Just right
off the freeway
I run into it,
a street
that has my last name.
Going east
to somewhere better,
I do look down
the gravel
both directions.
The stop light
is exonerately,
extraordinarily long.
It is a shambles:
some second-hand attempts
at houses,
empty slate grey
warehouse
abandoned not too delicately
as this economy
dictates is de rigueur.
A few green trees
drooping, dropping
all under a steel wool
mewling sky.
The signal changes
I go
The street stays behind
apart of me
maybe.
—Mike Cluff, Highlands, CA
_________________
Thanks, Mike! Here's another one from jolena holt, and two from David Humphreys.
PLACES I HAVE BEEN: ON ILLNESS
—jolena holt, Fair Oaks
I.
In the Land of Illness
I have waited
for Wellness
but it was slow
It was so very slow.
But I kept waiting
unsure of myself
or my body
My body told me to sleep
to lie down
and “I lay down to sleep”
like the old nursery rhyme prayer,
“Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake
I hope to God my soul to take”
I thought I might die.
I felt the big scary God
in the sky might take me
and keep me
like when I recited the pray
as a child
II.
Then I would remember my daughter
or she would remember me
awakening me with a poke of her finger
asking me to make a snack
turn on the VCR for a “Movie”
She (a child)
kept me going
I would get up and move
as slow as I needed
with cane in hand or hanging onto the
backs of furniture
Then I would transform
my pain (in my brain)
Free myself
(releasing all the endorphins)
I could muster
We would play imaginary games
Smile and laugh
When the day grew into evening
Her Daddy would come home
We were both nurtured and fed
(And the child would finally take a nap)
We were illness and comfort, together
In our little family of three
III.
My heart is sad
for the thought
of so much loss,
glad for the treasured keeping
of the life flame I had close to me
(warming and reviving me)
reminding me to steer clear
of The Land of Illness
Bringing me about full-stern
with masts a sail
Into the Wind of Wellness
And Settling in the Land of Comfort
_________________
LINGUAGGIO
—David Humphreys, Stockton
Language is a fence at which neighbors meet
to discuss the passing day.
Language is a tree branching
from one thing to the next searching for a way
or a field furrowed for a harvest coming in the fall,
bricks stacked high with mortar to build a standing wall.
Language is a river running to the far-off distant sea,
words like silver raindrops to grow things perfectly.
Music of angels voicing poetry’s deepest meaning
in historic halls symphonic strings and kettle drums
a savage wrath of impact
craters covered by root cellar jungles. How to express
the length and extent of ages? It is the rhapsody of words
strung like pearls in an idea necklace thoughtful and
sequential proper logic a priori civilization essential as a harness
to a plow. Language bristles with thorns of all impending
change. It boils with passion, shimmers on the water’s
moonlit surface with its own
peculiar gravity drawing significance to its
molten core as alive as if a warm body walking.
Torch of truth, fire of lies, innocent song, wise judgment
foolish leap of mindless faith. Language is hope in the
eyes of tomorrow, little hands clutching a little flower large as
a dream of happiness under a wide and noble sky.
_________________
PERHAPS,
perhaps will listen closely much as
something might be brightly thought
of sentient, lucid, ambient so to lean
autonomic and individual flourishing
in greater context of rippling sea,
wind blown between two long landscapes
green and alive as this may be. What would
when if then was once as well as after?
Relative time place swirls enigma,
how many stars in a grain of sand too
many to count or ever know one solitary
moment together beginning to end to
pause and look around this train dashing
through its darkness of tranquility within
a train car stopped short in its tracks
as the golden spike is nailed to the central
joining of one side of one thing all the
way to the other. Here, how meaningful
atmosphere comes to command attention
in scent and breath of wind temperature
more pronounced than any other vehicle
transporting vivid memories simple as a
maybe blessing of stunning visual sunsets
abundant and perpetual as seasons are
stacked end to end in tree rings counting
halos in the towering wilderness, God so
infinite and inscrutable.
—David Humphreys, Stockton
_________________
Today's LittleNip:
Don't believe everything you think.
—Bumper sticker
_________________
—Medusa
MEDUSA'S WEEKLY MENU:
(Contributors are welcome to cook up something for any and all of these!)
Monday: Weekly NorCal poetry calendar
Tuesday: Seed of the Week: Tuesday is Medusa's day to post poetry triggers such as quotes, forms, photos, memories, jokes—whatever might tickle somebody's muse. Pick up the gauntlet and send in your poetic results; and don't be shy about sending in your own triggers, too! All poems will be posted and a few of them will go into Medusa's Corner of each Rattlesnake Review. Send your work to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. No deadline for SOW; respond today, tomorrow, or whenever the muse arrives. (Print 'em out, maybe, save 'em for a dry spell?) When you send us work, though, just let us know which "seed" it was that inspired you.
Wednesday: HandyStuff Quickies: Resources for the poet, including whatever helps ease the pain of writing and/or publishing: favorite journals to read and/or submit to; books, etc., about writing; organizational tools—you know—HandyStuff! Tell us about your favorite tools.
Thursday: B.L.'s Drive-Bys: Micro-reviews by our irreverent Reviewer-in-Residence, B.L. Kennedy. Send books, CDs, DVDs, etc. to him for possible review (either as a Drive-By or in future issues of Rattlesnake Review) at P.O. Box 160664, Sacramento, CA 95816.
Friday: NorCal weekend poetry calendar
Daily (except Sunday): LittleNips: SnakeFood for the Poetic Soul: Daily munchables for poetic thought, including short paragraphs, quotes, wonky words, silliness, little-known poetry/poet facts, and other inspiration—yet another way to feed our ravenous poetic souls.
And poetry! Every day, poetry from writers near and far! The Snakes of Medusa are always hungry.......!
_________________
SNAKEWATCH: NEWS FROM RATTLESNAKE PRESS
Coming next Wednesday, June 11: Two Moons in June: Join us at The Book Collector for the premiere of Day Moon, a new chapbook by James DenBoer, and Mindfully Moon, a littlesnake broadside by Carol Louise Moon, as well as Volume Three of Conversations, our third book of interviews by B.L. Kennedy, featuring Art Beck, Olivia Costellano, Quinton Duval, William S. Gainer, Mario Ellis Hill, Kathryn Hohlwein, James Jee Jobe, Andy Jones, Rebecca Morrison, Viola Weinberg and Phillip T. Nails. All this PLUS a brand-new edition (#18) of Rattlesnake Review! That's at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, 7:30 PM, June 11. See you there!
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.) Medusa cannot vouch for the moral fiber of other publications, contests, etc. that she lists, however, so submit to them at your own risk. For more info about the Snake Empire, including guidelines for submitting to or obtaining our publications, click on the link to the right of this column: Rattlesnake Press (rattlesnakepress.com). And be sure to sign up for Snakebytes, our monthly e-newsletter that will keep you up-to-date on all our ophidian chicanery.
