Dorothy M. Schreiber
Columbus, Ohio
Dorothy M. SchreiberColumbus, Ohio |
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Was employed by Navy for some time. Graduate of Famous Writers School, Westport, Conn.; Columbus College of Art and Design; Spencerian Commercial College, KY. I won 2nd and 3rd prizes in National Library anthologies as well as placing in 14 additional anthologies. I won oak plaques from the Emerald Record Co, Nashville for female Golden Poet 1994, Platinum Poet 1996 and Diamond Poet 1996. I am having a record made from a poem, "God Let Me Live" for national distribution. I believe in the problems of the human condition; Worship nature and GOD. |
SLUM SORROWThe rays of merciless summer sunPierce blind drawn over an open window. Shreds of wallpaper hang like down-drawn Accusing fingers on tenement walls. Shrill screams from ragged children. Dodging traffic for thrown ball, Fill the torpid air with urgent energy. In the hot gloom of a room a woman sits Heavy with misery. Slow tears mingle with sour sweat Over slack jawed, empty-eyed face. Amid disordered rumple of corner bed lies, Sodden in stench of drink, a man Who clutches a cudgel used in drunken rage Of the shrinking acceptance on the body Of the woman with slum's tolerance Of sorrow, brutal and frequent. |
THE ETERNAL BIVOUACHow dear to my heart are the memories of yesteryear.Those gone now still live as if they were near. The house in the valley in that small town. Stands yet, its white turned gray and still down That bucket in the well, waiting for a pull, To pull up waters drunk in dippers full. Pastures stand beyond their grasses high and green. Summer's heat shimmers with hazy sheen And the ancient oak spreads its branches wide While the munching cows beneath it hide As their glossy flanks rise above swollen udders. A hired boy lies asleep and nothing deters His pleasant dreams and the sweat on cooling brow. Oh, how sweetly plain and domestic it seems now. I would that some magic restore me to those years When as a small girl I to these delights forgot fears Of the garter snake crawling timidly to the haystack, Leaving me with lifted rake poised for an attack. Chickens with their broods clucked nervously Pecking at their feed scattered previously. Curiously, I noted the outhouse sagged as if wearied By its long accommodating necessity to be freed From its status as convenience and comfort station. Turn back time in your track. Let me, sunburned and freckled, return in eternal bivouac. |
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