Mitz (Michelle) Sackman
with son-in-law Jonathan and Izzy
DREAMS TELL ME
—Mitz Sackman, Murphys
My story in dreams
Visits me in the night
Fills me with mystery
My life seen darkly
Through a distorted lens
My dreams are
Life telling me
That I need to get on with it
Solve the problems
Don’t just stand back and wait
Accept that change is the constant
Chaos is avoided by accepting
That truth
Stories told in a collage
Of odd images
Creating the frame for my understanding
Refugees living in a hotel lobby
Big as an airport
Impersonal cold
Sharing the lobby restroom
As the sole sanitary facility
Stepped over by staff
Lacking acknowledged existence
I have to clean the restroom
To survive intact
Have to declare my humanity
Against the inhumanness
Of the situation
My dreams tell me stories
Leading me to action
In my life
______________
________________with son-in-law Jonathan and Izzy
DREAMS TELL ME
—Mitz Sackman, Murphys
My story in dreams
Visits me in the night
Fills me with mystery
My life seen darkly
Through a distorted lens
My dreams are
Life telling me
That I need to get on with it
Solve the problems
Don’t just stand back and wait
Accept that change is the constant
Chaos is avoided by accepting
That truth
Stories told in a collage
Of odd images
Creating the frame for my understanding
Refugees living in a hotel lobby
Big as an airport
Impersonal cold
Sharing the lobby restroom
As the sole sanitary facility
Stepped over by staff
Lacking acknowledged existence
I have to clean the restroom
To survive intact
Have to declare my humanity
Against the inhumanness
Of the situation
My dreams tell me stories
Leading me to action
In my life
______________
Thanks, Mitz! Mitz Sackman lives in Murphys, California. She burned all her poems at age 15 since she was one of ten children with a bent for dramatic reading of other people's writings without permisssion.
At age 45, she no longer cared what others read or thought, so she took up her pen and has not laid it down since.
At age 45, she no longer cared what others read or thought, so she took up her pen and has not laid it down since.
Poet's Lane returns!
Those of us who used to enjoy Pleasanton’s Past Poet Laureate Cynthia Bryant’s website, Poet’s Lane, will be happy to know that it’s back up again, even though Cynthia has moved far away to Kansas City. Check out its many features at PoetsLane@everestkc.net/.
_______________
WINGS
—Michelle Sackman
Older women have wings
Gradually finding our angel self
We pay for the wisdom
Gained through tough living
With bags and sagging skin
Lacking surgical tucks
Say our priorities
Have changed
Cut through our learning
Knowing the only life
Is lived in truth
To live with lies
Of pretend youth
To let go of trying to be young
Is to fly
________________
SALE SHOPPING
—Mitz Sackman
I was cruising the mall
Looking for bargains
Poked my nose into the bargain bin
Out of season underwear
I don’t claim to know about everyone
But for me
Underwear is a year around need
Not a seasonal one
The holiday panty blowout
I love it
Burrowing through my size,
On this cold wet January evening
I happily find and buy
Brightly striped snowman underwear
For a pittance of their original cost
To keep my tushie warn and
The ice skating penguins
Bought in previous year company
I wear these holiday underwear in the winter
To celebrate the season
And in the summer to think cool
Remembering that in the heat
Other times are coming soon
_______________
—Michelle Sackman
Older women have wings
Gradually finding our angel self
We pay for the wisdom
Gained through tough living
With bags and sagging skin
Lacking surgical tucks
Say our priorities
Have changed
Cut through our learning
Knowing the only life
Is lived in truth
To live with lies
Of pretend youth
To let go of trying to be young
Is to fly
________________
SALE SHOPPING
—Mitz Sackman
I was cruising the mall
Looking for bargains
Poked my nose into the bargain bin
Out of season underwear
I don’t claim to know about everyone
But for me
Underwear is a year around need
Not a seasonal one
The holiday panty blowout
I love it
Burrowing through my size,
On this cold wet January evening
I happily find and buy
Brightly striped snowman underwear
For a pittance of their original cost
To keep my tushie warn and
The ice skating penguins
Bought in previous year company
I wear these holiday underwear in the winter
To celebrate the season
And in the summer to think cool
Remembering that in the heat
Other times are coming soon
_______________
AFTER FLAUBERT
—Allegra Silberstein, Davis
The human tongue is a cracked cauldron on which we
beat out tunes to set a bear dancing when we would make
the stars weep with our melodies. —Gustave Flaubert
The S.O.S. drummers
(Sex On Sunday)
set our hips swaying
our feet shuffling
like dancing bears.
The lead singer
belts out a melody
on the make
with a mike
his tongue’s not cracked
(nor a cauldron)
but he is loud…
Flaubert wants stars to weep
though he knows they can’t.
On the make
with words, myself,
I understand.
Words are too much with me.
And my ear’s a willful harp
playing out folk melodies
when I would be symphonic—
make the stars to weep—
I tell my tongue be still,
think Save Our Ship, think
Sex On Sunday,
keep feet shuffling
like a dancing bear.
