—Poetry by Michael H. Brownstein, Caschwa, Joseph Nolan
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
WHEN THE STORM PASSES, THIS IS WHAT’S LEFT
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO
I am exactly like I am.
No water of mistrust here.
Swamps, perhaps.
Perhaps the heavy coil of wood
and bones to go with it,
the shadow of a new day
sun-lipped; cloud-lined,
the snail of curiosity:
the bee-sting of intellect.
There was no landscaper in your life,
there was no man without a car,
there was just me:
The brake in the stomach feels no pain;
the break in the heart, everything.
White hair of frost,
powder and grey,
the rage of the storm diminished:
patterns and known drunks
a rhapsody in the color you like least.
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO
I am exactly like I am.
No water of mistrust here.
Swamps, perhaps.
Perhaps the heavy coil of wood
and bones to go with it,
the shadow of a new day
sun-lipped; cloud-lined,
the snail of curiosity:
the bee-sting of intellect.
There was no landscaper in your life,
there was no man without a car,
there was just me:
The brake in the stomach feels no pain;
the break in the heart, everything.
White hair of frost,
powder and grey,
the rage of the storm diminished:
patterns and known drunks
a rhapsody in the color you like least.
OFF TARGET
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
looking for the nearest cross streets
to my destination, and the computer
responded by showing me an overview
of the entire continent
needed to know just when you’d be ready
to leave for our vacation trip, in terms of
synchronizing all the various events that
must be concluded before our departure,
and your response of “in a moment or so,
I don’t know” left me stranded on an
uncharted island, stripped naked of any
vestige of my tenure as a concierge
some folks are offended by the intrusion
of any kind of government, seeing life as
the fun sport of dodgeball at recess when
the adult staff is looking the other way
was having this dream where everything
was delightfully vague, until a smartly
attired gentleman from the Bureau of
Standards insisted that I’d have to
remove my bed from the Clean Room
I probably won’t get the last word on
“hot coffee” because I am too busy
sipping mine right now…
DIFFERENT STROKES
—Caschwa
(After “A Ghost Story” by Kimberly Bolton,
Medusa’s Kitchen, October 25, 2020)
like you or me walking up a stairway
the kitty cat ascends fences and trees
a little hop takes it to the “fairway”
and there it is, on our rooftop with ease
its bold footsteps outlast the midnight oil
I’ve yet to capture in a photograph
safer than the streets, according to Hoyle
it will live another life and a half
MASS MASK DENIAL
—Caschwa
it was as if on one particularly frightful
night a very large number of deer in the
forest collectively decided that they had
had entirely enough of all that anxiety,
fear, panic, surprise, and confusion,
and so when daylight came they wandered
out of the forest and onto the highway, fitted
with their large and small hooves on every
foot, and launched a very ambitious campaign
to knock out every headlight they found
needless to say, many would end up being
struck by the blunt force of reality and die
right out on that highway, not ever knowing
what hit them
HONESTY IN POLITICS
—Caschwa
(Golden Shovel poetry form based on a
statement attributed to Simon Cameron,
Republican Boss of Pennsylvania, 1860)
might take a minute, might take an
hour to sort out just who is honest
on any given day, the politician
would be the least likely, for he is
bred to manipulate facts and not one
to be confused with a man who,
appearing like a Greek statue when
his pants are down, is truly the man he
so very earnestly wishes you think he is
more than the attire he bought,
bare naked exposes the fortitude of his will
and once you behold that image, it will stay
etched in your memory longer than clothes bought
FIFTY-MILLION ZOMBIES IN A COMA
—Joseph Nolan
Fifty-million zombies
In a coma
Taxed
The capacity
Of the Hospital System,
Run by the
Public Health Administration Division
Of the Department of Health and Human Services,
Which for some unknown reason,
Had extended After-Life Care benefits
To zombies,
Who are no longer human at all.
