WINE DANCE
—Pearl Stein Selinsky, Sacramento
A day without wine
is a thirst-hole
in the calendar...
So bring the cup,
sweet Ganymede
who serves the gods...
Let us sip the nectar-
spell
tripping on the tongue
traveling down
through lightened breast,
pathed
through carefree limbs
to dance
the dark of night
to dazzle-day.
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Thanks, Pearl! Today we celebrate local poets, as the last of the submissions roll in for Snake 8. Here's one from Song Kowbell:
HE WANTED TO
—Song Kowbell, Penn Valley
He said he
wanted to…
as if
I didn’t know…
As if I couldn’t see
the addition to
his already tight Levis.
Reaching his hand
across the great distance
between wanting
and getting
I felt him,
watched him smirk.
Then slowly,
casually he sez…
uummmmm
I thought so…
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Thanks, Song! Come hear her read Thursday night at Luna's, 1414 16th St., Sac, 8-ish, along with Bill Gainer and Todd Cirillo, and pick up all three of their littlesnake broadsides that night, too.
One of Ted Kooser's Poet Laureate projects is his on-line American Life in Poetry, which provides newspapers and online publications with a free weekly column featuring contemporary American poems from people across the country. The sole mission of this project is to promote poetry; publications that register can reprint these columns at no charge. The columns are also available to all of us: just type in "americanlifeinpoetry.org".
MANY SHADES
—Steve Williams, Portland, OR
They prattle behind my back
fence. The raven is my sun-shadow, I dangle
from its open beak—tinfoil lace for its hoard.
Under fowl feet, candle-shadow lies
with my moon-shadow. They copulate
in rhythm with witching flame.
From creosote poles, streetlight-shadows coil
around my feet as petals. Some short
and black, others stretched and gray
as if obscurity is allotted and finite.
They all talk at once and shiver.
I can’t understand any of them.
Telephone-shadow argues with my storm,
Sunset is purple, my sunrise and drizzle
are failures I’ve never seen.
Gossip tones emote from a collection of holes,
I walk guitar wires—eyes in the acoustic cave,
feet on prison bars that own no shadow,
find comfort among the silhouettes.
When she bends over me, I hold the kiss long
enough for each to have their turn.
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Thanks, Steve! Well, okay, Portland isn't exactly local, but Steve is an ex-Sacramentan who still manages to feed the Snake every issue, bless his heart. Check out his lively poetry website: wildpoetryforum.com or send for his littlesnake broadside (free with SASE), which was the very first one in the series.
One more local poet: something silly from Kathy Kieth:
RECENT ELECTIONS: WHEN DOGS DRESS UP
we tend to blame them: make fun of
their fashion choices: ridicule
their hairy legs, their mustaches: point
and laugh and turn our heads away in
embarrassment for them and their
feeble attempts to make us happy… Still,
we are the ones who are at fault, for
demanding such nonsense. How can we not
take some of the blame for such perverse
proclivities? How can we not look inside
and hang our own heads—cluck in dismay
at what we require from our all-too-eager
fellow passengers on this misguided, ill-
navigated, lost and very unhappy ark?…
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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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)