Thursday, July 10, 2014

Angles Filed

Elk Grove Creek, Absent Rainfall
—Photo by Caschwa, Sacramento

—Caschwa, Sacramento

Over time this will become
A rippling body of water
That local parents will describe
To their small children as
Being over 1,000 feet deep
And home to some quite
Hideous monsters of
Enormous proportions

These children will tell other
Children, and the news will
Be repeated and handed
Down from generation to
Generation until it is widely
Accepted as fact

Congress will pass a law
Based upon this fact and the
Supreme Court will rule that
Either the law is valid under
The Constitution or else it
Just doesn’t hold water

 —Photo by Caschwa

(first time in 25 years)
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento
My solar shields soften wing’s hot metal glare
diffuse light that shimmers
full spectrum through rainbows
my eyes drunk from
rough, rock beauty
untamed patches  of ice, snow dappling peaks
like wild Appaloosas’ markings

Edged by cotton-ball clouds, our plane
seems to stand still
though crossing 600 miles in under two hours
like a hummingbird hovers, wings beating in breakneck speed—
below, iridescent blue lake in peaks’ crevice

My ears pop, deep inside
ground nears
scrub pines, river, road
finally human settlement
rows like Legos in fiery desert

We will be landing in Phoenix, where the current temperature is 108 degrees
I remember mountains, iced in snow


bravery is

living alone with confidence
getting through nights alone
going to a job alone the first day

peeping out of the covers each morning
walking forth even though in pain
exercising to deal with pain

smiling past age sixty
not getting plastic surgery
not getting a tummy tuck

letting my eyebrows and hair turn gray
going without make up
going without a bra sometimes

giving up coffee
doing a fast
eating what my body needs

wearing what fits
wearing what is beautiful
even if not in style

riding the bus
using an uncool cart for groceries
being uncool and not caring

playing my flute loudly with heart
singing in public
reading my poetry around town

saying I love you
saying let’s talk this over
saying what I feel

not getting drunk
not getting stoned
not masking the pain with food

looking into the night sky
looking inside my mind
talking to God and trusting what He says

—Ann Wehrman


RELICS OF LUST by Lynne Savitt
—A Review by William S. Gainer, Grass Valley
When reading Savitt’s Relics of Lust you soon learn there is always one more secret to tell.  To find it—turn the page.  She has a way of not saying it, but allowing it—to touch you in those places that tremble from the inside out.  She writes with a short breath, dares you to catch yours and reminds the world everyone is looking.  Then there’s that thing about touch; when-where-how?  Now, there, gently—but it is okay to bite.  Just a little.  Savitt doesn’t always have to be first, but she does want her turn.  Relics of Lust is the scattering of the pieces of a life lived— loved well, just far enough from sin to almost be safe. She confesses, “… danger lurks in the potpourri of my / love I carry a 9 mm glock & sage / scented candles in my summer purse.”  After reading Savitt I wanted to touch my finger to my tongue, breathe out slowly and just sit awhile.  If you chose to read her, be careful.  The secret she tells might be yours.  I liked mine.

Visit Relics of Lust at


Today's LittleNip:

—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove

Always better
Than new: corners
Worn, angles



—Photo by Caschwa