the train station again lingering long enough to see and feel the high speed Acela fly by heading north shaking the ground where I rest and then the high speed Acela   flys by heading south again shaking the ground where I rest before climbing aboard my bike sliding my feet into the cages adjusting my grip and setting myself comfortably into the saddle picking up speed as I leave the station heading west on my return before the setting sun over takes me and daylight abandons me • Maurice Mancini  © 2011 {/mooblock}
Social Dancing
	{mooblock=Social Dancing} social dancing at ten or eleven once a week after school we meet in the cafeteria properly attired groups of boy and girls laughing, giggling and snickering until miss malmberg, the principal arrived amongst bows and courtesy's we fox trotted waltzed and even cha cha’d but really this story has gone on for too long it is not about the dancing but the dance after the dancing it must have been winter class was dismissed we clambered about the coat rack hats coats gloves my gloves were gone gloves lynn had taken my gloves my memory has discarded some details the facts remain true lynn had taken my gloves repeatedly to my request for their return she denied their possession seemingly taunting me with her denial I went home without gloves probably with hands in my pockets my own returning to school next morning lynn greets me here are your gloves those are not my gloves I retort no bow no curtsey no dance a lesson I long remember • Maurice Mancini © 2009 {/mooblock}
Collaborative with Lynnie Gobeille
Do You Hear Me Now
	{mooblock=Opening Lines} a boat a smaller boat a boat small enough for easy short handed sailing large enough for Spartan accommodations and good sea keeping abilities it was dark and blustery echoing my mind’s state when I leave the marina the boat prepped and secure seeking the turbulence hidden in the darkness within the wind to soothe my soul • Maurice Mancini © 2011 {/mooblock}
Uncle
	{mooblock=UNCLE} Page One: I have been working on a story about my uncle but it seems to be an unstable platform and keeps shifting in its sleep as if alive evolving, even as he is dead my uncle died, just shy of eighty-nine years a cantankerous old man I miss you already but find solace in knowing you are in good hands again hoping you find peace in the home of your father comfort by your mother’s side and joy in the welcoming arms of your brother I wrote infrequent letters describing some project or event in my life sometimes I sent pictures, maybe a poem never a reply or a mention, I wrote when I wanted rarer were my visits · Maurice Mancini © 2011 {/mooblock}
Along The Way
	{mooblock=Untitled} do not take a picture of me capture me forever frozen as I was for a moment let me paint a picture of myself for you as I am now in this moment with you becoming • Maurice Mancini © 2010 {/mooblock}

Paul Hostovsky is the author of four books of poetry, Bending the Notes (2008, Main Street Rag), Dear Truth (2009, Main Street Rag), A Little in Love a Lot (2011, Main Street Rag) and Hurt Into Beauty (2012, FutureCycle Press). His poems have won a Pushcart Prize and two Best of the Net Awards.

He has also been featured on Poetry Daily and Verse Daily, and Garrison Keillor has read his poems on the Writer's Almanac eight times. Paul makes his living in Boston as an Interpreter for the Deaf.

Diane Dolphin is a communication consultant, college instructor and poet. Diane’s chapbook collection, No Longer Always, was published by Finishing Line Press. Her poems have appeared in the Rhode Island Writers' Circle 2010 Anthology, Talking River Review, Naugatuck River Review, the Providence Journal and in the Origami Poems Project / Hera Gallery exhibit, Ekphrasis: Celebration of Poetry and Art. Diane is also a contributing poet to the Origami Poems Project.

Diane lives with her golden retriever and sheltie in an 1813 stone mill workers' house on a mill pond in Smithfield, Rhode Island.

Visit her blogsite for entertaining insights.

Will Nixon's poetry books are Love in the City of Grudges (FootHills Publishing) and My Late Mother as a Ruffed Grouse (FootHills Publishing) as well as the chapbooks When I Had It Made (Pudding House) and The Fish Are Laughing (Pavement Saw). With Michael Perkins he co-authored of Walking Woodstock: Journeys into the Wild Heart of America's Most Famous Small Town (Bushwhack Books), a local bestseller. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and listed in Best American Essays 2004.

"Will grew up in the Connecticut suburbs, spent his young adulthood in Hoboken and Manhattan, then moved to a Catskills log cabin in 1996 complete with a wood stove and mice. For years, he wrote environmental journalism, then turned to poetry and personal essays. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and listed in Best American Essays 2004. He now lives in Woodstock, NY with a wall thermostat for heat, but still can't get rid of the mice."