Wednesday, June 06, 2012

Singing the Thunderbird to Sleep

—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

—Taylor Graham, Placerville

Still-water in the pond today.
No bullfrog basso, no display
of leaps; no ripples leave a trace
of green reflection. Placid June.
What happened under last night's Moon?
the old familiar takes its place,
and guarantees that all is well.
But what might this blue sky foretell,
if Venus and the Sun embrace?


—Taylor Graham

A cloudless morning wears its mask
of peace. No wayward sheep, no task
too heavy. What could give the lie
to daylight? Simple chance smiles down
its happily inverted frown.
The still, blue water of the sky
reflects into the rippled pool
that asks—as if we're still in school—
just who are you, and who am I?


—Taylor Graham 

She makes still waters laugh or weep,
and sings the thunderbird to sleep.
Her hands are flights of feathered blue
that wing the sun back after storm.
Her hands can hold the nestling warm
or send the fledgling sailing true.
The songs about her bind like rhyme—
as if she moved to our slow time.
Yet every dawn her face is new.

—Photo by Katy Brown

Explosive Nouns, Adjectives and Verbs
—Michael Cluff, Corona

To be truthful,
Polly Grider could not
recall exactly
the word or term
that made her unbalanced enough
to attack Dusty
and then drag him around
her front yard
when she was twelve
and he nine;
she must of had
a tight and intense grip
into his scalp
since he had the shortest crew cut
Hiram had ever seen
in his forty-four years
of life.

It took the Loyza twins and Mr. Materson
combining their strength
to pull her off him
and some blood
remained below Eloy L's fingers
for days to come.

Polly resents them
for letting her release Dusty
with so little damage incurred.
And she takes it out on strays
when she hides them
straight off the abondoned back street
near the silent-encrusted
railroad tracks
of Meander Park.


—Michael Cluff

I hide beneath
the still water
now the ice
the soul embargos
into new years
riddled with panegyrics
meaningless and banal.

The hot bile
bubbles up occasionally
and black slush
replaces crystal facades
as pearlized words
the species perishes
a new umbra
forms the edges
of elsinorean marshes.


—Michael Cluff

Nadine would pass
Dale everyday
and smiled,
she was the only one
he recalled ever doing so.

In the interval
they parted
until St. Agnes' Eve
four years later
in another glade.

She still smiled
he still recalled yet
both never touched
by word or hand
but in thought alone.


Today's LittleNip:
—A.R. Ammons

Wearing away

away away



[Medusa says: Still Water—get it?]
—Photo by Katy Brown