Becoming Unstuck

Moth

—Photo by Ann Privateer, Davis, CA

A FLYING POEM
—Ann Privateer, Davis, CA

Bracing, launching, taking off
higher and higher we go
nearing curling clouds, casting
us into the sky's blue hood.

The slick wing mirrors clouds
snow sprinkled ridges below
ribbon the vacant ground.
My mind streaks pink blushes

making our way across miles
travelers joined by experience
hearts laugh, and cry, and sing
give up resisting and fly.

Cloud blankets layer the sky
white, and gray, and charcoal
while the sleeping green giant
adjusts its earthbound position.

 —Photo by Ann Privateer

INVOCATION
—Sue Daly, Sacramento, Ca

If you asked me to
I’d bring you ten dandelion days
roll up the sirens’ song
for your bedtime lullaby

If you asked me to
I’d spin silver into straw
weave baskets of joy
to lay soft at your feet

If you asked me to
I’d pocket the stars
give you each one
for a kiss and a caress

If you asked me to
I’d tell yesterday morning to
answer your prayers
naming them one by one

 —Photo by Ann Privateer

what you give back. 

the world opens to you
and gives all of its beauty,
and you repay the world
with your own death,
giving your body
back to the world, to feed
the earth itself.
in this way, every thought,
every breath is beautiful,
and so even death
becomes beautiful, too.

—james lee jobe

__________________

love is not worship, son, and neither is life. 

love is not worship, my son,
and often it is just letting go.
remember, the sun sets at night;
it doesn't die a flaming death.
and it rises in the morning;
it isn't born anew, emerging
from between the bloody thighs of the earth.
every morning we welcome the light
and every night we let it go.
love is not worship, son, and neither is life.
welcome and farewell,
welcome and farewell,
welcome and farewell.

—james lee jobe

___________________

the conversation. 

how long should a life be?
you don't measure the length of a life,
you measure its depth.

and what happens after?
what is next doesn't matter,
it is your choices now that matter.

and how do I know what is right?
when you don't know, it isn't right.

why doesn't the universe speak to me?
friend, the universe seldom shuts up.

—james lee jobe

The War of the Worlds, 1898

THE THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM (Pt. One)
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH

The Earthling author Herbert George Wells
(best known by the moniker H.G. Wells)
was someone who lived a very long life
by the standards of when & where he was born
(England in the second half of what some
called nineteenth-century, common era),
and while still a relatively young man
published a book called The War of the Worlds
purporting to show our invasion of Earth

The book was what Terrans called a novel,
a form of writing whereby the writer
used his or her imagination to
create a story that may or may not
be based in some way on real people,
that may or may not be based in some way
on actual incidents or events,
but claimed to use said imagination
to give a true view of human nature
(some books were truer than people new)

Due to the limited reach of the book,
Wells' story was unheeded prophecy,
unheeded at least by fellow Earthlings
It showed new weapons of mass destruction
and the extreme brutality of war,
and in the next century wars would kill
many hundreds of millions of people,
most though by no means all of them soldiers

As might be expected from a Terran,
Wells' book had us winning initially,
winning almost to complete victory
Our susceptibility to Earth germs
proved to be our undoing in the end;
whether exposed intentionally or
by accident, we never knew for sure

We would make a study of Earth microbes
so as not to let that happen next time.

 Unicorn Stuck With Tree For Tail

—Photo by Caschwa

SPNAJOK
(Spoiler alert:  read it like a license plate)
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

We are all lost in the nether world
Of the utterly profane, hence
The front page news is all nonsense

Here the Earth is shaking, polar ice caps melting
Our mighty nation’s most precious icing on the cake
Is dripping into rubble like news caught being fake

Stuck right smack dab in the middle
Of pious lust and righteous greed
The Bill of Rights no longer gives us everything we need

Not to worry, a superhero
Has now arrived to rescue us
Don, Jr.!!  No cape, no brains, no problem, no fuss

If it seems to you that this poem fails
It makes no point and the words don’t flow
By Jove, you’ve got it!  And now you know.

 —Anonymous

_________________________

Today’s LittleNip:

ANOTHER WIZARD STUCK IN THE TREE POEM
—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove, Ca

Merlin called.
Said he'd fallen
In love. Again.
With the wrong
Woman. Again.
Said she trapped
Him in a tree,
Laughed and left.
Said he was stuck.
Said, "oh ...darn,"
I think.

______________________

Our thanks to today’s contributors for a fine Monday brunch, and a note that James Lee Jobe will be hosting The Other Voice in Davis on Friday, featuring Charles Halsted and Vincent Kobelt plus open mic at the Universalist Unitarian Church, 7:30pm. Also note that Sue Daly, facilitator of the Wellspring Women’s Center workshop, has a new chapbook out, A Voice at Last, which includes the poem posted here today.

Poetry readings in our area begin today with Poetry on Main Street in Placerville at The Wine Smith on Main Street, 5-6:30pm, an open mic for poets and musicians. At 7pm tonight, Sac. Poetry Center presents Hot Poetry in the Park, with Under-30 Contest Winners Stuart Canton and Esti Shapiro reading on the theme of Protest Poetry, plus open mic.

Third Thursday at the Central Library is on hiatus until September, but Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento will still take place Thursday at 8pm, with featured readers CharRon E Smith and Angela James plus open mic. Friday, The Other Voice in Davis will present Charles Halsted and Vincent Kobelt plus open mic as mentioned above. Then Saturday is Poetic License in Placerville at the Placerville Sr. Center, 2-4pm. 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—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa

 —Anonymous Creepy Photograph

Celebrate poetry!

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.