Cynthia Linville
KISSED BY VENUS
—Cynthia Linville, Sacramento
I sink under
panic
taste foamy tears
and hair
claw at slippery seaweed
lose my grip
bang my knee on a rock
barely feel it
grabbed by the riptide
pulled out
under
down
panic again
and then
I stop struggling
and open my mouth.
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Thanks, Cynthia! Cynthia Linville has taught writing at James Madison University in Virginia and at Shepherd College in West Virginia. She currently teaches in the English department at California State University, Sacramento. A former pupil of Dennis Schmitz, she has been writing since the mid-80s, but has recently become active in the local poetry community again, participating in writing groups and hosting a new series, Second Friday Poetry Reading, at The Vox. Her poetry has recently appeared in Sacramento News & Review, Poetry Now, and Rattlesnake Review.
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HIGH CHURCH
—Cynthia Linville
at weddings and funerals
you deeply inhale the incense
but don't hear the words:
you just go home to tend your shrines
boxes of teeth, animal bones
feathers, shell, bits of stone,
unraveled fabric of favorite clothes long gone:
you are an instinctual shaman
each morning you visit the boneyard
of your ancestral altar:
a perfect line of fishing rods
bequeathed to son from father
hunting and fishing an excuse
to visit your sacred places:
the San Francisco Peaks
the Anderson Mesa
such rites soothe troubled ghosts
you offer up prayers,
sage smoke:
your campsite, a kiva
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AIMING FOR THE HORIZON
—Cynthia Linville
I wade calf-deep
in the thin mist that the waves
breathe over the sand,
walking as far south as I can
past the family picnickers
the surfers
the driftwood sculptures,
past the footbridge that leads over the dunes.
(That bridge leads to the house
where Charlie Beck kissed me in the kitchen
the summer I was 15.)
I walk until exhausted.
I walk until the tide forces me back.
A ship on the horizon
matches my pace for a mile
then pulls on ahead.
The surfers and picnickers have gone home
and my outbound tracks
have been erased.
The water's foamy kiss is colder
as I lean down,
pick up a green-veined rock.
Back in the parking lot
a man stands on a picnic table
holding a sandwich above his head
in offering
to a flapping cloud of gulls—
a gesture so ancient
it inspires me
to stand at the cliff's edge
and throw my rock
back into the sea.
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GETTING TO KNOW OUR GARDEN
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
Hyssop, an excellent cleansing herb
beneficial to public speakers, singers
and poets when taken as a tea.
Lavender, loved by bees when in flower,
used by the Egyptians
in the mummification process.
Periwinkle, known as the fiore di morte
in Italy. In medieval England,
worn by felons going to the gallows.
Rosemary, symbol of remembrance
used in funerals and at weddings.
Is grown to attract elves.
Sage, used to ensure long life—even
immortality. Eat every day, or
at least in May. Toads love sage.
St. John’s Wort under one’s pillows
on Midsummer’s Eve, in medieval times,
ensured the sleeper would not die
during the following year.
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Thanks, TG! Taylor Graham sent us her response to the Seed of the Week: Found Poems. She "found" this one on Google.
And the response to last week's Seed of the Week: Sex continues; apparently poets just can't stop writing about it (thank goodness)! Here's one from a poet in Isleton who is new to us, Fred Staal-Robles. Welcome to the Kitchen, Fred! More from Fred can be seen at fredericksr.blogspot.com/:
59/AUTUMN
—Fred Staal-Robles, Isleton
1
Overcast day, the sky a light, seamless gray.
Left work for an afternoon walk.
Now I'm talking to Jesus;
Mostly questions:
Why am I here?
What should I do?
—the usual suspects.
A young sycamore I pass,
like all the others,
has given up its large leaves to the cold.
I collect a few to brighten my office,
carrying them like a bouquet.
A light rain begins.
2
I imagine us naked
We hold the leaves to hide our faces
Autumn spends its hoard
of sienna and gold on our unseeing eyes.
I am burning down with desire.
3
I am burning down with desire.
I imagine my hands on your flesh
I imagine the heft and shape of your breasts,
the dark aureoles.
I imagine your navel,
and the swell of your belly.
I imagine your smile,
your hands, your shining eyes.
I am burning down with desire.
Ash dusts the barren trees.
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Today's LittleNip:
Credo nonnullos hic mortuos esse.
(I think several of the people here are dead.)
Sona is Latina loqueris.
(Honk if you speak Latin.)
Mensa secunda mea flagrant!
(My dessert is on fire!)
—from Latin for All Occasions by Henry Beard
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—Medusa
SnakeWatch: What's Up With Rattlesnake Press
The Snake will be snoozing through July and August, leaving Medusa to carry on alone. Then on September 10, we shall burst back onto the scene with Thirteen Poems, a new chapbook from Patrick Grizzell; #2 in Katy Brown's series of blank journals (Musings Two: Vices, Virtues and Obsessions); plus Issue #19 of Rattlesnake Review (deadline is August 15). Meanwhile, look in on Medusa every day, and, for heaven's sake, keep sending stuff! The snakes of Medusa are always hungry...
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 (sometimes): 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.......!
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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.
