High Seekers

—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
—Public Domain Photos

HIGHWIRE WALKERS

The cable quakes when they place
their feet, grab the balancing pole, a net
far below—Oh!
Soles may be too wide, too narrow,
thinned out or too slick; the pole tips,
nearly slips from grip!

These high seekers tell themselves:
breathe naturally, relax, don’t look down,
stay calm as a mystic; assure oneself
that, half-slipping, one becomes
amazingly acrobatic,
somehow gyrating into upright.

Daredevils and attention-seekers
may purposely wobble the wire,
make it hum for mercy!
Then, with a flourish, drop
the pole—catch it razzmatazz—
just-in-time.

No longer confronting life’s high drama,
many, like me, step down and aside,
make space for brave others,
wishing them ideal soles,
poles easy to angle against gravity’s
magnet…May these courageous attain
the grace of soaring gulls!

FLASHBACK TO EARLY MAN

Balancing on feet, they walked,
from throated growls, grew words, then talked.

They sling-shot birds and speared huge beasts,
dug chewy roots for long long feasts.

For warmth and light, they sparked flint rocks –
the ebb of sun and moon for clocks.

With thumbs for grasp and art, they cut
their marks; made history open and shut.

While questions of our progress drones,
now we dig and find their bones.

MEMO TO:  FOUR COPS

Hey, guys, how many men are needed
To subdue an already-pinned-down-flat-
Handcuffed-unarmed-neck-locked
Black man?         What’s that you say?

Was the murder of an African
On your shift’s agenda from the start,
As seems to be the case?
You say you cannot say for sure?!

Blacks too have equal rights
To remain silent—that doesn’t mean,
With your cowardly overreaction, DEAD!

Freakish four,
Your crime has started a
Worldwide rebellion, a modern
Crusade to end brutality
From your hands, feet, guns, clubs, etc.
And all you can reply is to concoct
Another LIE?  Well, unbelievable!

SIDE-KICK
(do you have one too?)

I want my guardian angel to
be grayish-haired and, like me,
sport a rare startle-disorder
yet not focus on my PTSD
as if it were a murder mystery.
May she overflow with blessings
that some flow over onto me.

When we visit the Hands-On Farm
I spread my arms and lean
face forward onto a cow’s side,
I inhale the soft fur.  She revels:
Ah, the fragrancy of hay.

She leads me on short hikes
in California hills of my birth;
favors the same wildflowers,
avoids rocks that wrench ankles,
curses the same thistles & stickers

Tapping delete on my Smartphone,
she inspires me to groove with
gigabytes.  I tease:  what’s a giga
and will it bite?  She ignores my teasing,
pretends she’s deaf....My counterpart
has composed boxfuls of poems,
yet she swears I wrote each one.

FANTASY ON A SEISMOGRAPH

Markings on
a Richter Scale
resemble
strokings of da Vinci
limbering hand
and wrist
before rendering
a masterpiece
sketch—
perhaps this time
a partner for
The Vitruvian Man.

FOREVER OATMEAL

We fold into our mush
dried cranberries, oat bran,
slivered almonds,
honey and half-and-half.

When we stir it up,
lumps yield like kisses.
Rising vapors
warm cheeks and eyelids,

spoons click cheery notes
on ceramic bowls.
Oatmeal upholds the world
like fine literature and love.


(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin)

BIRTHDAY MORNING

(for Karen Stella)

Neighboring birds wildly sing
beyond my open front door
as if they come to bring
a chorus of hallelujahs
for the risen sun, and for you
who have lived fully
and long.

When I pull up a chair
to rehearse congratulations,
the sky flows into reverie
in praise of wonderment
stroking the air
while birds sing on with flair!

Forever your friend, and poet,
I pinpoint, double-take, intuit,
fantasize, plumb the unknowable
from afar. And give you poems
grown sharper from the sharing.

Today’s LittleNip:

WHEN...

an ant
stirs
in Capri

Annapurna
quivers
in Nepal.


—Claire J. Baker

____________________

Good morning and thank-you to Claire Baker, a fine poet from the Bay Area who visits us from time to time. Today she talks about the high wire and, as our cartoon says, Balance is Tough—something we all need to remember and be kind to ourselves as we try to high-wire our way through the pandemic and the election…

Young writers from our area’s 916 Ink will read at 6pm on Zoom tonight at us02web.zoom.us/j/82475207127?pwd=ckYwZVFDWEpnTkUvQ0ExNVVRNng0QT09#success/. Also, MarieWriters meets at 6pm, with Laura Rosenthal hosting this week at zoom.us/j/671443996/.

____________________

—Medusa

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