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.

Thoughts on Gun Control

Time to stop

 You tell us that it is too soon to talk about it.

That we shouldn’t make this political.

That now is the time for us to pray for the victims and their families.

When is a good time to talk about it?

When will a mother stop mourning for her child?

When will a son stop missing his parent?

When will a friend stop thinking of the life cut short?

I still think of the neighborhood boy who was shot in an accidental shooting.

That was fifty years ago.

I still think of John and Martin and Robert.

I still think of a friend who took his own life on Christmas eve.

That was twenty years ago.

I still think of the Charleston Nine who died at the hands of a white supremacist as they sat in church.

There will never be a better time to talk about it then now.

Let us give the mourners comfort in the fact that this will never happen again.

That might give them some comfort.

It won’t bring their loved one back.

But it will stop others from mourning other loved ones.

 

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Ireland in Black and White Excerpt #2

Killarney National Park

Water and trees.

Every view, a meditation.

Every leaf, a tale to be uncovered.

Every stone, a love song.

Available at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1978053266/


Ireland in Black & White Excerpt #1

From Ireland in Black and White

Photography Sam Beckett

Poetry by A.F. Winter

A tree so covered with vines
The tree disappears
But the tree remains.
I thought my love for you had gone
But love remains.

 

Available at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1978053266/


Ireland in Black and White

A new book published today.

A collaboration between myself and Sam Beckett,

A friend that I met on my recent trip to Ireland.

Sam took the photos.

I wrote the poetry.

List Price: $19.95

8.25″ x 8.25″ (20.955 x 20.955 cm)
Black & White on White paper
220 pages

ISBN-13: 978-1978053267
ISBN-10: 1978053266
BISAC: Photography / General

Photos of Ireland in black and white. Take away color from the Emerald Isles and what remains are images, hauntingly and evocative. Areas featured in this book are Dublin, Wicklow County, the Hook Peninsula, Killarney, the Killarney National Park, and Dingle Bay.

 

To view the title, please go to:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1978053266/


13 Words 11/04/17

 

Another broken promise

Reminds me of

Why we are

Where we are

Today

 


I’ll Know 10/28/2017

I’ll know

I no longer love you

When my phone rings

And I no longer hope

For it to be you

But I do.

For now I do.

 

I’ll know

I no longer love you

When I no longer need

To hold a pillow

When I fall asleep

But I do.

For now I do.

 

For now I do.

A phone, a bed

A breakfast plate

For now I do.

A book, a song

A broken date

For now I do.

 

For now I do

A hidden hope

Inside a prayer

For now I do

As days rush on

And chances fade

For now I do.

 


S.B. 100517

I met Sam in O’Donoghue’s

Nursing my mushroom soup and Guinness.

And listening to the pensioners playing familiar tunes.

It was cool outside and I had no desire

To leave the warm, joyful atmosphere

Created by rich food, cool stout and Irish music.

 

He brought one of the musicians a cider

And sat down at the table next to mine.

At the end of the song, he turned to me and asked,

“Are you American?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Are you Irish?”

He warmly laughed.

 

We talked for hours

About politics, and literature, and love.

Because all politics and literature

Come from love.

 

He talked about his several marriages,

And of the children he’s lost touched with,

A smile never left his lips.

I told him of my broken heart

That’s never healed.

A smile never breached my lips.

 

Sam sat back in his chair

And finished off his pint.

“All my mistakes were glorious,

Glorious and unforgettable.”

“My mistakes were just mistakes,” I  sadly smiled.

“That’s all they ever were.”

 

“Yes, but weren’t they all lovely?” He grinned.

I had another drink of my stout

Before I said, “Yes, I believe they were.”