THE LONG RAIN
—John Haines
Rain falls
in the quiet woods.
Smoke hangs
above the evening fire,
fragrant with pitch.
Alone, deep
in a willow thicket,
the olive thrush
is singing.
__________________
WOLVES
—John Haines
Last night I heard wolves howling,
their voices coming from afar
over the wind-polished ice—so much
brave solitude in that sound.
They are death's snowbound sailors;
they know only a continual
drifting between moonlit islands,
their tongues licking the stars.
But they sing as good seamen should,
and tomorrow the sun will find them,
yawning and blinking
the snow from their eyelashes.
Their voices rang through the frozen
water of my human sleep,
blown by the night wind
with the moon for an icy sail.
__________________
GREEN PIANO
—John Haines
Her hands on the green piano
were sudden and sharp, thin bones
of a bird treading the keys;
and the tune they plucked
came through a throat of wires,
as a wind in bare trees.
She searched that melody harsher
and deeper, hunting downward
among slashes of sunlight,
furrows stricken with shadow,
her fingernails stabbing the earth.
Ponderous and slow, the ivory
and black tongues of an elephant
gave life to a soul of wood.
And the music soared, scale
upon scale, into a dazzling cloud,
a high and furious clapping that broke,
came down as thunder, and stopped
in a waste of echoing rock.
__________________
BECOMING A CROW
—John Haines
The beak will grow
from your mouth and chin,
and your eyes slip away
to the sides of your head;
your fingertips long and feathery,
unable to hold,
your feet naked and grasping.
And all the great words
will stick in your throat,
mere caws and whistles.
You'll be alone in the air,
with the world always
sliding and upside down—
see the continents askew,
all the tilted nations.
And someone standing in a field
below, waving arms of straw:
"Look, look at the crow!"
Black tatters in a world of sticks.
__________________
THE WHALE IN THE BLUE WASHING MACHINE
—John Haines
There are depths in a household
where a whale can live...
His warm bulk swims from room
to room, floating by on the stairway,
searching the drafts, the cold
currents that lap at the sills.
He comes to the surface hungry,
sniffs at the table,
and sinks, his wake rocking the chairs.
His pulsebeat sounds at night
when the washer spins, and the dryer
clanks on stray buttons...
Alone in the kitchen darkness,
looking through steamy windows
at the streets draining away in fog;
watching and listening,
for the wail of an unchained buoy,
the steep fall of his wave.
___________________
—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 on rattlesnakepress.com.
Coming in March: Rattlesnake Press will be releasing a chapbook from Ann Privateer (Attracted to Light), a littlesnake broadside from Jeanine Stevens (Eclipse), Conversations Vol. 2 of B.L. Kennedy's Rattlesnake Interview Series, 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.