Monday, May 14, 2012

TriCubes, Leda, and Mom

Phillip Larrea

TriCube # 1
—Phillip Larrea, Sacramento

Don’t swallow
the whole pie.
Just a bite.


What is left
is not right.
But remains.


TriCube # 2
—Phillip Larrea
Hurry now!
gonna drop.

Just one buck
for the chance.
Cry, “Bingo!”

Not for me.
Take my card.
I’m tapped out.


TriCube # 3
—Phillip Larrea

Seize my home???
Sell me short???

Two bedrooms,
one bathroom.
And a dog.

is bank-owned.
Always was.


TriCube # 4
—Phillip Larrea
Spitting nails.
Crying, “Foul!”
Street protests.

What they stole,
they sell back.
And we buy.

Tell the truth.
You did too.
Didn’t you?


TriCube # 5
—Phillip Larrea
A chess match.
Since you’re white,
you move first.

Knights, castle,
Queen lost. King

No deaths here.
Just pieces
of me gone.


Leda Addresses the Swan
—Katy Brown, Davis

Your silent approach across the lake,
rapid enough to push a rippled vee
of water before your breast,

enchants me.  Red beak,
white-flashed midnight wings,
your sensuous neck:

feathered seduction
mirrored in the water,
coming for me.

If I tame you, find affection
in your wild eyes,
I lose my own innocent heart.

If we meet, wild on wild,
taking and giving equally,
neither is diminished.

Come to me on this rocky shore:
with wings and neck and downy breast,
and take me to the realm of myth.


The Poet's Moon
—Katy Brown

It is a Poet’s Moon that drags light
from the darkness beyond the horizon;
resolves radiance in a wash of pearl.
Every other full moon shines silver,
dusting shadowed trees.
But this brighter moon
penetrates the night.

It is this lighted darkness
that captivates the poet—
this bigger, brighter moon
that calls the muses
from their slumber.
A restless moon rises tonight:
a Poet’s Moon.

Mama’s day
—charles mariano, sacramento

Mother’s Day again
not going to cry about it
i’m over that
‘sides, not the only one

sons and daughters
who no longer
have this day
on their cherished agenda,

who now try to quietly
slip by,
pretend it’s not there

no need to buy a gift
no long drive,
no flowers,
no warm embrace

no little boys
to lay their troubled heads
in their mother’s lap
as she gently caresses,
eases the pain

today doesn’t matter
doesn’t hurt

i wake up early
watch morning darkness
shift to light,
close my eyes

“ahh Mama,
just let me lay my head here,
a few…precious seconds”


Thanks to Phillip Larrea, Katy Brown and Charles Mariano for today's poems, and D.R Wagner for the photo (see below). Phillip Larrea is the editor of the "minutedots" investment newsletter and a syndicated columnist for In 2012 his poetry has appeared in the Poetry Bus and Outburst Magazine in Ireland, as well as Sacramento Poetry Art and Music, The Artistic Muse and Nostrovia To Writing. Phillip has created an original poetic short form he calls "TriCubes". These poems each have three stanzas, three lines per stanza and three syllables per line. For more about them (and Phillip), go to (where today's TriCubes have previously appeared) or see and scroll down for more TriCubes.


Today's LittleNip: 

—A.R. Ammons

In spring
a bluster
busting up

against a
wall will
lift last

year's leaves
higher than
trees did.  



Medusa Jellyfish