Tag Archives: Poetry

Tortilla De Patatas


Eggs, potatoes, cheese, spinach, milk.


A woman’s smile can melt a heart

That’s grown so cold and icy

A woman’s touch can heal the scars

That hides the pain precisely


But when smile and touch have gone away

As they have done before

The sun is cold,

The daytime night

Dark shadows scratch the floor


My heart grows hard

The pain bursts forth

And sorrow comes to haunt me

I cannot breathe.

I cannot fly

My tears have filled the dark sea


Tonight, I eat plain toast alone.

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:


Each Time

A poem from I Am Vincent

Published in April 2015


Each Time

Each time we broke up,

It became easier

To break up.


Like universes drifting apart

Until surrounded by its isolation

It dissolves.


We, like some ancient universe,


Not with an explosion,

But in silence.


I Am Vincent available at https://www.createspace.com/5400863

Visit me at my website at  http://www.afwinter.com

Monday Night Music and Poetry

monday night poetry 072015

Monday Night Music and Poetry

at East Bay Meeting House in Charleston, S.C.

Open mic night for authors to read their work,

And musicians to play their stuff.

Read some poetry from I AM Vincent,


First Poem in the book



He said, “A shred of hope.”

“No, no,” she said. “A thread.

As long as there’s a thread of hope,

Then love is never dead.”


Available at https://www.createspace.com/5400863

Visit me at my website at  http://www.afwinter.com


Being alone, one grows accustomed to loneliness.


A.D. turns on the radio in the living room as he makes dinner.

The voices, telling their jokes, laughing,

Makes it seem like he is cooking for three instead of one.


F.R. sits down to polish her spoon collection once more.

It is the third time this month.

“They just get so dirty, they need alot of attention.”

She has spoons from 15 states.

One day she hopes, she will have one from all fifty states.  One day.


W.E. sits down at her computer.

She goes to Facebook where she has 122 friends.

Not one of them has she ever invited into her home.


He is afraid of the silence.

She is afraid to go out.

She is afraid of her neighbors.

They fear real connections.

They fear real conversations.


They live their lives in quiet regularity.

They live by the clock.

They live by their schedule.

If one thing goes wrong,

Their world shatters

Like a broken fishbowl and they are the fish,

Gasping for air,

Gasping for life,

As hope rushes from them.


And they are forced to deal with the loneliness of their own solitude.




Coffee Shops

Sometimes I sit in coffee shops and see young parents with their children, playfully correcting behavior that every child does, the parent smiling joyfully with the realization that the little girl is theirs, that the little boy has their mother’s eyes or their father’s nose.  And they can take them out and buy them a cookie and hot chocolate and all is right in the world.

Or the old couple who need to help each other to open the door.  One will slowly choose the table while the other orders and pays for their lunch that they will split because it is way too much to eat alone.  When their partner comes to the table a smile like the sun bursting through the clouds after a thunderstorm comes over the table chooser.

Or the young couple, new to love that will sit and argue endlessly about some minor point of modern culture, proving their point by facts uncovered on the web.  The other one counters with some other point from an equally obscure and unreliable website.  The point is forgotten as they both laugh over a friend’s post.

Even the teenage daughter who has not said two words to her father because she has been texting her friends for the last twenty minutes, playfully bumps her shoulder against him as he stares deeply into his sandwich.

The couple who have been married twenty years, dressed in their Sunday’s best, coming from church.  They are holding hands secure in the knowledge that God loves and has blest them in their marriage.

I know that I will not have any of this.  I feel detached from my own life.  I had a wife and a family.  I lived those stages but they have now passed.  And it is as if they never existed except in a dream world.  I sit detached at my table watching my fingers hit the keys much too slowly.  I stop, frozen between words.  I look up at my coffee with soy milk and cup of water.  My eyes scan the coffee shop, looking for something, looking for meaning.  A phrase, a sentence comes to me and I quickly write it down and then nothing.  I stop again and look around.  This is tedious work.  But I write another sentence.

I write about finding love, finding happiness.  I realize that as long as I write about it, I will find neither.  After three hours, I close down my computer and go home.