Thursday, February 14, 2013
In the DEAD HOURS of DAWN
A.D. Winans
In the DEAD HOURS of DAWN
New Release from Bottle of Smoke Press
Poetry, 32 pages. 8 1/2" x 11 1/4". A new book of poems by award winning poet A.D. Winans consists of poems not previously published in any of his previous fifty-three books of poetry. The cover is printed on Fabriano Tiziano paper using hand-set 12 line Bradley wood type and 54 point Satanic metal type. The text is printed on vintage Curtis Tweedweave paper and set in Adobe Garamond Pro. Printed via letterpress on a Vandercook SP15 in Newark, Delaware. ISBN-13: 978-1-937073-42-8. Published in an edition of 100 hardcover copies signed by the author and numbered 1-100 ($50.)
Signed Hardcover Edition
Limited to an edition of 100 hardcover copies signed by the author and numbered 1-100. ISBN: 978-1-937073-42-8.
$50
We now also accept all major credit cards by contacting me directly or paying through PayPal.
To order, please pay with PayPal, or email me first so I can hold your copies and mail a check along with postage to:
Bill Roberts
Bottle of Smoke Press
902 Wilson Drive
Dover, DE 19904
I accept PayPal under the id orders@bospress.net. Please visit our website at www.bospress.net/order.html to see photos as well as find information on other great releases.
All pre-ordered copies of this book shipped today.
Sunday, February 03, 2013
DANCING WITH WORDS
A.D. Winans
To dance with words
Dance for favors and illusionary
Poetry careers
But dancing for an audience
Isn’t like feeling the rhythm
That rubs up against the soul
Odetta, Buffy Saint-Marie
Phil Ochs, Woody Guthrie,
Pete Seeger Billy Bragg
Were living proof of this
Money pigeonholes
Power corrupts
The spiritual truth
The scriptures tell us this
The true poet knows this
Stands tall above
The dancing with word poets
Who are little more than
Instruments of a poem greater
Than themselves
Bar room revolution talk
Is little more than an exercise
In futility
Take it to the streets
Be like Walt Whitman
Walk blood stained battlefields
Real and imagined
Tend to the spiritual wounds
Of your comrades
Be like the people of Egypt
Risking life and limb
For their beliefs
Be like the anonymous poets of Poland
Who during the height
Of government tyranny
Tossed poems into the public square
For the people to read
Giving them hope in desperate times
Be like your sisters and brothers
In the peoples struggle in Wisconsin
Fighting for worker rights
Love them become one with them
Shout your poems from rooftops
In solidarity with them.
Whitman was the Heavyweight
Champion of poetry
Stood tall and fearless among
The enemy
Which is never really man
But the poison in his soul
Pride envy lust for power
How can those inflicted
Write from the heart?
One column of media praise
Is of less value
Than a single tear drop on a poem
From a waitress in a greasy
Road stop diner
The dancing with word poets
Dance a solo dance
In a bar room with no jukebox
The true poet’s topic is people
Not the poet.
a.d. winans
2/3/12
DANCING WITH WORDS
There are poets who like
To dance with words
Dance for favors and illusionary
Poetry careers
But dancing for an audience
Isn’t like feeling the rhythm
That rubs up against the soul
Odetta, Buffy Saint-Marie
Phil Ochs, Woody Guthrie,
Pete Seeger Billy Bragg
Were living proof of this
Money pigeonholes
Power corrupts
The spiritual truth
The scriptures tell us this
The true poet knows this
Stands tall above
The dancing with word poets
Who are little more than
Instruments of a poem greater
Than themselves
Bar room revolution talk
Is little more than an exercise
In futility
Take it to the streets
Be like Walt Whitman
Walk blood stained battlefields
Real and imagined
Tend to the spiritual wounds
Of your comrades
Be like the people of Egypt
Risking life and limb
For their beliefs
Be like the anonymous poets of Poland
Who during the height
Of government tyranny
Tossed poems into the public square
For the people to read
Giving them hope in desperate times
Be like your sisters and brothers
In the peoples struggle in Wisconsin
Fighting for worker rights
Love them become one with them
Shout your poems from rooftops
In solidarity with them.
Whitman was the Heavyweight
Champion of poetry
Stood tall and fearless among
The enemy
Which is never really man
But the poison in his soul
Pride envy lust for power
How can those inflicted
Write from the heart?
One column of media praise
Is of less value
Than a single tear drop on a poem
From a waitress in a greasy
Road stop diner
The dancing with word poets
Dance a solo dance
In a bar room with no jukebox
The true poet’s topic is people
Not the poet.
a.d. winans
2/3/12
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