Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Barefoot Dancing

Hovering Owl
—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

—Caschwa, Sacramento

Today we would meet
The new teacher
Or so we thought
Name was different
Methods not

The same dumb ass king
Of the damn podium
All discipline
Obedience, compliance
Win win spin

so there we were all
treated like fools
warned like Copernicus to not
break the rules

The head secretary
And the class bully
Sure got their way
Maybe that’s the path to success
Who’s to say?

We made it through
The old school is
Now gated



I dreamt I was having a dream
And inside this dream within a dream
I was at a parking lot looking for
My friend’s car to get a ride home

However my friend and I had exited
The building from 2 different places
And I wasn’t sure I was in the right
Portion of the parking area

And there was another problem:
I couldn’t remember what kind of car
My friend was driving, but I kept looking
And confounding myself over and over

Then in a brief waking moment
A shred of memory came back to me
That put things in a different perspective:
This particular friend doesn’t have a car

More waking moments brought more confusion
Was I going to have to read thousands of pages
Of scientific research about the meanings of dreams



(inspired by the photographic image
at the bottom of Monday’s offerings)

Inside, plastic sheeting
Covers the fine fabric
Of the upholstery

Outside, a tempting pool
Dares onlookers to disturb
The mirror-like surface

As if fingers and toes would be
Bloodied and cut to the bone
If they tapped on that glass

All the while barefoot insects
Break the rules and stomp
As hard as their little bodies allow

On the mirror image shaped by
The placid pool causing barely a ripple
Here, then there, and then again

Until there is a symphony of
Undulations, an eddy of brass,
Reeds, percussion, and strings

Swirling in the pool that is too
Nice to swim in, reveling in the
Security of their insignificance

The director raises his baton and the
Insects swarm up away from the pool
Towards an unsuspecting BBQ

Drawn to the hot coals like humans
Fascinated with the threat of volcanoes
Mesmerized by the beauty of fire

Iron Works
—Photo by Katy Brown

—Taylor Graham, Placerville
Our garden plot has dismantled Summer.
Green bells of pepper—Anaheim, poblano—
long gone; the thronging okra that stood
tall, positive, at attention; even the winding
twisted runners of zucchini. On some
undeniable command, the garden—grown
so full of vegetable lore—is dead. Only
roots still hold, screwed tight in cold soil.
Winter knows no appeal. Except
for the chard, limp after a week of frozen
weather. Except new starts of cabbage,
runt-offspring of our wishes
for the smallest green to get us through
till the garden decides to do Spring again.


Our thanks to today's contributors. Taylor Graham's poem was inspired by one of D.R. Wagner's posted here last Saturday, and about his third poem, Carl Schwartz says you never know what's going to inspire one. True, true, true. So take a whack at our new Seed of the Week: Experiments that Failed. Relationships that soared, then plummeted? Careers that never took off, despite years of training? Roads less traveled that turned into dead ends? Surely there are many experiments in your  life that succeeded—and some that failed. Tell us about them in poem and photo and art, and send the results to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs though; mull it over a while if you need to.

And please keep Joyce Odam in your thoughts as she recovers from her hip surgery.


Today's LittleNip:

—Olga Blu Browne, Sacramento

When I was still young
in this life,

with little depth of mind,
I didn't see the culture of

my people in full bloom,
nor understand the beauty

of imperfection.



—Photo by Katy Brown