Author Archives: oxrider

About oxrider

Mr. Winter has written novels, books of poetry and short stories, and books on acting. He has written over three dozen plays, winning the S.C. Playwright’s Festival. His inventive theatrical work has been seen in the US and Europe. A.F. Winter has been acting, teaching, and directing, for over 30 years. He created a theatre which worked with at-risk youth giving them positive alternatives in their lives. Please visit his website at AFWinter.com.

In Love’s Twilight

In Love’s Twilight

My ninth book but who’s counting?

Two One-Act plays with small casts and minimal sets about senior citizens.

The Colliers, is an award winning comedy about the Collier brothers, who stayed with each other to the bitter end.
Fresh Yogurt, is a play which reminds us that it is never too late to fall in love.

Price  $8.99

Paperback: 88 pages
Publisher: TKOIC Publishing (December 13, 2019)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1463743106
ISBN-13: 978-1463743109

Available through Amazon   https://www.amazon.com/dp/1463743106

Or on my website – http://www.afwinter.com


Love is like Christmas 11/16/16

Love is like Christmas

The smell of freshly

Baked ginger cookies

From grandma’s kitchen

The brightly lit homes

Filled with welcomes welcome

The beautifully decorated tree

Holding gently

Memories of a lifetime,

Ornaments passed from

Generation to generation,

From friend to friend.

 

I walk down the quiet street,

Listening to the holiday parties

The laughter,

The stories

Of good times past

And memories of good friends passed.

Their lives continue

In the retelling of traditions

And of recipes recreated.

 

I walk down the happy street

Where tomorrow morning

Children will rise,

Jumping on their parent’s bed

Gleefully yelling,

Santa was here, Santa was here!

The living room will soon be filled with

Mountains of discarded wrapping paper and

The laughter of children

As they investigate the warranties of their gifts.

 

I stop outside my home.

The darkened rooms.

There is no smell of cookies.

No tree with brightly

Wrapped presents beneath.

 

Love is like Christmas for me.

Never had it, never will.

And the expectation every year,

Of what Santa will bring,

Of what love will bring,

Makes my home a prison,

Sentenced to my gloomy rooms,

Waiting for release.

I walk away from my prison cell

To a darker corner of my town.

 

Mrs. Wilson’s husband passed.

It is the first Christmas without him.

Their only son died in Vietnam

So very long ago.

She sits alone with a scrapbook,

And smiles with tears in her eyes.

 

Mr. Paneer’s wife left him,

Along with the kids.

She always trimmed the tree.

He didn’t buy one this year.

He wouldn’t, he couldn’t.

He drinks another round while

Looking into the empty corner.

 

Mr. Murry died last fall.

His house is dark.

A For Sale sign sits out front.

And that is all that is left of Mr. Murry.

 

I stopped.

A light snow falling down,

Seemed to glisten in the streetlight’s glow.

Dancing, dancing,

Slowly falling.

I held my hand out.

A snowflake landed in my palm

A moment before melting.

Love is like Christmas,

Like Christmas indeed.

 

From Sleeping With Macbeth By A.F. Winter


the old man

He sat by the side of the road.

“Come in old man where it is safe!”

“I’ll stay right here,” he said.

“No matter which side wins,

I will soon be forgotten.”

 

Remember when the old lived long enough to become a burden?

Lived long enough to outlive their usefulness to society?

 


Words part 2

I used to know what love is.

But now I count my steps

And watch my calories.

God only gives us,

what we can handle.

 


Jack-o’-lanterns

Two plastic jack-o’-lanterns

From the Halloween two months ago

Face each other on the coffee table.

 

I did not put them out then,

To invite the little princesses and goblins to visit.

They sat inside where they sit now.

 

I have not touched them since I bought them.

Why haven’t I put them away?

I pass them many times a day.

 

I look at them.

And berate myself.

“It is no longer Halloween.

It is almost Christmas,

Why won’t you put them up?

They don’t belong here!”

 

My shoes have grown roots.

I can no longer pass.

I stare, transfixed at the sagging shapes

In muted orange.

 

They watch each other as I watch them,

Unable to move.

Unable to welcome others or

Give curious happiness

For a moment or two.

 


sometimes

I know you’ve heard this a hundred times,

and you don’t need to hear again,

but sometimes it just helps to know,

there’s someone who will listen.

 

I know that life is complicated

too many square pegs forced into round holes,

chipped and broken in an attempt to make things fit,

in an attempt to make things easy,

but sometimes complicated can be tolerated,

because life is rarely simple.

and sometimes it just helps to know

there’s someone who will listen.

 


men are stupid

men are stupid

yes we are

and I am the stupidest

one by far

we only want one thing

and when we don’t get it,

we become bitter angry children cursing the world and its loveliness.

 

never realizing

without being loving

we can never be loved.

without being kind

kindness evades us

without being open

all doors remain closed.

 

 

 So true! So true!!

I agree with you.

Very true.