A Devil's Caretaker

Giant Peace Sign in San Francisco
Photo by Irene Lipshin, Placerville

Today's photograph is part of the display at the Cozmic Cafe in Placerville (594 Main St.), featuring photography by Irene Lipshin and poetry displayed by Red Fox Underground. Be sure to drive up and see Irene's beautiful photographs celebrating the concept of world peace. The showing will continue through March 31.

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LINES AFTER NERUDA
—Anyssa Neumann, Berlin

Play me a guitar
Mellow and tender
Strum me softly
Rippling waves on midnight sand

Sing me sweetly
Voice like summer wine
Under strong, gentle hands
I will blend your song

Cover me lightly
In orange blossomed breeze
No frenzied violin
Bleeding tears to the sea

So play me a guitar
Mellow and tender
Caress my evening stillness
And I will sing you moonlight

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Thanks, Anyssa! Anyssa Neumann was born and raised in Sacramento and now lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes to say she heard about Medusa and the Khaotic Kitchen from Sacramento Poet Theresa McCourt. Watch for more of Anyssa's poetry in Snake 14, deadline 5/15.

The last contributors' and subscription copies of Snake 13 are going into the mail today; if you think you should be getting one and don't by the end of the week, let me know. There are some at The Book Collector, too, and there will also be a stack at Luna's this coming Thursday, when Medusa and her ophidian pals will be strutting their stuff...


SPC Writers' Workshop coming in April:

Register now for the Sacramento Poetry Center Writers’ Workshop on April 20-21! Friday night (4/20) will feature a reading by area poets; then Saturday (4/21) will be a day-long series of workshops, readings and discussions from creative writing teachers including Danny Romero, Heather Hutcheson, Camille Norton, Gail Entrekin, Andy Jones, Angela-Dee Alforque, !X (of the Sac City Ethnic Theater Workshop), Brad Henderson and Tim Kahl. I can’t seem to find out what the fees are, either on the blog or in Poetry Now, so email the SPC folks at poetrynow@sacramentopoetrycenter or call 916-979-9706 to register and to get further info. The conference will be held at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sacramento.


Poet's Espresso:

The Stockton poetry journal, Poet’s Espresso, is looking for material for the April-May 2007 issue. The themes are Mother's Day and Spring. They're looking for poetry, artwork, photography, recipes, very short stories, quotes/truisms and any other creative works by you. Deadline is April 4. They'd also like two to four lines about yourself included with your submission, and a picture is optional of yourself for the biography section. For online back issues of Poet's Espresso or for subscriptions, you can find additional info at http://www.poetsespresso.com

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THE INHERITANCE SPEECH
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento

The ghost arrives at the Hindu temple
her hat, slanted to the left, eye cocked
to the right
she peaks out from under the bags
that fall about her lids, and croaks
full of anguish at the devotees,
waving her stiletto heels in the air,
a spectacle of irreverence,
warning Krishna, that She is here
with death of cow on her tongue
spewing her seventy years of bed-ridden
soul, withering in front of a vibrant
but scared croud, with
irrefutible visible claim that
the Indian monkey’s ass cannot be as
red as her own neck, partially visible
protruding her head caked of make-up
borrowed from a devil’s caretaker.

Whoever said women are gentle creatures
did not know the presence of this ghost
claiming to be her father’s daughter —
her mother’s watch-guard, and her sisters’
unspoken love-greed, in her garbled squawking
ancestral call, resounding chills
in all human flesh, reminds us of
the underworld,
unbending before priests,
moments unto the annual fire, waving
her bony finger toward the goddesses as
tears run down her ghastly face, dripping onto
yellow strands of hair that once, perhaps,
were those of an innocent Hindu girl,
fully braided shiny black,
and undoubtedly bleached unlucky.

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FEATHER FALLS
—Tom Goff, Carmichael

We opt for the shorter, steeper trail
to the waterfall. Our legs and backs
burn all the way for our choice,
swigs of water, gobbets of food
assuaging the ache. Pine aroma, manzanita’s
reddish black twists under soft green,
redbud’s astonishing violet sprigs,
and Indian Paintbrush in concert salve
the granite-and-white-dust glare. We trudge
towards the waters’ echoes as soldiers guide
on the gunblast: Frey Creek,
the Middle Fork of the Feather
coiling turquoise in its green-tufted ravine
(our view aloft enough to see only the slower
truths of the current). Then, revealed at last,
the Fall River plummets daggerwise
to the crash of the gorge: fell, maniacal;
sublime, as Burke would tell us,
in its terrors. Granite and basalt
shoulders direct this eternal
outpour, water upon water, and, in the heart
of the ablution: plume after plume,
many-foliate Heraclitean arrow,
feathered to shoot god-straight,
explodes this boulder all about us
to rainbow, pine duff,
and nymph-slender lavender butterfly; food
a great weariness desperately needs.

_______________________

Thanks, Rhony and Tom!

—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.)