Monday, November 01, 2010

Apple-Cider Mornings

Photo by D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove

—Allegra Silberstein, Davis

Halloween's not so happy
when no little ghost or goblins
come knocking at my door.
Halloween's not so happy
when the party I was going to
was the night before.

Oh, well, to hell with Halloween.
There's two-buck chuck to ease the pain
and a basket full of candy...
so handy when I feel poetic strain
those words like turds that will not come.

Oh, Halloween's not so happy
when you party all alone
and no one's on the phone
saying come on over if you're free
dinner's almost ready––join us if you can...

Oops, the doorbell's ringing,
there's a crowd of neighbor kids
with open bags and smiles,
my candy basket's almost empty:
happy ending to a tale of Halloween trials.



This just in from Bob Stanley: I got the ok from both of Monday night’s readers—so we’re cancelling the November 1st reading tonight. Renee said her husband didn’t even want to go and hear her read! Word is there’s a ballgame some people want to watch, and I felt these writers deserve a full audience. We will reschedule these two novelists at a later date, early in 2011. So No Reading at SPC tonight. Sorry for the late notice—you can blame it completely on me! And don’t miss the WORD poetry festival this Friday at the Guild—stop by for a while—we’ll be there from 6 to 11! [See Medusa's b-board for details.]


—Allegra Silberstein

The sun comes, a stream of bright light
edging over pines and valley oak
filling my upstairs bedroom. 
I rise to greet the sun,
leave behind those worms
of dark-edged worries that kept me awake
so much of the night.

Some undefined urge pushes me
to seek mountains,
not loss of place—this valley my home—
only altitude taking me into clarified air,
lending me wings. When the caterpillar
becomes a monarch, does it remember
that once it crawled upon the earth?

—Allegra Silberstein

Night dilutes into dawn:
apple-cider mornings intoxicate.

Falling leaves replicate
a cloth of brocade on my lawn,

but days drift into artificial snow,
turn into alleys that lead nowhere,

and will you be waiting there
to walk with me where I must go

into those fog-filled days
that melt into night?

When moon and stars are hidden,
and there’s only the heart’s fire

to warm me?  In this winter need—
flickers of light.


Today's LittleNip:

Nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it.

—D.R. Wagner



Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
(What—Did you think the Grim Reaper went away
just because Halloween is over??)