Love, Regardless

 

—Poetry by Michael H. Brownstein, Nolcha Fox, 

Stephen Kingsnorth, Claire J. Baker,

Shiva Neupane, Katy Brown, 

Caschwa, and Tom Goff

—Public Domain Photos Courtesy

of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

 

 

 

MY VALENTINE
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO

She crossed the concrete fields of the city,
shadows of darkness thickening,
every light dimming in brightness,
and entered the great room of celebration
unsure of what to expect—expecting nothing—
as was I standing near her on the perimeter,
the dance floor full, and then for no reason
we glanced at one another, she took my hand—
what a pleasant surprise!—and we danced
and we danced and we danced
until night filled itself with sunlight,
day blossomed into evergreen and gold.
A year later when she said I do,
that was the day I received my best gift ever
and I'm still the luckiest man alive.

 

 

 

 

 

VALENTINE HAIKU
—Michael H. Brownstein

How to create love—
find the blood-red winter rose
and enter its soul.

* * *

the beauty of life
dances within the joys of love--
may you find its home

 

* * *

When so much is hard
and everything's colored gray,
hug yourself with love.

* * *

How to find true love:
visit Cupid's factory
inside winter's rose

 

 

 

 

 

She paints her face

with cold cream and grief.
She chooses to forget
his deep-freeze feelings,
the icy silence sleeping
in the space between them.
She holds their wedding picture,
holds the pledge of lifetime love,
regardless of the bruises
on her heart.


—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

 

 

 

 

LOVE, REGARDLESS
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

He loved as never loved before,
with dread she might be lured away
but prayed that she would not fall prey.
He bought her rings, ear, nose and throat,
the latter, necklace chain too bold,
of fool’s gold, index, finger told.
Upbraiding her for braided hair,
two plaits dropped clear, noose hanging loose.

His few possessions guarded safe—
lock up your daughters and your wife—
the combination, secret space.
He carved her, nobbled, knuckled wood,
like broom she cobbled, married, jumped,
a lover’s knot that tied her close;
so close, escape through others’ wiles
could not be scene, envisaged, dreamed.

He’d send her packing, for her clothes,
this baggage lugged off in a huff,
the luggage bagged up for her off,
a case, he argued, pound of flesh,
stuffed well beyond allowance weight,
for her own waiting, flight to hell.
He loved as never loved before,
but quite regardless, her response. 

 

 

 

 

 

AFTER BOY AND LAMB
    ASLEEP AS ONE
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA

Togetherness                rainbows
our own                       vivid vow
now that                      we’ve ceased
weighing                      the if
and                              the how. 

 

 

 

 

  

FLOWER
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne, Australia

I looked upon a flower in the high altitude,
adorning the serpentine mountains.
It's awe-inspiring to be captivated by its aura,
when the sunlight showers upon it.
 
The wind blows its petals and peduncles
but it doesn’t stop spreading the fragrance.
I am inspired by its dharma,
I would like to be a flower to be resilient. 

 

 

 

 

 

NAMING THE TUMOR
—Katy Brown (Roe Brown), Davis, CA
 
Before my friend lost her battle with
kidney cancer years ago,
and had both of them removed,
she named her kidneys.  I can’t remember
what she called them.  She named them
friendly names and it helped her say goodbye.
 
Hiding way up in the darkest recess
of an organ I don’t use anymore, I’ve
been diagnosed with my own cancer.
I’ve named mine Zod.  He was from
the planet Krypton and came to Earth
to kill the most powerful heroes:
the house of El—Superman and his clan.
 
Until now, I’ve referred to the mass
as “that sneaky little bastard” or
“the carcinoma.”  Those names did not
capture my growing dread. I’ve had trouble
getting my mind around
the multiplying menace hidden from sight.
I’m a week away from coming in after it. 
 
My surgeon will be taking out Zod,
his entire lair and his escape routes. She’ll
check the lymph nodes to see if Zod
has tried to seed the superhighway
of my immune system—and she’ll
take those nodes, too.
 
Zod doesn’t stand a chance.
It makes me feel more confident
to know my surgeon is the best.
I’m sending my own superhero
to deal with this sneaky villain.
Your days are numbered, Zod!

 

 

 

 

 

THEY ARE COMING
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

gods of iron, calliopes, coffeepots
shaking the very earth we stand on
modifying the air we breathe
as the ashcat works the bowling alley
and bats the stack off her

the Pocatello yardmaster blows smoke
about grabbing the Johnson bar to make
her chew cinders before big-holing her
to avert a cornfield meet

 

 

 

 

 

TO PROTECT AND SERVE
—Cashwa

partly true, partly false
on first encounter,
their sole function
is to dominate you
using great force
or threat of force
until you are
submissive,
compliant,
or dead,
by and
by
they
might
work in
some of
that protect
and serve stuff;
statistics will show
that people of color
are subject to far more
intense and frequent displays
of examination, scrutiny, and
likelihood to be killed, but
whatever your skin color,
parents need to have
that talk with their
young drivers
ahead of the
awful scene
where the
child is
offed
Code
4 

 

 

 

 

THEME AND TWO VARIATIONS: ON
A SHAKESPEARE SONNET
—Tom Goff, Carmichael, CA

(while reading Oxfordian Gerald Rendall’s
Shakespeare Sonnets And Edward de Vere)
 
IF music and sweet poetry agree,*
As they must needs, the sister and the brother,         
Then must the love be great ’twixt thee and me,       
Because thou lov’st the one, and I the other. 
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch                 
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;       
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such    
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.      
Thou lov’st to hear the sweet melodious sound         
That Phoebus’ lute, the queen of music, makes;          
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown’d     
Whenas himself to singing he betakes.           
   One god is god of both, as poets feign;          
   One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.        
 
