—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
COLD IN
KILBURN
—Patricia
Hickerson, Davis
and where
were you?
off at a
London racetrack
throwing
our cash at losers
it was
cold up in that dark room
on
Kilburn Road
away from
light and life
rented
cheaply to tourists
by
indifferent hosts
what was
I doing there anyway
when I
could have been dancing my heart out
at
Roseland
or
listening to geniuses on 52nd St.
colleagues
of Dizzy and Miles
with
bigger and louder horns than yours
cuddled
closely in hot New York clubs?
but no,
here I was
a storm
coming, lightning streaked the window
waiting
for you in the dark and cold
wondering
at my choice
_________________
DICKENS
IN DEVON
—Patricia
Hickerson
take a
cold cramped Devon house
where
you’ve never been before
across
the road
from a
time-blackened 9th century church
read a
book, Dickens last
The
Mystery of Edwin Drood
lie in
bed as dark day nudges night
turn on a
dim light
for
better reading this unfinished novel
Dickens
died at his London desk
while
writing it
no wonder
since it contains:
an opium
den
murder
a black
scarf seen only once
(was this
to be the murder weapon?)
a crypt
a broken
engagement
a scary
guy named Jasper
huddle in
bed
read as
long as you can
till
midnight, maybe
go to
sleep finally
for the
worst nightmare of your life
________________
WHAT WE
USED TO DO IN TUSCANY
—Patricia
Hickerson
on a
sunny afternoon
we
dragged the kitchen table
from the
old stone farmhouse
set it
under a tree
loaded it
with food and drink
grappa,
Hemingway’s favorite cheap brandy
(the
dregs of a grape press)
because
Tim thought he would be another Hemingway
or at
least a Bukowski
there
were bottles of Gallo Nero, Campari
untidy
chunk of pecorino
marzolino di chianti, caciotta
mozzarella
di buffalo on tomato slices
big ugly
loaves of bread from a farmer’s oven
we read
each other’s works
ate and
drank all afternoon
sat there
till twilight
when the
first fireflies began to flicker
pulled up
lemon grass weeds at our doorstep for tea
our
supper was prosciutto shavings
wrapped
around cantaloupe
that’s
what we used to do
Tim and I
—Photo by Katy Brown
AIR PASSAGES
—Michael Cluff, Corona
La Golondrinas
regulate arrivals
and departures
much better
than the FAA
could ever even
dream about.
Instinct always trumps
innovations and clocks
marvel at such aerial
timings
in Coloma, Clovis,
Cleveland,
Catalina
and Capistrano.
_________________
AT THE MISSION BETWEEN
8:10 AND 3:30
ON MOST UNIMPORTANT DAYS
—Michael Cluff
Jo Laura
waits slowly
for swallows
to come in
and demolish
the fly colonies
next to the hollyhocks
and chokecherries
but this year's
tidal shifts
have kept them
adrift and off-kilter.
The clean-up crew
of wings and hollow bones
glide over
a honeysuckle bush
and sycamores set
near the caves
where nights
are darker
and pests aplenty
even San Juan
can't coax
them to roost
in such familiar
coastal places
many miles to the west
a ways.
Jo Laura
reveries in how
her sketches
are not Audubon
enough for local brochures
but holds the pencil
perpendicular to the beach
abiding now
for any flock
to cross
her paralyzed
line of sight.
________________
AT THE END OF THE NINTH
HOUR
OF SOME PARTICULAR DAYS
—Michael Cluff, Corona
After nearly fifteen years
Fate has not released
its tight palsied fit
on my throat—
assigned the care
of an uncaring
yet needy
but unapologetic
succubus
set of co-relatives
restricted
to self.
Thank you
is not part
of any section
of their vocabularies
and I am tired
of never hearing
it said to me
at all.
HARD TO SWALLOW
—Caschwa,
Sacramento
She was
perched on a
Gargantuan
gargoyle
Partaking
through
Geriatric
goggles
The
perfect landing of
La
Golondrina
Clutching
the purloined
Golden
Ganesh
Point
of Order! piped
The
guardian of giggles
Perhaps
we've been fooled
By a
glorified goose
___________________
Thanks to today's gourmands for our fresh fare, including Carl Schwartz and Michael Cluff for the golondrinas (our Seed of the Week), Pat Hickerson for a little taste of across the sea, Katy Brown for some well-needed flowers, and Michelle Kunert for her winsome LittleNip. Michelle has sent us some photos from the Shine reading last Weds., which have gone into a new photo album on Medusa's Facebook page. Check it out!
Trina Drotar writes: there are still openings in the
Surprise Valley Writers Conference. If you've never attended, it's really
amazing. 8 students per workshop, field trips, chances to study with amazing
poets and writers, and this year there's a translation workshop. Cedarville is
just the most beautiful and peaceful place!
That’s Sept. 13-16: Surprise Valley Writers' Conference in Cedarville, Modoc
County. Poetry, translation, fiction, non-fiction with Primus St. John, William
O'Daly, Willis Barnstone, Kirby Wilkins, Ray A. March. Info: www.modocforum.org/writers_conf.html
___________________
Today's LittleNip:
I had a dream of this little train just like those at a children's amusement park
I rode it on its tracks around a bend I couldn't
see
And then on the other side of it was a cemetery
filled with tombstones
I thought, how remincient of the tricks played
on me...
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
______________
—Medusa
Michelle Kunert reads at the
Poetry With Legs open mic on Weds., Aug. 8.
—Photo by Bill Gainer
—Photo by Bill Gainer
Check out her album on Medusa's Facebook page!
