According to the original rules, the first three are technically the winners. But everybody gets a book, anyway. Thank you! And, yes, they don't all mention fireworks. Then again, one person's fireworks are another person's... you know what I mean.
BEYOND THE 4th
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
Between fireworks
and all-night traffic
spinning toward the resorts,
we found this gravel sandbar
on a river whose contours
fade into hills.
So many miles of exhaust.
At dusk we simply waded out
into the shallows
and let the river do to us
what it does to travelers
and all their dust.
____________________
BEFORE THEIR TIME IS UP
—Colette Jonopulos, Eugene, OR
Four days before the Fourth, our history-book day
spent along rivers, in stadiums, on driveways
radiant with heat, two massive flags fly at our corner
grocery store, parades prepare to stride down streets
named Main and Broadway, and shorts reveal the
white legs of winter’s extended breath.
Four days before the Fourth, I take two small boys
to the park to tunnel in sand, before their time is up
and everything must have a purpose, before the grace
of simply being is replaced with single-minded
striving, before sand-angels and holding my hand
are unendurable embarrassments.
Four days before the Fourth, one child continues to work
dry sand into a make-shift castle, his shirt sticks to the
neatly curved arc of his back. The second child lifts his
head at the too-early explosion, a firecracker from across
the low Willamette where the massive display will rain
over the water, the city, over us with our “oohs” and “ahhs.”
Four days before the Fourth, the younger boy eases
toward river’s stubborn flow, his only stop to examine
something brightly moving through the grass. When I see
he isn’t turning back, I follow his wily sandaled steps; he
can go only so far before the bank curves downward and
water makes the border all small boys long to cross.
________________________
with children grown
and have recently been
paroled from
my wife sentence,
I now embrace the slut
in myself and celebrate
the use of this body.
the otter inside
aching
to slip, slide
over you
honoring ourselves,
giving grace
to the one
natural instinct left
I won't
give up easy.
—Song Kowbell, Penn Valley (My independence poem!)
_____________________
COSMOS
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
Fireworks of purple, pink and crimson
bloom beside a country road above
fern-like leaves waving for attention.
Between fringe of lawn and dusty ditch,
these beauties flaunt their finery. I see
monarchs and white moths partner
simple elegance, sway with breeze-borne dances,
before autumn chill dims bright petals
and twilight rain showers signal time to go.
____________________
FIREWORKS*
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama
On New York Harbor
purple rain drums our ears
with the luck of the Irish.
TNT throws a mad dog fountain
down our shirts. Low
in American spirit, fresh out
of veterans' salutes,
we take the phantom
glittering gems, the steel rain
and delirium back to our tents,
wait for Apache firedance
to power the rustlers
into the sea. Sizzlers
and live wires
connect the night.
*names of fireworks and fireworks
makers listed in the newspaper
____________________
FIREWORKS
—Jane Blue, Sacramento
Multicolored wheels, Roman candles,
fountains, showers, fireflies, cascades.
If I were deaf, I might like it.
Canon sounds. Zings and whistles.
The odor of sulfur. Children
waving sparklers, rushing into the street.
Blue smoke like the thick of battle. A keg
of beer on the sidewalk. Someone's dog
wakes up in the pound. Someone's child
reaches for a dud. A house catches fire.
I don't like holidays. I like the whirl
of the earth when it's quiet enough to hear.
____________________
IF THE FIREWORKS, SO CAN LOVE
—Sal Buttaci, Lodi, New Jersey
We sit here on this patriotic night
and know the excitement we feel,
Anticipating booms of colored lights
Flashing across the sky of Century Field.
What must I do this one more July
we share our lives together to prove
my love? Can I say you can rely
on me always, we’re in the same groove,
and all my love songs sing your praises?
What words can I pluck from the summer air
to convince you? What romantic phrases
will say once and for all how much I care?
Look at the tricks performing way up high!
From one bright yellow ball strings of blue
Trail like tentacles in the late-night sky:
yellow meets blue, becomes one, like me and you
pledging ourselves to a lifetime as one,
meshing like those explosive points of light.
Words are weak; they fall away undone,
Wisps of smoke on a fireworks night.
____________________
fireworks
ultimate: seeing
candles lit on
a president's blazing birthday
cake in night sky
over the Atlantic
Ocean
—Be Davison Herrera, Corvallis, OR
Sal Buttaci points out that there is another Medusa's Kitchen on the Web; you'll stumble into it if you type medusakitchen without the "S" before the "kitchen".ultimate: seeing
candles lit on
a president's blazing birthday
cake in night sky
over the Atlantic
Ocean
—Be Davison Herrera, Corvallis, OR
__________________
Have a sane Fourth. And may you have a surplus, a plethora, a phantasmagoria of fireworks!
—Medusa
