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Saturday, February 17, 2007

Romance, Mate, and Procreate


Owl Patrol
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis



IF THE OWL CALLS AGAIN
—John Haines

at dusk
from the island in the river
and it's not too cold,

I'll wait for the moon
to rise,
then take wing and glide
to meet him.

We will not speak,
but hooded against the frost
soar above
the alder flats, searching
with tawny eyes.

And then we'll sit
in the shadowy spruce and
pick the bones
of careless mice,

while the long moon drifts
toward Asia
and the river mutters
in its icy bed.

And when morning climbs
the limbs
we'll part without a sound

fulfilled, floating
homeward as
the cold world awakens.

_______________________

•••Tonight (2/17), 7-9:30 PM, attend a Black History Month celebration: "The Main Event" features the Black Men Expressing Tour, "Brothas to the Sistas" love poetry reading, poets Ranon Maddox, Ike Torrez, Ashleigh Schweitzer, Frank Withrow and He Spit Fire, plus a dance performance and gospel music with Vadia Hubbard and Yardley Griffin Jr. Guild Theater, 2828 35th St., Sac. $10. 916-455-7638.

•••Also tonight, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series at Underground Books, 2814 35th St., Sac. (35th & Broadway). Hosted by La-Rue, $3, open mic.

•••Monday (2/19), there will be no reading at the Sacramento Poetry Center, due to Presidents' Day.

And I see in The Bee today that Russ Solomon is opening a new record store in the old Tower on Broadway. Land O'Goshen...

_______________________

DANCE
—Beth Green, Sacramento

Come, let us dance
Not a tango or rhumba
but the waltz.
The waltz glided into the world
from Vienna, popular where
Johann Strauss orchestrated the 3/4 time
to closeness of partners sliding
across waxy floors.
Even children dipped, swayed, turned and
twirled in green pastures
or asphalt streets,
wherever there was a void.
Animals and insects waltz close
together—romance, mate, and procreate.
This dance, language of togetherness
offers fun, laughter, and pleasure.

_______________________

INTO THE GLACIER
—John Haines

With the green lamp of the spirit
of sleeping water
taking us by the hand...

Deeper and deeper,
a luminous blackness opening
like the wings of a raven—

as though a heavy wind
were rising through all the houses
we ever lived in—

the cold rushing in,
our blankets flying away
into the darkness,
and we, naked and alone,
awakening forever...

_______________________

Those of us who know frank andrick will be saddened to hear that his mother passed away at home last week. We'll be thinking about you, frank!

—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 (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) 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.)