Tuesday, June 01, 2010

Where Are The Children?

Oils by Jen (Jennifer Pantoja Daneman 2006)

—Janet Pantoja, Woodinville, WA

Lighthouse in evening glory
perched high upon a barren and windswept hill
far above life’s raging sea or ocean’s swell—
at eventide, when sunset ignites the horizon
inflames the cloudy sky,
a solitary light keeper toils faithfully
at his duties within so that
Your light may shine forth brilliantly—
a constant guide and beacon be
from out the darkness, the fog, and starless night
to weary mariners seeking coastal comfort,
totally dependent and anchored on Thee:
Light of the world lead them safely into port . . .
to peaceful harbor and home,
to friends and family.


Light of the world
set high upon a barren hilltop
far above life’s raging windswept sea,
let Your light shine forth brilliantly
a constant guide and eternal beacon be—
for weary wandering sailors
seeking coastal comfort
look anxiously to Thee . . .
lead them safely, securely
to peaceful port,
to home and family.


Sacramento Poetry Center Introduces “The Sacramento Poem”:

The Sacramento Poem will be a book-length renga comprised of five-line samples from a multitude of contributors and other “found” sources. The samples will be edited into a form to be determined by the nature of the contributed work. All contributors will be recognized by having their name appear in an appendix which will identify the section of the poem in which their contribution appeared. (In other words, some anonymity will be preserved.) Five-line samples should make direct and specific reference to an element of life in Sacramento, California. Contributors need not live in Sacramento in order to submit. Deadline is Dec. 1, 2010; the book will be published by Sac. Poetry Center Press in 2011. Please submit all five-line samples to Tim Kahl at tnklbnny@mongryl.com

Writing and Publishing Books Workshop in El Dorado Hills:

•••Mondays (6/7-7/19), 1-2:30pm: El Dorado Hills Sr. Center is offering a workshop, Writing and Publishing Your Novel or Book, to be led by local author Helene Vorce-Tish, who has written four published books and is a former English and creative writing instructor. One of her books will be included in the $45 fee. Preregistration is necessary; pay at the El Dorado Hills Community Services District reg. office (916-933-6624). Info: EDH Sr. Center at 916-358-3575.


—Mitz Sackman, Murphys

Moonlight flows upon
Waves shimmering in starlight
Sun dreams flee the night

Leaping in bright sunlight
Brilliant colors flying high
Tropical fish dreams

White bears swim icily
Resting floes of artic seas
Dream of seals swimming

The flag lies silent
Gulls scream sea sounds over grave
Sailor now truly home

Sail alone sea still
White against sullen skies
Uncertainty lies ahead

White sail the sea dream
Storm sits on the horizon
Wave swells rocking boat

Small on vast waters
Streaming waves rocking motion
One with the rhythm


—Janet Pantoja

Big prints, small prints, footprints in the sand . . .
Walking barefoot along the beach, isn't it grand?

Big prints, small prints, paw prints in the sand . . .
Dogs walk adoringly alongside their best friend, man.

Waffle prints, smooth prints, shoe prints on the shore . . .
A few prints, lots of prints, hundreds, thousands, maybe even more.

In an hour or two, or perhaps three or four,
The prints will be washed away—soon there will be no more.

The slate will be wiped clean once again on the shore . . .
Man and beast will have disappeared into the great forevermore.

*Pelican Pt., CA


—Janet Pantoja

I walk along the sandy shore . . .
the sound of waves caresses my ears,
salty sea air refreshes me, fills my senses,
washes away all preoccupation and my fears—
tension, stress and frustration of everyday cares
just melt away . . . they are not there.

I relax as the tide pushes inward . . .
the sun sinks below the watery horizon
in a blaze of orange and crimson,
behind gray clouds on a backdrop of blue azure—
wave after wave rolls onto shore and
the day is done . . . it is no more.

*Pelican Pt., CA


Today's LittleNip:

In his pocket he carried a clown's rubber nose as reason to love the world.

—Stephen Dobyns



Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
Our Seed of the Week is this empty playhouse.
Where are the children?