—Poetry by Linda Klein, Los Angeles, CA
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
CHARMED
The snake charmer, a slim, swarthy, East Indian man,
sat cross-legged on a worn, faded fleece blanket,
dressed in casual Western-style clothing,
a flat, woven rope basket in front of his bowed legs.
Eyes closed, back straight, body relaxed, he blew softly into a flute.
His sweet song touched my ears and my heart.
I watched intently, oddly fascinated
as a snake slowly rose from the basket.
The snake looked like a piece of rope unraveling
from the basket's weave to the exotic rhythm of the man's tune.
I too unraveled, swaying and moving my arms and my body
to the strangely compelling music.
Abruptly, the snake charmer stopped playing.
The snake stood straight up
as though awaiting his next command,
his textured skin like glistening twined threads.
The man silently beckoned me to come closer
until the toes of my shoes touched the blanket's edge.
All this time the snake remained still,
an inanimate rope suspended in air.
When the snake charmer resumed playing,
the snake looped itself, lariat-like,
to ensnare me while the music flowed sweetly
and seductively as honey dripping from a spoon.
Soon he touched my arm. I did not fear the snake.
His touch was as pleasant as highly-polished leather.
He slithered toward my shoulder, hissing,
encircling my back and neck. He was my adornment.
We were both entranced as we danced together.
I wanted our dance to go on forever.
Too soon the music ended.
The flautist approached me and so easily
removed my partner, placing him in his basket.
I would return, for it was not only the snake
that had been charmed.
The snake charmer, a slim, swarthy, East Indian man,
sat cross-legged on a worn, faded fleece blanket,
dressed in casual Western-style clothing,
a flat, woven rope basket in front of his bowed legs.
Eyes closed, back straight, body relaxed, he blew softly into a flute.
His sweet song touched my ears and my heart.
I watched intently, oddly fascinated
as a snake slowly rose from the basket.
The snake looked like a piece of rope unraveling
from the basket's weave to the exotic rhythm of the man's tune.
I too unraveled, swaying and moving my arms and my body
to the strangely compelling music.
Abruptly, the snake charmer stopped playing.
The snake stood straight up
as though awaiting his next command,
his textured skin like glistening twined threads.
The man silently beckoned me to come closer
until the toes of my shoes touched the blanket's edge.
All this time the snake remained still,
an inanimate rope suspended in air.
When the snake charmer resumed playing,
the snake looped itself, lariat-like,
to ensnare me while the music flowed sweetly
and seductively as honey dripping from a spoon.
Soon he touched my arm. I did not fear the snake.
His touch was as pleasant as highly-polished leather.
He slithered toward my shoulder, hissing,
encircling my back and neck. He was my adornment.
We were both entranced as we danced together.
I wanted our dance to go on forever.
Too soon the music ended.
The flautist approached me and so easily
removed my partner, placing him in his basket.
I would return, for it was not only the snake
that had been charmed.
BREAKFAST AT THE ORANGE CAFÉ
Meet me at The Orange Café.
It's a perfect way to start the day.
Look for the orange-and-white-striped awning.
You can find me there almost any morning.
The atmosphere is busy and cheerful,
with friendly folks who will give you an earful.
Imagine an island in the Bahamas,
though it's London's West End, and you're in silk pajamas.
You must meet Crumb, their cook and baker.
He's an excellent stuffed omelet maker.
His cheeses, meats, and herbs are brilliant,
and his spirit is, at least, ebullient,
but the delight that will truly steal your heart
is Crumb's scrumptious apricot custard tart.
Pair it up with strong, hot coffee,
served in a mug with orange toffee.
LONELINESS
It is the dust that gathers in the corners of rooms where no one walks.
It is the underlying hum of silence on a humid summer afternoon.
Solitude can be something you choose—an escape,
but to be alone is to be ignored, rejected, unrecognized—
lost.
When your last perceived friend has left, amid excuses and lies,
you realize you must find the courage to sweep up the dust and fill the silence.
HEARING VOICES
I heard their voices coming from a room downstairs,
I heard their laughter loudly ringing in my ears,
I heard the music and felt its wild, vibrating beat,
while I lie alone in my motel room trying to fall asleep,
while I lie awake with a pounding head, wishing I'd refused that last gin,
while I was at dinner with strangers, trying so hard to fit in.
I heard their voices, and wanted to say something too,
I heard them being witty and giddy on cue,
I heard the waiter as he poured another drink,
while I joined in with the voices, not really able to think,
while I scarcely could hear them, and we all laughed a lot,
while I suddenly realized, I didn't know when, where, or what.
I heard them voice their surprise as I got up to go out,
I heard his offer of help as he took my right arm with a giggle,
I heard my gulp as I shook him off, and walked away with a wiggle.
I heard their voices coming from a room downstairs,
I heard their laughter loudly ringing in my ears,
I heard the music and felt its wild, vibrating beat,
while I lie alone in my motel room trying to fall asleep,
while I lie awake with a pounding head, wishing I'd refused that last gin,
while I was at dinner with strangers, trying so hard to fit in.
I heard their voices, and wanted to say something too,
I heard them being witty and giddy on cue,
I heard the waiter as he poured another drink,
while I joined in with the voices, not really able to think,
while I scarcely could hear them, and we all laughed a lot,
while I suddenly realized, I didn't know when, where, or what.
I heard them voice their surprise as I got up to go out,
I heard his offer of help as he took my right arm with a giggle,
I heard my gulp as I shook him off, and walked away with a wiggle.
CAVES
You should walk slowly when you enter a cave.
Be sure to carry a lamp.
The ground is likely to be rough,
uneven, and strewn with gravel.
Mysterious sounds emanate from inside.
They echo and bounce off the rock wall.
Web-winged bats could be flying blindly about.
You never know what awaits.
All you see is darkness, swallowing everything,
allowing no reveal of the cave's depth.
You wonder if that whimper is from a trapped animal,
or a crazed human hiding from a cruel world.
As you approach that haunted soul,
beware, he may pounce upon you,
and drag you down to be his companion
in a hell of his own creation.
Keep away from caves.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A poet’s work … to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world and stop it from going to sleep.
—Salman Rushdie
___________________
Our thanks to Linda Klein for intriguing poetry this morning! She says she thought her first poem today would be especially appropriate for the Kitchen, and yes, we regularly charm snakes in here…
Today at 7:30pm, don’t forget the SPC Literary Lecture Series, tonight featuring Dr. Steve Cirrone on Shakespeare’s Sci-Fi, Macbeth. Info: www.facebook.com/groups/literarylectures/. Registration required prior to attending your first session of Literary Lecture Series; go to us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/tZYldOCrrTIsGd3zdcXdxMayV4fVqsEXFc8Y. Zoom ID: 828 3933 9639.
__________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Cartoon
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