Wednesday, April 01, 2015

Consider Eternity

Green Man
—Photos by Katy Brown, Davis

—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento

all around in froth
gentle baby leaves
shoots of grass
green as pistachio
as celery 

lie back, close eyes
heart chakra
vast, swells green light
warm, bright, expansive
love, delight

tears roll down cheeks
lie on the floor
sobs quake, yet happy
heart open
joy, life, spring


—Ann Wehrman

more than a cheap perfume
yet common in that
every human knows it
once, or more than once
her gaze melts, his
frame of vision opens, broadens,
darkness blurs memory
that fragrance she wore
smell of sweat under his collar
intoxicating scent of her
excitement, release
of his urgency
obsession burrows within
is known through the senses
3:00 a.m., alarm set for 6:00
sheets crumpled, pillows askew
obsession lives in memory
lilt of her voice
crinkles around his eyes
obsession renders sleep impossible
dark circles reveal
one’s secret by day
take a ten, take an hour
take a week off—obsession
makes work unreal, irrelevant
makes one gamble
risk it all for the
seemingly unreal
managing obsession
a contradiction in terms
better to slake one’s thirst
mouth open, guzzling
until sated

—Ann Wehrman

Brahms sings of
personal affection
lifts his cup
moderates, shares love with
brethren, sisters
diminuendos to decency, quiet
forest’s depth
Brahms’ warm, tender heart
expands, contracts
rests by the stream
forest of his fathers

Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony
Allegretto raises sound in shining silver
to the sky, pierces
red, white, golden clouds
explodes as sun’s rays
claims eternal victory
goodness crowned with tears
silver column builds bridge
truth, affirmation, undeniable
explodes in Presto of joy


—Ann Wehrman

for you means other lands
skins, religions, temperatures, foods
I open the window
a new world awaits
journeys to trash bin, mailbox
pool flood my senses
with newness, difference
joints, blood through veins
to the brain, breath
each moment is fresh
roses bud in March, trees sprout
tight green pinwheels, about to unwind
new leaves follow
squirrel cocks her head
as I plead, Get out of the street
world as microcosm
each breath a treasure
each moment on loan
each month, year speeds
travel from my inner world to visit
life all around me
a short journey, but enough

—Caschwa, Sacramento

My elementary school
Tested us huge
On numbers

Dates in history
9 planets, 48 states
7 continents, 7 seas

Then we had to adapt
The concept of
More or less

To everything we had
So carefully learned
And faithfully recited

Even to the belief that
There is only 1 God
Some say 1 fewer than that

All this learning
And relearning
Machine gun epiphanies

Powerfully hitting us like
Beacons of light while
Others lodge in mystery

What will future generations
Know as common sense that
We could never have guessed?

—James Lee Jobe, Davis

sit at this desk and consider eternity. the measure
of it. its shape and scent. its presence. outside,

there is rain, grayness, low clouds. fat drops slap
the window. eternity wears a rain slicker and eases

across the back yard, toward the street, out of sight.
a car drives by. the sound of tires on the wet street.


—James Lee Jobe

look at the forks in the hands of the diners,
they're like bibles in the hands of the priests,
like guns in the hands of the killers.
forgive me, father, for i have sinned.
it's been fifty years since my last confession.
please pass the salt and the ammunition.
i've drawn a bead on the waiter,
you take out the chef.
and relax, go with it.
this place has wonderful desserts.
they serve them right after communion.


—James Lee Jobe

the dream was one thing at first, and then
it changed. i was in a dark room, alone, mentally
reviewing all the slights of my lifetime. the first wife
who ran off and slept with several of my friends.
the job where i was screwed over. like that. and these
were slights from my real life, not just dream slights.
that done, i went over my failures, one by one. that list
was far longer. really, i failed that first wife. really,
i was lousy at that job. i would have fired me, too.
i began to pray in my dream, 'allah, please show me
how to rise above all this and live with some kindness
in my heart.' i woke up then. it was still the middle
of the night, and the house was still and quiet.
i wasn't sleepy anymore, so i turned on a radio,
there was a symphony playing. i didn't know
what symphony it was, and i didn't try to find out. 

Today's LittleNip:

—Ann Wehrman

White light froth
bubbles and rushes
toward my toes.
My fingers reach,
pinch cool foam.
I laugh
as it dissolves
into clean
viscous liquid,
potent with
the brew of life.


Our thanks to today's master chefs—as Sandy Thomas says, it's always HOT in the Kitchen!—no April Fools here! Sandy was kind enough to send us more photos of the new Poet Laureate Park; watch Medusa's Facebook page for those later today.

And tomorrow night at Poetry in Davis, Katy Brown will be reading with Davis Poet Laureate Emerita Allegra Silberstein, celebrating Allegra's new book, West of Angels, from Cold River Press, for which Katy did the cover photo. That's John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis, 8pm. Be there!