Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Flashes of Common Light

Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

—Taylor Graham, Placerville

All night in my sleep I’ll be listening
for tiny hoof-beats on the roof,
woosh of flight through the dark—rain
washing everything clean,
absolution carrying hill to creek
with visions of ocean opening; sky
to rain; a rush of wind like hawk-
wings. I’ll wake up hungry
as rain-tooth for soil, red-tail
for mouse, the world still working
in spite of holiday. Dawn
a surprise down every chimney.


—Taylor Graham

Misty windows turn, by a certain
low-slung angle of December light,
to stained glass. A flash
of that brief light silvers the door-
step, invites me out.

I will not regret the big-show
item I missed, lunar eclipse compact
with solstice, somewhere
high above the clouds that mist
my vision. I’ve got these

flashes of common light.


—Tom Goff, Carmichael

The kildeer silence
their nightwheeling skirl.


Salomé’s platter, silver
still red where John’s
neck last brushed.


Did Mars break orbit?
Red, carnelian red;
white, ice white.


Out the front door for each
glimpse of eclipse, then back
inside quick! Neck stalks twisted,
faces moonglazed.

Time-lapse cameras, our eyes
click out rust moon vistas, one phase
at a time. Each return to gazing station,
stars brighten one power. Our ears
Jutland cold, Lapland cold.


Sharp are our edges.
We have been monitoring
the crystal radiances
of eons. We observe
no ethers, no phlogistons.


—Carl Bernard Schwartz, Sacramento

Today is mostly cloudy
with a chance of rain tonight.
Those clouds are looking rowdy,
always ready for a fight.

Will we also get loud thunder
and lightning ‘cross the sky?
Meteorologists sometimes blunder,
and later explain just why.

I’m going to dress for clouds today
in reliance on the forecast,
but if rain should fall across my way
my umbrella is ready super fast.


—Robin Gale Odam, Sacramento

Found myself breathing words.

Simple words.
Incomplete thoughts.


Yes, the deep well.
Watery phrases.
Dark memories.
Old heartbeat.


Yes, emerge.
Rise and breathe.
And hear them.
Timeless words.

Our Father...


Today's LittleNip:

—Robin Gale Odam

Suffering the holy fall,
the seven dying tears,
the heart beating
in the bitter chord,
somewhere lay
a sacred nest
and within, an image
of lips forming around
one eternal sound
that would heal.


—Medusa (with thanks to today's contributors. Robin Gale Odam is Joyce Odam's daughter; welcome to the Kitchen, Robin!)

Photo by D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove