Vertical Tahoe Rocks
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
___________________Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
CAREER CHANGE
—Steve Williams, Portland
I climbed the Idaho creek, prospected for arrowheads,
baited the hook with trout eyes, eased past the pronghorn
who dipped their noses into the eddy. Up the mountain
is Sturgill lookout. Soon, Momma will be frying the fish,
the kids will ramble down the bucket spring trail.
I’ll take my turn on the binoculars,
vigilant for the curl of smoke in distant forests.
Then Doc Piper cut out my cancerous lung and I lost
oxygen, altitude and the Forest Service. So I drive the Scout
on the ranch roads, cast for bass in the cow ponds,
slow for the mule deer in beds of alfalfa, chewing their cuds.
The phone lines can wait.
The noise only kicks up in the rain,
when the buckshot stuck in the C-wire sizzles.
Momma thinks I’m working, chasing down the complaints
from the ringing phone. But, the phone lines can wait.
I know a good spot for arrowheads above Crane Crick.
I can take till supper to drive down thirty miles of crooked wire.
Momma cans the beets and green beans from her garden;
sucks out the air from each jar, lines them up on dim pantry shelves.
I spend the blizzard days chipping obsidian,
inhabit the stone flakes and spear points.
We go on vacation, fill a rental trailer full of antiques,
bring home a dim past we do not own.
We do not speak of Arkansas, or ancestors.
Air will not fill those words.
Our grandchildren remain
unaware of too much Cherokee in their veins.
__________________
Thanks, Steve and Katy! Hear more from both of these snake-pals and rattlechappers in Rattlesnake Review #17, due out in mid-March.
Headed to Livermore?
The poetry of Livermore Poet Laureate Connie Post is now featured on a plaque at the Livermore Valley Park Plaza and Amphitheater; her poem was written to commemorate the dedication of that new structure in Livermore. There will soon be an official ceremony to celebrate the plaque and poem. Poetry in public!
Third Annual Flash Prose Contest Sponsored by Writer Advice
B. Lynn Goodwin writes: Although I know you are poets, I am sure some of you write fiction or know people who write fiction. Can you share this information with your writing partners and friends? WriterAdvice (www.writeradvice.com), is searching for flash fiction, memoir, and creative non-fiction that grabs, surprises, and mesmerizes readers in fewer than 750 words. If you have a complete story or memoir with a strong theme, sharp images, a solid structure, and an unexpected discovery, please submit it to the WriterAdvice Flash Prose Contest. Visit the website, www.writeradvice.com, for details about offering your pieces. Questions? Write to Lgood67334@comcast.net. DEADLINE: April 10, 2008. Last year’s prizewinners, Daniel F. Rousseau, WC Vasquez, Kay Jordan, and Suzanne LaFetra are this year’s judges. First Place $75, Second $50, Third $35, Fourth $20. Honorable Mentions will also be published. A list of all winners will be posted in the summer issue of WriterAdvice. SPECIAL PERK: All entries accompanied by an SASE will be returned with brief comments.
___________________
THE SOUND OF STAR TREK MEETS A HOOKER
—Steve Williams
If a white rose could samba
and lips were made without keys,
then I could fall into lock-step
with my symbols sans anxiety.
If Mona could climb every mountain
and Leonard didn’t have those ears,
then I could eat with dancing teeth
but my symbols don’t know what to wear.
If pink means Barbie will swallow
any story in a see-through box,
then I can free associate my way
between my symbols and their cocks.
__________________
RAGGEDY
—Steve Williams
For awhile, I was in the window light
perched on a pine shelf. At night, Andy
and I danced with the deer mice, crept through
happy toads and paper dragons on the lookout
for lucky pennies or a scuttling roach.
Now in the locked down dark,
I think Andy is gone but can’t be sure.
My head is wedged upside down between the shelf
and the plastered wall, my painted eyes pressed
into a board-game adventure of chalk and grit.
Once someone grabbed my foot and pulled
until the cloth under my chin ripped, the cotton
bursting out as the hand let go then stuffed my feet
behind the board next to my ear. For awhile,
they stacked cans of Play-Doh in front of me,
then Barbie, Monopoly and Life. The mice made
a nest in my throat, suckled their babies,
kept my headache warm.
In my dress, I have dust mites, fairy skeletons
left by roaches, to keep me company. My bald head
comes alive each night but remains a prisoner
of pine and the age of wrinkled rips and wounds.
I imagine laughing with all of the children
I never wanted.
—Steve Williams, Portland
I climbed the Idaho creek, prospected for arrowheads,
baited the hook with trout eyes, eased past the pronghorn
who dipped their noses into the eddy. Up the mountain
is Sturgill lookout. Soon, Momma will be frying the fish,
the kids will ramble down the bucket spring trail.
I’ll take my turn on the binoculars,
vigilant for the curl of smoke in distant forests.
