Monday, December 26, 2016

Moments of Renewal

Golden Celebration (Rose)
—Photo by Stacey Jaclyn Morgan, Fair Oaks, CA

—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento, CA
under the heart leaves tree, I rest
in warm sun like honey
spreading throughout my view
glowing under, over trees
shimmering with dust
plant bits, insects
swim in liquid sunshine
amble without care

trees weave tapestry
surrounding me
their densely textured leaves
show autumn’s beginning frosts
in russet and golden tips
further within the grove
redwoods’ branches
eternally deep green
almost black, but for
this year’s green-budding tips

warm late summer, still
but mid-October asserts
autumn’s dissolution
ends summer’s riotous excess
once again, the blessed cooling
letting go, kneeling to rest
dormancy, rejuvenation
ultimate rebirth

 Rustbucket Sunset
—Photo by Stacey Jaclyn Morgan

—Ann Wehrman

the room is quiet, utterly still
except for occasional wheezes and clacks
from the ancient radiator
cold rain patters day after day on the window
I live here alone
spend Christmas without parents
estranged from siblings
whose suffering makes me cry
yet whom I never visit
instead sending cards
for Christmas and birthdays

—Photo by Stacey Jaclyn Morgan 

Slooh Cam, December 2016
—Ann Wehrman

it caught my tired eye
as I scrolled down Facebook
one more time before bed—

Slooh Cam records the winter solstice
in all its mystical magnificence
my eyes fill with tears
joy chokes my throat
live, Canary Islands, Spain
Slooh’s Pico del Teide Cam shows
bank of clouds, gray purple, massing
like violet, snowy hills or rough sea
fifty people worldwide watching this on Facebook
solstice exact in just a few hours
why is not the whole world watching?
the universe is singing
I watch in silence, alone at my desk
voices of the cosmos rise
like a chorus singing Beethoven’s Ninth
pour forth amazement, joy
exhale as one, Alleluia!
cloudbank’s rim now etched in pink, gold
white light widens at rim as
Sol climbs toward noon
cloudbank hides his face
yet we see, we feel
coming moment of renewal
rejoice, rejoice, Alleluia!

 Lemon Voyage
—Photo by Stacey Jaclyn Morgan

—Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

The overhead light was a bone moon
unmoving while phasing through its cycles.
Could meticulous blades find their way
between body and soul? No one asked for angels,
but a bright arc hovered where the moon
should be, whispering, whiskering
dark comfort, forgiving sleep; the conscious
self unraveling from dust and ashes;
strengthening wings on air.

 Jay with Persimmons
—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis, CA

—Taylor Graham

I found where they tunneled into mountain.
An owl-tree guarded the entrance, a mine-
shaft rough-walled with dark inhaling
winter shiver, a hint of frost, ghost breath.
An owl-tree guarded the entrance, owl-
pellets full of tiny bones and fur—as life
begets death, to grow life again. A mineshaft,
rough-walled with dark, inhaling what
ghosts are required to remember. Late
December sunlight gleamed and fell. Winter
shiver, a hint of frost. Ghost breath rose,
drifting down the hill; its mined-out stone
leaving the dead long graved in peace, alone.

 Natural Ornaments
—Photo by Katy Brown

—Taylor Graham

Amphitheater sunk
below level of sidewalk and lawn—
concrete as a Monday classroom but for
declamations (silent) from the pit,
Electra’s ancient voice transported from so far,
flying in November
gusts as
heady as kids descending from buses –
information escaping syllabi
jostling for attention of young minds
keyed to muscle, synapse, digital
lessons. Across the way, a boy once hoisted
mailbag on saddle
not knowing the railway was roaring
off away out here to the old-western wild,
Pony Express already extinct
quicker than hoofbeats
running against iron, rails
slick but slower than information
tapped on a keyboard, clicked across space
under heavens of progress,
virtual change of
weather by cyber-seconds
x-ing out what was just
yesterday in this world keyed from

 Micro Library
—Photo by Katy Brown

—Taylor Graham

As if waking from the dead I walked out of infirmary and up the hill—closest I could see to wild—through winter star-thistle spiky in death. I crossed a dry moat, old ditch from mining days, and hit a wall. Manzanita too dense to crawl through. Green island in a city, canopied with oak and pine. Biding through December. A game trail led to footpath littered with human castoffs—page ripped from an encyclopedia, homeless camp, empty Monster can, decomposing birthday balloon. Deer prints, flit of towhee. Quartz scattered, useless treasure. When struck by sun, crystal magic. Who was prince of this realm?

briefest glimpse of deer
two spring-vaults, vanished—mirage
of a great spiked crown

 Woodpecker with Persimmons
—Photo by Katy Brown


Today’s LittleNip:

Lost in the fog—
an old man in the street
chanting “Ram, Ram”.

—Sunil Uniyal


Many thanks to today’s fine contributors for all their help in moving us forward during this season of renewal! There will be no reading at Sac. Poetry Center tonight, but you might roll on up the hill to Placerville for the Poetry in Motion poetry read-around at Placerville Sr. Center on Spring St., 6-7pm. Other than that, I know of no readings this week other than (I assume) Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento on Thursday, 8pm. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area, though—and note that more may be added at the last minute.


 —Anonymous Photo
Celebrate poetry—and renewal—wherever you find it!

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