Wednesday, March 07, 2012

Black Desert-Stallion Dreams

Bob Stanley and Edythe Schwartz whoop it up
at the Davis Poetry Anthology Reading,
Sac. Poetry Center, Monday, March 5
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
[For more of Michelle's photos from Monday night,
go to Medusa's Facebook page]

—Taylor Graham, Placerville

He comes here around midnight,
streets deserted in this under-part of town.
What he calls his oasis, where she's sat
for decades under weather. Chipped
plaster mermaid beside a broken spring
in the factory yard. Tonight, clouds
pass over sail-white on their topsides
under the moon, gunmetal bottoms
to earth. Confidential information inside
on what's to come. The factory
went bottom-up last year, bankrupt.
An old sailor's dreams, so many
broken springs. Here she sits, vestige
of what he once imagined.


—Taylor Graham

Oasis. Midnight.
Lock your dreams down tight.
Nothing but stars' shimmer-gleams,
and words that repeat
their insistent beat,
pulsing with dead voices, dreams.

No moon gazes down.
The dark wears its gown
of solitude. Not a sound—
no siren, no harp.
One high note—a sharp.
Only wind for miles around.

No one walks the roof.
What—do you need proof
that all sleeps quiet, at peace?
Two lovers are dead
in their wedding bed.
The stars say all miseries cease.

Midnight oasis.
There is no basis
for black desert-stallion dreams.
The dead lie buried
by sand that's carried
in History's old ragged seams.


—Patricia Hickerson, Davis

she’s not who you think
she’s sly as a mink
dines only on caviar
sweet as a daisy
mightily lazy
has travelled ever so far

totally jolly
reveals her folly
from her present or past life
to family she’ll send
her poems without end
hopes for a world without strife


—Michael Cluff, Corona, CA

The table placed to accomodate
a summary of your rights is
tearing the Faust myth
on Friday, June second
at two p.m.
into a play based loosely
on Diana Ross and the Supremes.


Gottlieb took
his now legal son
to the adult bookstore
that had started some of their lives.

He could not recall
who was whom
or when was what

just the legs
on the doll
he took home

none of the three
could walk all that well
without balance or guidepost

—Michael Cluff


—Michael Cluff

On a day
with one less hour,
Valerie did not change
her policy about kissing
smoking men.
Glen wore a short-sleeved
dress shirt plus
clip-on bow tie to work
without complaint
and candy was rejected by all.

On a day with
one less hour,
Dinah did not go
into the kitchen,
Michael stopped rowing
to shore,
Georgia was no longer
on Ray's mind
and french fries
refuted catsup.

On a day with one less hour,
Pluto eclipsed Saturn
in a western sky
or was it not...
so the box of opals
and oxlips
finally delayed
their own values.


Thanks to today's contribs: Taylor Graham and Pat Hickerson are working with the Seed of the Week and the current Form to Fiddle With (see the green board at the right of this column for more about those); Michelle Kunert sent us some my-tee-fine photos (check out Medusa's Facebook page for more of last Monday's reading); and also thanks to Michael Cluff, who sends us the buried treasure of a "found" poem, plus a reminder to spring our clocks ahead one hour this Sunday. One less hour! Can any of us afford that?


Today's LittleNip: 

—Michael Cluff

The Internet is so imperfect
unpredictable now,
at any moment
something could take it
away from me and then,
where would I be in
this unsafe world
from any intrusion,
any attack....



 88th Annual Camellia Festival
March, 2012
—Photo by Michelle Kunert