Perhaps they got them confused
With the fifty-million people
Who recently applied for unemployment benefits
And were told to stay home
And watch the grass grow
Until it was safe to come
Out to see their shadows?
Pluto/Australia
ASTROLOGY
—Joseph Nolan
This planet shines
Behind Jupiter’s moons,
Inside
Saturn’s sultry rings,
Surrounding our dark-sun.
Neptune
Is just a rune
Abandoned in a cosmic sea.
We feel nothing of their movements,
They, so far away,
But bound to them
We’ll always be,
Always, for eternity.
Each, in its day,
Will influence our sway.
THE CRASHING IN OF WISDOM
—Joseph Nolan
Amidst the contradictions,
Raining down like an avalanche,
We are forced to rise
Above all the commotion
Into unconditionality,
As a bird,
On a hunt for a worm,
Flashes its wings to fly away
Before it is caught by a cat.
Wisdom comes like that,
When you have no choice
And pressures crash, immediate.
SOPHISTRIES IMPERVIOUS TO REASON
—Joseph Nolan
The kings and queens
Of their own imaginations
Resist all reason
And brook no doubt.
Happily, they
Go on their way,
While the media,
Sophistries, shout!
They choose which fables
They hold dear,
They believe
And they enable.
It will not do
To try to change
Minds so
Perfectly arranged,
And certainly not
Around a dinner table!
Autumn Reflections
UPROOTED TREES
—Joseph Nolan
Wish you were still there,
Way over there, somewhere,
Where I could go and visit
From time to time,
Walk the old trails,
Look out at the same old views,
More and more obscured,
As trees grow taller.
Our trees, now fully grown,
Have wandered off, so far away.
We cannot hear their fruit drop
Or smell their apple-blossoms in the Spring.
We should be happy that our trees
Have grown such strong, strong legs
That they have uprooted themselves
And staggered off
Over the next mountain range
And disappeared.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
2020
—Joseph Nolan
I see butterflies
In the jaws of bats!
It’s twenty-twenty.
My vision fails me.
I cannot see my toes.
I cannot touch my nose.
No, I’ve not been drinking.
It’s just twenty-twenty.
Where am I?
Who am I?
Who is our next President?
Since when has this been exigent?
I guess since twenty-twenty?
____________________________
Well, we got through October, so 2020 is 5/6 over—even though the boat still seems to be listing a bit. Hopefully, 2021 will bring fair winds and following seas. Meanwhile, thanks from the Kitchen to Michael Brownstein, Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) and Joseph Nolan for their hearty contributions to this new week and new month!
Here in our area, Sac. Poetry Center uses Zoom for weekly readings and workshops. For more info, go to www.sacramentopoetrycenter.com/. Area online poetry events this week include:
•••Mon. 7:15pm: SPC Monday Night Socially Distant Verse online, featuring Izzy LaLa, Jennifer O’Neill Pickering. Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462?pwd=YVltWXFFa2Rid2pZQ3pWaVordmZ5UT09; meeting ID: 763 873 3462 ("P O E T R E E I N C”); password: spcsdv2020
•••SPC Tuesday night workshop hosted by Danyen Powell. Bring a poem for critique. Contact mostoycoff@gmail.com for availability and Zoom info.
•••Wed., 6pm: MarieWriters workshop (prompts), hosted this week by Laura Rosenthal: zoom.us/j/671443996
•••Fri., 4pm: Writing from the Inside Out workshop led by Nick LeForce. Reg. in advance at: zoom.us/meeting/register/upwkde-opjkpnyQECAVBKolY4hKCdl61uA/. After registering, you will receive a confirmation email containing information about joining the meeting. (If you have registered before, use the same link.)
* * *
Also this week:
•••Fri., 7:30pm: Video poetry reading on Facebook by Davis Poet Laureate James Lee Jobe at james-lee-jobe.blogspot.com/ or youtube.com/jamesleejobe/.
•••For more about El Dorado County poetry events, check Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/.
_______________________
—Medusa
Day After Election
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
