ON THE WAY HOME FROM JACKSON
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
I see a hodgepodge of logs, nearly naked,
appear to have suffered a beating, great
gouges exposed, oozing dark sap,
pines stripped of branches and birthright,
pines stripped of branches and birthright,
stacked together between steel ribs.
And I notice the growth-rings' life-
And I notice the growth-rings' life-
spans highlighted in the afternoon light,
color-coded with pink or green paint.
color-coded with pink or green paint.
I watch a missed limb flap in the wind.
Maybe they will become a group of chairs
Maybe they will become a group of chairs
like the fifty or so I saw huddled and roped
together in Barry's Furniture parking lot
together in Barry's Furniture parking lot
reduced in price for a quick sale.
________________________
She tangos after work:
comes dressed in fluid skirts,
hoop earrings,
bangle bracelets
and sling-back pumps.
Her spine is a little straighter
as she flows down the hall.
She leans against the wall,
flirting with a co-worker,
flips her dark hair and
laughs through siren red lipstick:
She tangos. . . .
—Katy Brown, Davis
________________________
•••This Friday, 11/17, 7 PM, Our House will feature the poetry of Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.
Tonight:
•••Wednesday, 11/15, 6:30 PM will be the final Urban Voices reading, hosted by BL Kennedy. It will feature Kathryn Hohlwein and Pat Grizzell. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac.
•••Also tonight, 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••And don't forget: today (11/15) is the deadline for sending poems/art/photos/etc. to Rattlesnake Review!
_______________________
The last of the "change" poems, and thanks to all of you who participated:
repeating
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento
every day
i come home,
purge,
and cover myself
with mother-hat...
but before that
find Dawn in the dusk;
gloaming brings about
the night,
of which I am a child,
raised on the nectar
of drug addicts, alcoholics,
and dreamers.
and so
to find my center,
step to the edge
of the earth
and watch the sun die.
_______________________
THE DEMISE OF SELECTED SHORT SUBJECTS
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento
Lights in the Tower Theater begin to dim.
The little guy, looking like Ziggy, slips
into a celluloid art gallery at closing time.
At first he doesn’t notice Atlas and Apollo,
sculptures in Claymation, mostly head
and shoulders. Then, he jumps as they twist,
stretch sinews, choke on their chunky rubble.
He sits in front of a painting: fish fins
harping on rocks, stubborn puffins
standing in line to feed, webbed feet fluttering,
lock-jawed orange beaks like vice-grips.
He has a headache, but minds his own business.
Now a large sketch reaches out, charcoal
horses, plaster faces galloping, blunt
munching mouths all muscles and manes.
Then, a metallic taste, a bronzy ballerina
spinning on point. Startled, by the intruder,
she topples headfirst, clutters the checkered tiles.
He didn’t know he would instigate such a ruckus.
Lights scream a frantic mazurka, a warning—
You should not be here! He tumbles out the door
like a sow bug, lands on his feet, blinks back
at the dark museum, hands in pockets, looks down,
sees clay forming around his tiny brown shoes.
________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
________________________
She tangos after work:
comes dressed in fluid skirts,
hoop earrings,
bangle bracelets
and sling-back pumps.
Her spine is a little straighter
as she flows down the hall.
She leans against the wall,
flirting with a co-worker,
flips her dark hair and
laughs through siren red lipstick:
She tangos. . . .
—Katy Brown, Davis
________________________
•••This Friday, 11/17, 7 PM, Our House will feature the poetry of Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.
Tonight:
•••Wednesday, 11/15, 6:30 PM will be the final Urban Voices reading, hosted by BL Kennedy. It will feature Kathryn Hohlwein and Pat Grizzell. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac.
•••Also tonight, 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••And don't forget: today (11/15) is the deadline for sending poems/art/photos/etc. to Rattlesnake Review!
_______________________
The last of the "change" poems, and thanks to all of you who participated:
repeating
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento
every day
i come home,
purge,
and cover myself
with mother-hat...
but before that
find Dawn in the dusk;
gloaming brings about
the night,
of which I am a child,
raised on the nectar
of drug addicts, alcoholics,
and dreamers.
and so
to find my center,
step to the edge
of the earth
and watch the sun die.
_______________________
THE DEMISE OF SELECTED SHORT SUBJECTS
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento
Lights in the Tower Theater begin to dim.
The little guy, looking like Ziggy, slips
into a celluloid art gallery at closing time.
At first he doesn’t notice Atlas and Apollo,
sculptures in Claymation, mostly head
and shoulders. Then, he jumps as they twist,
stretch sinews, choke on their chunky rubble.
He sits in front of a painting: fish fins
harping on rocks, stubborn puffins
standing in line to feed, webbed feet fluttering,
lock-jawed orange beaks like vice-grips.
He has a headache, but minds his own business.
Now a large sketch reaches out, charcoal
horses, plaster faces galloping, blunt
munching mouths all muscles and manes.
Then, a metallic taste, a bronzy ballerina
spinning on point. Startled, by the intruder,
she topples headfirst, clutters the checkered tiles.
He didn’t know he would instigate such a ruckus.
Lights scream a frantic mazurka, a warning—
You should not be here! He tumbles out the door
like a sow bug, lands on his feet, blinks back
at the dark museum, hands in pockets, looks down,
sees clay forming around his tiny brown shoes.
________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
