Rae Gouirand, one of the featured readers
at Sac. Poetry Center on Monday, December 9
at Sac. Poetry Center on Monday, December 9
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
YOU NEVER SEE CRYSTAL LIKE THAT
IN CAFES ANYMORE
—James Lee Jobe
Hello.
We have met before.
You were a red ocean
and I was a green boat
with white sails,
flying the red dragon flag.
We raced west,
the two of us,
just to try to stay
with the sunset.
Perhaps
you remember the day?
And the little cafe
we went to after?
And the warm sherry
that we sipped
from delicate crystal?
IN CAFES ANYMORE
—James Lee Jobe
Hello.
We have met before.
You were a red ocean
and I was a green boat
with white sails,
flying the red dragon flag.
We raced west,
the two of us,
just to try to stay
with the sunset.
Perhaps
you remember the day?
And the little cafe
we went to after?
And the warm sherry
that we sipped
from delicate crystal?
______________________
A GREEN AND PLEASANT LIFE
—James Lee Jobe, Davis
I knew you existed
long years before we met.
As a child I felt this day coming.
Something in the stars
wrote your name across my spirit.
Ghosts, late at night,
whispered secrets to me
of marriage and children.
Angels with Aramaic names
prayed for our souls.
You put your hands down
into the earth, and things grew there
that were not there before.
A rose bush. A peach tree.
Cucumbers. Flowers. New life
coming up from the rich soil.
Some things we ate,
some brought us beauty.
And they existed
because you willed them to be.
There is another world
—James Lee Jobe, Davis
I knew you existed
long years before we met.
As a child I felt this day coming.
Something in the stars
wrote your name across my spirit.
Ghosts, late at night,
whispered secrets to me
of marriage and children.
Angels with Aramaic names
prayed for our souls.
You put your hands down
into the earth, and things grew there
that were not there before.
A rose bush. A peach tree.
Cucumbers. Flowers. New life
coming up from the rich soil.
Some things we ate,
some brought us beauty.
And they existed
because you willed them to be.
There is another world
beyond this one.
Often I have seen it,
and I have walked there,
in dreams. This incarnation
was not our first
and it will not be our last.
In a land where we have not yet been,
you and I will walk together
out of the waves
into a green and pleasant life.
And there I will marry you again.
And there I will marry you again.
Often I have seen it,
and I have walked there,
in dreams. This incarnation
was not our first
and it will not be our last.
In a land where we have not yet been,
you and I will walk together
out of the waves
into a green and pleasant life.
And there I will marry you again.
And there I will marry you again.
Tung-Hui Hu, one of the SPC featured readers
last Monday night (12/9)
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
LOSING BATTLE
—David Iribarne, Sacramento
I remember those days.
Those days when I knew,
when I knew
when I would be home.
I knew the exact time.
It was usually around five.
Now I don’t remember the types
of flowers that you planted
in the garden.
You sent me a letter
saying you had cut
your blond hair.
I don’t remember
it being that long.
You also said our
one-year-old daughter is walking.
I just remember her being born.
I don’t know when
I’m coming home.
I don’t know when
I will stop having nightmares.
When will I stop
waking up drenched in sweat?
Why do I have to shoot
someone else to stay alive?
I don’t know
what you look like anymore.
I can’t tell others
how much our daughter
has grown
because honestly I don’t know.
No one knows my pain.
There is too much.
I have forgotten
why I am fighting.
When I went off to battle
I never knew how many battles
I’d be fighting.
I am sure I lost more of them
than I will ever win.
____________________
SHATTERED HEARTS
—David Iribarne
Wooden boards cover
the windows.
Glass still covers the floor
cuts our skin
cuts our soul.
Little light peers in
darkness covers our lives
outside blood stains the sidewalk.
Where did we lose our way?
Where did we lose our disregard for others?
Where is our care for others?
I hear more bullets
I hear more screams
I hear more cries
than I do words between us.
____________________
—David Iribarne, Sacramento
I remember those days.
Those days when I knew,
when I knew
when I would be home.
I knew the exact time.
It was usually around five.
Now I don’t remember the types
of flowers that you planted
in the garden.
You sent me a letter
saying you had cut
your blond hair.
I don’t remember
it being that long.
You also said our
one-year-old daughter is walking.
I just remember her being born.
I don’t know when
I’m coming home.
I don’t know when
I will stop having nightmares.
When will I stop
waking up drenched in sweat?
Why do I have to shoot
someone else to stay alive?
I don’t know
what you look like anymore.
I can’t tell others
how much our daughter
has grown
because honestly I don’t know.
No one knows my pain.
There is too much.
I have forgotten
why I am fighting.
When I went off to battle
I never knew how many battles
I’d be fighting.
I am sure I lost more of them
than I will ever win.
____________________
SHATTERED HEARTS
—David Iribarne
Wooden boards cover
the windows.
Glass still covers the floor
cuts our skin
cuts our soul.
Little light peers in
darkness covers our lives
outside blood stains the sidewalk.
Where did we lose our way?
Where did we lose our disregard for others?
Where is our care for others?
I hear more bullets
I hear more screams
I hear more cries
than I do words between us.
____________________
Today's LittleNip:
HOW WE MET
—Michael Cluff, Corona
Not under an elm or oak
not under the gibbous moon
or a triangulation of stars
or graffitied boxcars
nor the escalator
or the aquifer
just under the normal parameters
of sex in the seventies
and we have not
seen all that much of each other,
except on-line/facebook/twitter,
since.
—Michael Cluff, Corona
Not under an elm or oak
not under the gibbous moon
or a triangulation of stars
or graffitied boxcars
nor the escalator
or the aquifer
just under the normal parameters
of sex in the seventies
and we have not
seen all that much of each other,
except on-line/facebook/twitter,
since.
____________________
—Medusa
Walnut Grove Bridge
—Photo by D.R. Wagner, Locke