Then Doc Piper cut out my cancerous lung and I lost
oxygen, altitude and the Forest Service. So I drive the Scout
on the ranch roads, cast for bass in the cow ponds,
slow for the mule deer in beds of alfalfa, chewing their cuds.
The phone lines can wait.
The noise only kicks up in the rain,
when the buckshot stuck in the C-wire sizzles.
Momma thinks I’m working, chasing down the complaints
from the ringing phone. But, the phone lines can wait.
I know a good spot for arrowheads above Crane Crick.
I can take till supper to drive down thirty miles of crooked wire.
Momma cans the beets and green beans from her garden;
sucks out the air from each jar, lines them up on dim pantry shelves.
I spend the blizzard days chipping obsidian,
inhabit the stone flakes and spear points.
We go on vacation, fill a rental trailer full of antiques,
bring home a dim past we do not own.
We do not speak of Arkansas, or ancestors.
Air will not fill those words.
Our grandchildren remain
unaware of too much Cherokee in their veins.
__________________
Thanks, Steve and Katy! Hear more from both of these snake-pals and rattlechappers in Rattlesnake Review #17, due out in mid-March.
Headed to Livermore?
The poetry of Livermore Poet Laureate Connie Post is now featured on a plaque at the Livermore Valley Park Plaza and Amphitheater; her poem was written to commemorate the dedication of that new structure in Livermore. There will soon be an official ceremony to celebrate the plaque and poem. Poetry in public!
Third Annual Flash Prose Contest Sponsored by Writer Advice
B. Lynn Goodwin writes: Although I know you are poets, I am sure some of you write fiction or know people who write fiction. Can you share this information with your writing partners and friends? WriterAdvice (www.writeradvice.com), is searching for flash fiction, memoir, and creative non-fiction that grabs, surprises, and mesmerizes readers in fewer than 750 words. If you have a complete story or memoir with a strong theme, sharp images, a solid structure, and an unexpected discovery, please submit it to the WriterAdvice Flash Prose Contest. Visit the website, www.writeradvice.com, for details about offering your pieces. Questions? Write to Lgood67334@comcast.net. DEADLINE: April 10, 2008. Last year’s prizewinners, Daniel F. Rousseau, WC Vasquez, Kay Jordan, and Suzanne LaFetra are this year’s judges. First Place $75, Second $50, Third $35, Fourth $20. Honorable Mentions will also be published. A list of all winners will be posted in the summer issue of WriterAdvice. SPECIAL PERK: All entries accompanied by an SASE will be returned with brief comments.
___________________
THE SOUND OF STAR TREK MEETS A HOOKER
—Steve Williams
If a white rose could samba
and lips were made without keys,
then I could fall into lock-step
with my symbols sans anxiety.
If Mona could climb every mountain
and Leonard didn’t have those ears,
then I could eat with dancing teeth
but my symbols don’t know what to wear.
If pink means Barbie will swallow
any story in a see-through box,
then I can free associate my way
between my symbols and their cocks.
__________________
RAGGEDY
—Steve Williams
For awhile, I was in the window light
perched on a pine shelf. At night, Andy
and I danced with the deer mice, crept through
happy toads and paper dragons on the lookout
for lucky pennies or a scuttling roach.
Now in the locked down dark,
I think Andy is gone but can’t be sure.
My head is wedged upside down between the shelf
and the plastered wall, my painted eyes pressed
into a board-game adventure of chalk and grit.
Once someone grabbed my foot and pulled
until the cloth under my chin ripped, the cotton
bursting out as the hand let go then stuffed my feet
behind the board next to my ear. For awhile,
they stacked cans of Play-Doh in front of me,
then Barbie, Monopoly and Life. The mice made
a nest in my throat, suckled their babies,
kept my headache warm.
In my dress, I have dust mites, fairy skeletons
left by roaches, to keep me company. My bald head
comes alive each night but remains a prisoner
of pine and the age of wrinkled rips and wounds.
I imagine laughing with all of the children
I never wanted.
—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.) Medusa cannot vouch for the moral fiber of other publications, contests, etc. that she lists, however, so submit to them at your own risk. For more info about the Snake Empire, including guidelines for submitting to or obtaining our publications, click on the link to the right of this column: Rattlesnake Press (rattlesnakepress.com).
SnakeWatch: News from Rattlesnake Press
New in February: The Snake had a massive celebration on February 13 with the release of To Berlin With Love from Elsie Whitlow Feliz and Don Feliz, a new broadside from Carlena Wike (Going The Distance), and a new SnakeRings SpiralChap from Sam and Kathy Kieth (Sex—For Animals...). All of these publications are now at The Book Collector and will soon be available on the rattlesnakepress.com website, as well.
Coming in March: Rattlesnake Press will be releasing a chapbook from Ann Privateer (Attracted to Light), a littlesnake broadside from Jeanine Stevens (Eclipse), and a brand-new issue of Rattlesnake Review (#17). Join us to celebrate all of this at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, on March 12 at 7:30 PM.