The sheer obtuseness of some Shakespeare gurus!
Not so with scholar of classics Gerald Rendall.
Some who’ve not bothered to more closely peruse
The sonnet literature, their be-all, end-all
Is find a way to disinherit Shakespeare
Of verses they ascribe to Barnfield, we’ll say.
Church canon and headmaster Rendall makes clear
A “Barnfield” sonnet’s really a display
Of purest Shakespeare. Rendall’s proof hits here:
Southampton is the Fair Youth, all agree;
Loves acting, poetry, but music, no.
Our sonneteer thinks most melodiously,
Admires John Dowland, lutenist, although
Both are devotees of Spenser, and show it;
But Rendall’s De Vere’s our hidden musician-poet. 
 
But wait! I’ve read it backwards—Shakespeare? Rendall?
It’s “Will” who emphasizes poet Spenser,
The Youth who seems most keen that we suspend all
Discussion of Great Literature’s commencer,
Shut up and listen to the famed John Dowland;
John Dowland—good—but Youth likes how he plucks
The lute, not quite so much the staff’s note-plowland
For cultivating those dreadful vocal clucks.
If what we learn from Rendall is that Song
Is not the strong suit of the Noble Boy,
Could this be the choice instant, that one prong
The Teachable Moment Mentors take great joy
In wielding? Build on the moment, make it stick
—If Earworms don’t lodge deep and make Boys sick.  
 
*Poem 8 in The Passionate Pilgrim, usually—erroneously—ascribed to Richard Barnfield. The lines “[W]hose deep conceit is such / As, passing all conceit, needs no defense” connect that poem with another poem by Oxford (writing anonymously) that praises Spenser’s The Fairie Queene.

 

 

 

 

 

SPACEWALK
—Tom Goff
 
           For Nora
 
Frustrated by the Deep Space emptiness
Of campus, and the hours away from you,
I wonder, will my anxiety blossom less,
And only hope your whereabouts imbue
You with renewal of full reassurance
The late-day darks imply a mere motion sensor,
Which, saving energy and high expense,
Needs only your wave of arms and, Light Dispenser,
You’re back. I think of our distance as a spacewalk,
The Sixties Ed White walk for Gemini,
Unprecedented feat of float, no balk.
No distance-closing between us I won’t try,
This drift short-term, us tethered, the black sky cold,
The “umbilical” oxygen cord, reflective gold…

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

last flower of fall—
red lipsticked
colors the landscape

first flower of spring—
red lipsticked
colors the landscape


—Michael H. Brownstein

___________________

Good morning on this Valentine’s Day-minus-one! Our contributors have tackled the tough subject of Love, Regardless (our Seed of the Week) as well as other subjects. Roe Brown has revealed herself to be Katy Brown, who took on another persona in order to deal with a hard subject, her upcoming surgery, which will happen on Wednesday of this week. Katy has been a contributor to Medusa’s Kitchen for a very long time, and her poetry and photographs were published by Rattlesnake Press even before that. We’ll be thinking about you on Wednesday, Katy!

Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.

Poetry begins very early today in Placerville, with Poetic License at the Sr. Center at 10:30am. Then, tonight, Sac. Poetry Center presents The Brickhouse Poets: Anna Marie and Poetry Butterfly plus open mic, 7:30pm. Tomorrow, Second Tuesday Poetry online in Modesto presents Tamer Mostafa and Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas plus open mic, 7pm.

Next Thursday will be another one of those action-packed days: Third Thursdays at the Library’s read-around on Zoom takes place at noon (for info, write to Amanda Jacobs at amanda.b.jacobs@gmail.com/). Also on Thursday, the first session of the new writing workshop in Cameron Park, Writing Our Words, will be facilitated by El Dorado County Poet Laureate Lara Gularte, 5:30pm. PLUS—the new reading series at The Classy Hippie Tea Co. in Sacramento will feature the Straight Out Scribes, 7pm! And, as always, Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento starts at 8pm. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about all these as well as other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.

This is a time for young people to be involved in poetry, with Poetry Out Loud contests springing up in various counties to prepare for the National event. And now Stanislaus County has begun the process of choosing its first Youth Poet Laureate! Look for the details while you’re on Medusa’s UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS page.

And a note that Issue 29 of Ginosko Literary Journal is now online at GinoskoLiteraryJournal.com/, and is accepting submissions for Issue 30 at https://ginosko.submittable.com/submit. Check it out!

_______________________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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