—Cynthia Linville, Sacramento
He is a kind of pain
that has no cure.
He always enters a room
in a flurry of white feathers.
He inevitably marks
those who cross his path.
Even after he’s gone
he casts a long shadow.
_________________
DANGER!
—Cynthia Linville
She’s a three-alarm fire
a flashing red light
an air raid siren
howling in the night.
She is hackles going up
a low growl –
better lock the doors
when she’s on the prowl.
Gathers at the pond
To share their views
Of rhythm and flow
With sunken feet
Punctuating every line
But they somehow know
More than is uttered
And together they swim,
Dive, fly, and pause
To appreciate their reflections
Or to nurture themselves
On another’s poetry
All the pond is a stage
And all the waterfowl
Are merely players
When diving into
The study of
Greek architecture
One is immediately
Surrounded by
Pillars, columns, colonnades
Adding seemingly great
Depth of purpose
To a shallow pond
—Caschwa
Honey, get the flashlight
Yes I know it’s the middle
Of the day, bright outside
But there are a couple of
Points that are evading
My grasp, as if hiding in
Dark shadows, too feeble
To break out and declare
The message they have
Been trusted to carry
Too low in the pecking order
To have any voice at all…
—Caschwa
No formal shape
No analogy
No plan
Just a driving intention
To gaze upon what is out there
And admire it
As the creation of
A higher power
Whose infinite wisdom
Confounds common sense
Beauty beyond logic
Perfection beyond human
A celestial snow globe
Toy of the Gods
We can’t shake it
—Cynthia Linville
Dampen down the lovey-dovey
with a little pain
a little blame
a little yuck
a little what the fuck!
______________________
—Medusa