WILLOW POEM
—William Carlos Williams
It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen not
bitten by the sun
turned orange or crimson.
The leaves cling and grow paler,
swing and grow paler
over the swirling waters of the river
as if loath to let go,
they are so cool, so drunk with
the swirl of the wind and of the river—
oblivious to winter,
the last to let go and fall
into the water and on the ground.
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Poems by locals Ann Privateer and Jane Blue appear on the new online journal, Mamazine ("Where Mamas can get real and get happy!"), edited by Sacramentans Amy Anderson and Sheri Reed. It looks great!—check it out at mamazine.com.
Keep digging those teenagers out of the woodwork; the deadline for VYPER is coming up. Send 3-5 poems from poets 13-19, names on every page, to kathykieth@hotmail.com by NOVEMBER 1.
THE LONELY STREET
—William Carlos Williams
School is over. It is too hot
to walk at ease. At ease
in light frocks they walk the streets
to while the time away.
They have grown tall. They hold
pink flames in their right hands.
In white from head to foot,
with sidelong, idle look—
in yellow, floating stuff,
black sash and stockings—
touching their avid mouths
with pink sugar on a stick—
like a carnation each holds in her hand—
they mount the lonely street.
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TO WAKEN AN OLD LADY
—William Carlos Williams
Old age is
a flight of small
cheeping birds
skimming
bare trees
above a snow glaze.
Gaining and failing
they are buffetted
by a dark wind—
But what?
On harsh weedstalks
the flock has rested,
the snow
is covered with broken
seedhusks
and the wind tempered
by a shrill
piping of plenty.
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—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.