Of Shadows and Shoes

Rose Hips in the Rain
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

I HAVE A DREAM (Martin Luther King, 1963)
—David Humphreys, Stockton

In an ocean of prosperity the black man has often found himself exiled in his own land. Americans listen now, we stand once again on an ever renewing threshold which leads to the palace of justice. I have a dream, that one day all men will be judged solely by the content of their character.

______________________

Thanks, David. David Humphreys has been fiddling around—successfully, as you can see—with the 55-Word Tidbit prose poem form. You'll recall that he won a contest last month that was sponsored by The Stockton Record. He sends us this poem to celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and Black History Month. David will be hosting his monthly reading series at Barnes and Noble at 7 PM in Stockton's Weberstown Mall this Sunday, this time featuring Roger Naylor & Steven Wilson. And thanks to Katy Brown for yet another fine photo, this one to celebrate the Return of the Rain.


Boot camp:

Molly Fisk writes: The February Boot Camp begins in two weeks, Feb. 18 - 23, just in time for you to recover from Valentine's Day's excesses and get back to work! If you haven't heard of Poetry Boot Camp, here's the place to find out more about this six-day, on-line poetry intensive taught by me, Molly Fisk: http://www.poetrybootcamp.com. Not everyone is comfortable blazing through the writing of six new poems in six days, though, so I am also running a parallel (same time, same format) Revision Boot Camp, where you can bring poems you've already written and would like to work on. Drop me a line if you'd like to hear more about this.


Call for manuscripts for: WITNESS

A general issue to be published in the Fall of 2007
Reading January 1 - June 15
Submit to: Witness, International Institute of Modern Letters
University of Nevada, Las Vegas
P.O. Box 455085, Las Vegas, NV, 89154-5085
Information at: www.modernletters.org/programs/witness.html

________________________

night's attraction (a tritina)
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento

there is a divide wide enough for the soul of night,
eminent breath of longing love, notwithstanding the curious
the sky, to realize sun, resists a starry cry.

but to waste their blaze upon a soul-less cry
is a sacrilegious brightening of the black breath of night;
in shadows, dark touch does much to tease the curious.

and blissful surrender to the body of the curious
solely because the soul did cry,
is unwittingly being enslaved to night.

and of the night ~ and the curious ~ starry souls will cry.

_______________________

Thanks, dawn! dawn dibartolo responded to Joyce Odam's description of forms in the last Rattlesnake Review, and her poem is about shadows, too, so a poetry present is headed her way. Send me your poetry about shadows before midnight on Monday, Feb. 13, and I'll send you a surprise poetry present! E-mail to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or snail to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726.

And speaking of Rattlesnake Review, the next deadline is Feb. 15, just ONE WEEK from tomorrow! Get yer mojo on and send 3-5 poems (no bio/cover/prev-pubbed or simul-subbed) to kathykieth@hotmail.com or to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. Send photos and art, too. But do me a favor, please: get all your poems together before you send 'em—I HATE HATE HATE getting them one at a time.

dawn also sent me a poem called "Shoes to Fill"; watch for it in the next Snake. Meanwhile, here's another poem about shoes, this one by Charles Simic:

MY SHOES
—Charles Simic

Shoes, secret face of my inner life:
Two gaping toothless mouths,
Two partly decomposed animal skins
Smelling of mice-nests.

My brother and sister who died at birth
Continuing their existence in you,
Guiding my life
Toward their incomprehensible innocence.

What use are books to me
When in you it is possible to read
The Gospel of my life on earth
And still beyond, of things to come?

I want to proclaim the religion
I have devised for your perfect humility
And the strange church I am building
With you as the altar.

Ascetic and maternal, you endure:
Kin to oxen, to Saints, to condemned men,
With your mute patience, forming
The only true likeness of myself.

_______________________

By the way, I don't know what's the matter with Mozilla, but it didn't post Medusa yesterday. Safari is always quicker—like, instantaneous—but Mozilla is quirkier. My point is, I'm sorry if that's what you're using to access Medusa, and if you couldn't see it yet. (Obviously, if you're reading this, you found us somehow.)

And thanks for all the well-wishing re: my birthday yesterday.

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as 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.)