WHEN LOVE COMES
—Stephani Schaefer, Los Molinos
When love comes
the limbs of those who cannot stand
will be sweet as rushes on riverbanks.
White clouds will mass themselves
high and higher
to fan the light down in gold showers
that touch the drunk
who lies comatose
at the edge of the city dump
by blue daisies.
When love comes
those who face death will ascend lightly
over salt marshes and desert dunes
in a great procession against the blue sky
like birds migrating.
When love comes
the woman with liver spotted hands
will no longer be bitter
and her daughter
will sing at her kitchen sink that day.
When love comes
we will wait for whatever we wait for
with great sweetness.
While standing in line
we will touch one another and sing
when love comes.
_______________________
Thanks, Steph! Stephani Schaefer is helping us continue the "Love: Can't Live With It/Can't Shoot It In the Head" ruminations that Medusa has posted recently. Here's another:
BACK PORCH
—Stephani Schaefer
Tonight I dream
you show up at my door
summer night like this
moths gaining entry
while I hold the screen wide
as wide as I want to hold
my arms for you but don't
guard my heart instead
give friendly but casual greeting
talk without listening
without fully receiving you
confused by your appearance
where I had woven a careful blank
erased expectancy
settled for an empty back porch.
_______________________
Watch for more of Stephani's work in Rattlesnake Review #12, due out tomorrow. Come to the reading at The Book Collector tomorrow night at 7:30 PM and pick one up for free! We gave the Wiley Varmint a new printer as an early Christmas present, and I think you'll be pleased at how great the photos look, how sharp the text is. And MAN! is it easier for me—twice the copies in half the time! NOW we're cookin'...
Two more poems, this time from Rattlechapper Allegra Jostad Silberstein, who also has poems in the upcoming issue:
CALVARY GLIMPSED
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein, Davis
The sun at two o'clock
cuts a narrow path across
my living room floor.
Low in the sky it pokes through
the upper branches of the old jack pine
that spreads wide at the base.
I gather up newspapers
for recycle
death and carnage folded over.
Through closed windows I hear
the wind hum, see the limbs
of the valley oak whipped back and forth.
How the leaves have thinned.
How green the valley grass.
So loud, the ticking of my clock
Hour by hour, the crossing over.
______________________
THE EMPTIED PAIL
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein
The road:
these broken lines,
the hooded rectangles
that voice our crossing over.
The sky:
a scatter of stars
above the pale horizon
touched with the sun's rouge.
The distance:
lifts and turnings
to marked destinations
and miles in unmarked territory.
The silence:
that damp shine
in the emptied pail:
all the words poured out.
_______________________
Thanks, Allegra!
—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.)
_______________________
Thanks, Steph! Stephani Schaefer is helping us continue the "Love: Can't Live With It/Can't Shoot It In the Head" ruminations that Medusa has posted recently. Here's another:
BACK PORCH
—Stephani Schaefer
Tonight I dream
you show up at my door
summer night like this
moths gaining entry
while I hold the screen wide
as wide as I want to hold
my arms for you but don't
guard my heart instead
give friendly but casual greeting
talk without listening
without fully receiving you
confused by your appearance
where I had woven a careful blank
erased expectancy
settled for an empty back porch.
_______________________
Watch for more of Stephani's work in Rattlesnake Review #12, due out tomorrow. Come to the reading at The Book Collector tomorrow night at 7:30 PM and pick one up for free! We gave the Wiley Varmint a new printer as an early Christmas present, and I think you'll be pleased at how great the photos look, how sharp the text is. And MAN! is it easier for me—twice the copies in half the time! NOW we're cookin'...
Two more poems, this time from Rattlechapper Allegra Jostad Silberstein, who also has poems in the upcoming issue:
CALVARY GLIMPSED
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein, Davis
The sun at two o'clock
cuts a narrow path across
my living room floor.
Low in the sky it pokes through
the upper branches of the old jack pine
that spreads wide at the base.
I gather up newspapers
for recycle
death and carnage folded over.
Through closed windows I hear
the wind hum, see the limbs
of the valley oak whipped back and forth.
How the leaves have thinned.
How green the valley grass.
So loud, the ticking of my clock
Hour by hour, the crossing over.
______________________
THE EMPTIED PAIL
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein
The road:
these broken lines,
the hooded rectangles
that voice our crossing over.
The sky:
a scatter of stars
above the pale horizon
touched with the sun's rouge.
The distance:
lifts and turnings
to marked destinations
and miles in unmarked territory.
The silence:
that damp shine
in the emptied pail:
all the words poured out.
_______________________
Thanks, Allegra!
—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.)
