FASHIONABLE
—Ann Privateer, Davis, CA
Or was it, once upon a time
When to hover
Became the norm
Before there were haves
And have nots, or people
In between that rejected
All things material
On the road
Exploring a howling
Before wondering about
A memoir, living will full
The vagabond life
Casting no shadow
On the new world unconditionally to
Waging peace unconditionally
And singing
Breaking barriers
With no hiding place.
I AM
—Ann Privateer
I am the sea vast and intrepid
I am an ant carrying more than my weight
I am Monet, Hitler, and Kierkegard
I am the flower that blooms, the cold stone,
I am the stench, the kiwi, and the boned chicken
I am you, you are me, we are one.
LIFE
—Ann Privateer
Take a tincture of happiness
Boil it with a few sprigs of duty
Enhance your last thought
With unending joy
Season generously
With new resolve
Then add some lemon juice
And sprinkle with sugar
And there you have
A recipe for life.
SUSPENSE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
The thrill of holiday suspends,
at seven age, when trundling train
tracks flimsy girders, river bridge,
at slower speed, for driver knows
his belching monster grinding line
may crack the rails, so carriage fall
with luggage, family and me,
deposit in the muddy swirl,
a fortnight, sediment, to crawl.
The others chatter as before,
the clatter tells they know full well
our destiny—don’t scare the boy.
I, wishing back near home turf hedge,
have little care for seaside sand,
the hut below the fall of slopes,
kiddles, mud inter-tidal boat,
still less for journey platform break
awaiting us at Grandma’s home.
And then I hear we gain some speed,
soon rhythm over sleepers flies
and suddenly my scenes are back.
The river’s gone, the rattles left,
now stony beach, the island mist,
our backs to groynes against the wind,
the Street, the shells, the oyster smells.
The next, the dread of our return,
the chugging through suspended hell.
MOURNING MIST
—Stephen Kingsnorth
The cloud ranks dropped now, aqua sky,
fall strata cloak, hung valleys low,
as if an autumn ode recalled
has missed bone creeping, barren, cold.
A spire shoots through fold clogging wool,
ambition to find god for man;
from here we look down on the cross,
but lightning rod predominates.
What is our judgement of the scene,
some hope that sun, demystify,
burn off the veil, tears dissipate,
and tear away blocked view of green?
The fog more yellowed, fossil smoke,
like Hades, corporation dump,
Coedpoeth, ‘wood-hot’, under milk,
Welsh village gossip, mine, mill, well?
Is breaking dawn, a mourning time,
or prospect of shades cleared away?
Grey rolling stone, scree mountain side,
transfigure fields laid out below.
The winter waiting in the wings,
though angels flying for the spring—
less warmer climbs, in climate change—
will dun for smog come clean again?
SWALLOWED BY A WHALE
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
A man who was
Swallowed by a whale
Hardly noticed any difference,
Except that things were
Dimmer than before
And there was a
Vague stench
Of fermenting krill
That would not go away.
His cell phone did not
Seem to work as well,
From time to time
And seemed to drop his calls,
More often than it had,
Before.
It was hard to get a signal
And he had fewer bars
Than before.
TILT!
—Joseph Nolan
This game ends with “Tilt!”
Frustration leads
To the rocking of bumpers
That signals controllers
To bring it all
To a halt.
Something’s been slaughtered
And buried, already;
Something has certainly changed.
The changes have been too many
Making us really unsteady.
Unsteady ends the game—
Tilt! Full stop. Game over.
Thanks a lot!
Insert another token
To let the game resume,
If you’d like to go
Another round
In your present condition.
The rules might change,
Mid-stream.
You might be put on the sidelines
If you refuse
What goes in your veins.
Watch out for
Myocarditis, peri-carditis, thrombosis
Or any other “osis” or “itis”
Inherent in this insane asylum
Known as a “Great Reset.”
