Steve Williams
KEEPING TIME IN THE JAPANESE GARDEN
—Steve Williams, Portland
The day we lose an hour, I find octaves
of spinal chimes midst four seasons of shrouds,
my vertebrae petrified in garden
granite. Koi sleep-swim, hug the pond’s bottom.
Blood water pools, steeps in cirrus and sweetgum—
my mother’s face peers up from the liquid.
Behind the upslope, peal of a great bell;
the wavering tone ebbs from audible,
harrows the silence; submerges the humid
air with pressured presence on my ear drums,
as a parent hears a child’s cries blossom.
Koi swim deep, keep from the cold as ardent
rains struggle to reach past the current clouds.
Mother loves it here—her age, I forgive.
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Thanks, Steve! I can't believe we actually found a poem about Daylight Savings Time! Portlander Steve Williams says about himself: I spent three years in Sacramento and participated in the weekly workshop downtown. I've now relocated to Portland, OR and live with a lovely woman who writes and edits much better than I but refuses to admit it. Together we administer an on-line poetry forum/workshop at www.wildpoetryforum.com.
Rattlesnake Press is proud to announce the release of Rattlechap #32 by Steve Williams, Skin Stretched Around the Hollow, this coming Wednesday, March 14 at 7:30 PM at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Be there!
FLOOD WATCH
—Steve Williams
The Willamette is mud puddle brown,
logs spiral a slow Bolero under steel
bridges, their branches swim and stroke;
crooked fingers on black sax.
The evening news gives updates
on how many feet over the banks.
I steal some caution tape from an orange
cone to take home and frame.
We’ll hang it over the bed.
My daughter finds a penny, tosses it
over the rail into the flood
of ragtime, never asks where
stray wood that dunks and dips will go,
never asks how trees become logs
the way people become homeless,
never asks about the blankets,
cardboard, or castaways
under the bridge.
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HALF AN ARK
—Steve Williams
In my heaven, the Spanish Wolf doesn’t pee on the beech,
David and Delilah, are known for kissing in the back pew,
and explosions are theoretically impossible.
In my heaven, the moons of Saturn are pebbles
in the Kangaroo Island Emu’s game of hopscotch,
the atmosphere filters the sun into geometric patterns
and Hitler was just an art teacher.
In my heaven, a Confused Moth volunteers to be a bulldozer,
the Tasmanian Tiger can finally say what’s on his mind,
and we all get to choose our parents.
In my heaven, archangels have all the babies, and none
of the sex. All the R.V.s go down under the pacific,
and through their plate glass windows, Sea Minks peers back in.
In my heaven, I live under a tree grate, made of multicolored chalk,
spend my days roping the feet of Reunion and Passenger Pigeons,
and fly with them to find you, faster than the speed of light.
_______________________
One more calendar note about this weekend: The movie called I Began to Speak will be shown on Access cable this Sunday on a program called "We the People". It's listed on the schedule of Access Sacramento Channel 17. The soon-to-be released Rattlesnake Review #13 will feature a review by Sacramento's Bill Pieper of this film, produced by B.L. Kennedy and Linda Thorell, about the Sacramento poetry scene of the past and present. DVD copies are available for $19.95 from The Archives Group, 2619 Q St. #9, Sacramento, CA 95816 or by calling 916-452-5493.
And tomorrow (Sunday), Medusa will be off partying with some dandy poets, so there will be no post. Come back and enjoy Steve's poetry once again on Sunday though; the next post will be Monday.
Today's poetry originally appeared in Rattlesnake Review.
________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) 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.)