(originally published in Poetry Now)
__________________
Thanks, Allegra, for the Flaubert poem, a response to a recent LittleNip that used this same quote by the gentleman.
__________________
BUS RIDE TO HELL
—James Lee Jobe, Davis
This highway goes on and on, and the bus
never stops.
Above—dust and clouds, sure, but also
a kind of fear that beaten dogs know.
The road itself is conrete and asphalt,
cracked, exisiting with the sadness
of the inanimate.
Each crack, in fact, is a dream
that was broken with time,
and patched with the spittle
of weak resolve.
No one answers for anything.
This bus stops for nothing!
The silent passengers are many,
no one dares to pull the cord
to get off.
—Allegra Silberstein, Davis
The human tongue is a cracked cauldron on which we
beat out tunes to set a bear dancing when we would make
the stars weep with our melodies. —Gustave Flaubert
The S.O.S. drummers
(Sex On Sunday)
set our hips swaying
our feet shuffling
like dancing bears.
The lead singer
belts out a melody
on the make
with a mike
his tongue’s not cracked
(nor a cauldron)
but he is loud…
Flaubert wants stars to weep
though he knows they can’t.
On the make
with words, myself,
I understand.
Words are too much with me.
And my ear’s a willful harp
playing out folk melodies
when I would be symphonic—
make the stars to weep—
I tell my tongue be still,
think Save Our Ship, think
Sex On Sunday,
keep feet shuffling
like a dancing bear.
(originally published in Poetry Now)
__________________
Thanks, Allegra, for the Flaubert poem, a response to a recent LittleNip that used this same quote by the gentleman.
__________________
BUS RIDE TO HELL
—James Lee Jobe, Davis
This highway goes on and on, and the bus
never stops.
Above—dust and clouds, sure, but also
a kind of fear that beaten dogs know.
The road itself is conrete and asphalt,
cracked, exisiting with the sadness
of the inanimate.
Each crack, in fact, is a dream
that was broken with time,
and patched with the spittle
of weak resolve.
No one answers for anything.
This bus stops for nothing!
The silent passengers are many,
no one dares to pull the cord
to get off.
__________________
And thanks to James Lee Jobe for our Seed of the Week: Bus Ride to Hell. Send me the poems you've written/will write about... well, what does your muse say about a bus ride to hell? That's kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. (Sorry, no giveaway this week.)
________________
And thanks to James Lee Jobe for our Seed of the Week: Bus Ride to Hell. Send me the poems you've written/will write about... well, what does your muse say about a bus ride to hell? That's kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. (Sorry, no giveaway this week.)
________________
Today's LittleNip:
METAPHYSICAL BOXING
—James Lee Jobe
Lead with your heart.
Keep your soul right up in front of you
for protection from the cruel jabs.
And keep your brain moving,
dancing away from danger.
And if your opponent lowers his guard,
embrace him, forgive him.
He feels what you feel,
just the same. Exactly the same.
His spirit is as large
as your forgiveness.
__________________
Priscilla
Photo courtesy of Donald R. Anderson, Stockton,
a response to last week's SOW: Cats
SnakeWatch: What's New from Rattlesnake Press:
October is Sacramento Poetry Month! October’s releases from Rattlesnake Press include a new rattlechap from Moira Magneson (He Drank Because) and a free littlesnake broadside from Hatch Graham (Circling of the Pack). Both are available at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, or from me (kathykieth@hotmail.com), or from rattlesnakepress.com/. Rattlechaps are $6 by mail, $5 at The Book Collector.
Be sure to join us on Thursday, Oct. 30, 8 PM, when Rattlesnake Press will release not one, but two SpiralChaps to honor and celebrate Luna’s Café, including a new collection of art and poetry from B.L. Kennedy (Luna’s House of Words) and an anthology of Luna’s poets, artists and photographs (La Luna: Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Café) edited by Frank Andrick. Come travel with our Away Team as we leave the Home of the Snake for a brief road trip/time travel to Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sacramento to celebrate Art Luna and the 13 years of Luna's long-running poetry series. Who knows what auspicious adventures await us there??
And check out B.L. Kennedy’s interview with Art Luna in the latest Rattlesnake Review (#19)! Free copies are available at The Book Collector, or send me two bux and I’ll mail you one (address below). Next deadline, by the way, is November 15.
Coming in November: November will feature a new rattlechap from Red Fox Underground Poet Wendy Patrice Williams (Some New Forgetting); a littlesnake broadside from South Lake Tahoe Poet Ray Hadley; our 2009 calendar from Katy Brown (Beyond the Hill: A Poet’s Calendar) as well as Conversations, Vol. 4 of B.L. Kennedy’s Rattlesnake Interview Series. That’s Weds., November 12, 7:30 PM at The Book Collector.
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 SOWs; 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 and in-between! The Snakes of Medusa are always hungry.......!
_________________
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.