THE TINKLING INTERFERENCE OF
INTRUSIVE DREAMS
—Joseph Nolan
The tinkling interference
Of intrusive dreams,
Insisting they
Be let in,
To declare their hidden meanings,
Up and down the alleyways,
Such shortcuts you could find,
To ease your way
Across the City,
From which you had been banned.
Where anyone you met
Might be on the lookout
For you
Or for friends in your band,
So you would be surreptitious
And work out your routes with plans,
Since you did not belong,
Any longer,
In the place where you were born.
Now it was inhabited by strangers,
Not citizens,
Who didn’t share your heritage,
Who lingered on the city’s walks in shadows,
Well-past the mid-night hours.
None would assure you of safety
Or avenge you,
Were some evil done.
You were on your own.
MASKING OURSELVES
—Joseph Nolan
Brilliant, lucid daydreams
Replaced what we all knew,
As our present reality.
We did as we were told—
Wearing masks
That let our breath
Drift out from tops and sides,
As though that might preserve us
From our evils,
Kept inside.
GOOD OL’ HANK
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
raised on his parent’s farm, “fought”
in the Revolutionary War, though
his contributions were more linked
to channeling provisions to the troops
than rising up on the battlefield to
confront the enemy in person
wanted far better for his children
than paying taxes to a distant king,
went to great lengths to reap all the
benefits one could from his property:
land, cattle, wives, dogs, slaves,
crops, all those things belonged to him
anyone finding themselves on Good
Ol’ Hank’s land became part of that
property, and if they had any kind of
grievance and sought resolution from
a higher authority, that higher authority
was always Good Ol’ Hank
just like anyone could be President, so
could anyone be Good Ol’ Hank, or at
least that notion sold itself under the
sweeping umbrella of the American Dream
and so citizens who never knew any quality
of life above dirt poor cherished that dream
because when you are having a dream you
can fly under the wings of angels, you can
rub shoulders with the wealthiest monarchs,
you can be the big, honcho property owner,
until your dream expires and you have to
go clean toilets you are forbidden to use
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
LIFE IS A BUSINESS
—Caschwa
you start with a deficit
and then work as hard
as humanly possible,
hoping at some point
to reach that marvelous
break even point, after
which the business will
actually show a profit
except you are black,
routinely considered
unworthy to get any
loan based on the range
of human possibilities,
forever suppressed far
below that break even
point, forever denied the
ability to show a profit
your ultimate failure to
succeed serves as the
whetstone used to
sharpen the blades of
exclusion that have
cut you out of the picture,
defined you as unworthy,
nonessential, disposable,
and we allow this dogma
to be the outcome because
it is common knowledge
that most businesses fail
Today’s LittleNip:
ENDINGS
—Joseph Nolan
Endings
Make for sad beginnings,
As we walk away
Before the dirt’s thrown in.
What now?
Where shall we turn
When fountains
Have run dry?
Rivers
Shall we cry
And tear our shirts.
Endings are grief
And grief, beginnings.
Joy is in the middle,
Somewhere,
If we stop
To find it.
______________________
Good morning, and many thanks this Thanksgiving week to our fine-as-always contributors! Our visuals today are from Ann Privateer, Joseph Nolan and from Michelle Kunert, who sends us her photos from the Mad Hatter exhibit at Mills Station Road (near Rancho Cordova, CA), featuring articles of clothing from the collection of Barbra Aladafi. This collection has 19th-century mourning dresses, as well as other formal hats and clothing.
•••Tonight (Mon. 11/22), 7:30pm: Sac. Poetry Center’s Socially Distant Verse presents Lori Howe, Katie Manning plus open mic on Zoom at 763-873-3462; password r3trnofsdv.
•••Sat. (11/27), 2pm: Poetry of the Sierra Foothills (Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!) celebrates Native American Heritage Day with featured poet Stephen Meadows plus open mic. Love Birds Coffee & Tea Co., 4181 Hwy 49, Diamond Springs (where Hwy 49 meets Pleasant Valley Rd.). Host: Lara Gularte.
__________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
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