Category Archives: author

Article on A.F. Winter

In the Summerville Journal Scene, my local paper.

It also may be the reason why I should never give interviews!

Please click on the link below.

Article


loved love

I have someone whom I loved,

love.

 

she is not far away,

nearly.

 

I only think of happy times,

sadly.

 


dead words 02/2020

dead words on a page

 

i liked them so much better

when they were in my mind.

they danced, they jumped

they changed

as i tried to get them right.

 

They begged me to write them down,

But when I did,

They were empty, ugly, and dead,

Frozen in time and space,

In an effort to be validated.

 


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


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.