THE MASK THE WEARER OF THE MASK WEARS
—William Bronk
Yes, look at me; I am the mask it wears,
as much am that which is within the mask.
Nothing not mask but that. That every mask.
The mask will fall away and nothing lost.
There is only the mask-wearer, the self-aware,
the only aware, aware of only the self.
Awake, it dreams: is every character;
is always more; is never only that.
It contemplates; tries any mask of shape.
Any is nothing. Any is not what is.
But that it should be. That it should seem to be.
That it be no more than that, and yet should be.
And that it turn to look, look favorably,
look lovingly, look long, on what there is.
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Mardi Gras is coming! Our Seed of the Week is Masks, and we're going to kick off the official opening of Medusa's remodeled Kitchen with a give-away. Send a poem about masks to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726, and I'll send you any rattlechap of your choosing! (Go to the "rattlechaps" page under "Chapbooks and Broadsides" on rattlesnakepress.com for a complete listing.) Give-away SOWs have deadlines; this one is midnight on Sunday, January 31.
Henceforth, the right side of the Kitchen will be known as the bulletin board. You'll notice we've got quite a bit of "stuff" pinned up now, and the items will keep rotating, so don't forget to browse around on that side. Hopefully you'll find some of it useful—lots of "chow for the noodle"; I suspect Calliope will love the attention. My only regret is that, other than in the "Links" section, blogspot won't allow us to click on links on that side and go directly to them. We can do it over here on the left in the cream, but not over there, other than, as I said, in the Links section. On the bulletin board, you have to cut and paste e-addresses the old-fashioned way.
My thanks to today's poets and artists. And a huge thanks to Bob Stanley for his warm tribute to me on his County Lines (sacmetroarts.org/PLcountylines.html)!
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A BLACK CLAY FISH FROM OAXACA
—William Bronk
First, though, look at this mask. It came from the same
city, or near there. Dug from a grave.
The original was gold as this would seem
to be, but isn't. This is silver gilt.
But feel the weight of it and see how rich
the decorations are: the ear plugs,
the nose-pendant, the fringe around the head.
It is a mask of Spring. The heaviness of
the huge, thick-lidded eyes is brought about
by what hangs over them: this represents
a sheet of human skin. The power of the thing
is in that inward smoldering, all overlaid.
Here is the fine fish. Isn't he fat!
Such sleek blackness; and happy, they say, as a trout.
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SHAOLIN MONK
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
Wisdom of short-statured monk
comes in tall measure.
Bald head: a fish bowl
of sayings and prescription.
Golden robe of simple garb—
humble yellow sun.
he fingers them with his thumb.
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Photo by Bob Dreizler—Carol Louise Moon
Mossy edge of turquoise stream,
palm-sized rocks of granite gleam
and shimmer with the water
from a sparkling waterfall.
Corresponding sounds which seem
very far, yet closer still
draw me near. I hear their call.
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THE SUNNY SWING DAY
—Carol Louise Moon
I remember the sunny swing day when I
wore my white sailor blouse and my white
sailor shoes, and I swung so high as the sun
pulled my feet. I went higher and higher 'til
the swing flipped over its bar. I grasped with
white knuckles the rattling chain. When the
swing finally stopped my sailor shoes scuf-
fled the packed dirt of my little backyard as I
ran to the house to declare to my mom, 'We
did it... me and the big white sun!"
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BEOWULF TONIGHT
—Carol Louise Moon
Brave Beowulf is sailing by.
I see him in my mind tonight,
imagination stirred by moon
glow, golden as a golden scene
of ocean waves through porthole seen.
Imagination stirred by moon,
I see him in my mind tonight.
Brave Beowulf is sailing by.
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THERE'S A POND WHERE I HAVE BEEN
—Carol Louise Moon
Beneath light-blue skies
there's a pond where I have been.
There's a fountain there
that billows. Little tree frogs
tiptoe in, then out again.
Gold bugs in sunshine
sparkle as they fly. They shine
a lot like fireflies.
Photo by D.R. Wagner, Elk GroveToday's LittleNip:
We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin.
—Andre Berthiaume
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—Medusa
We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin.
—Andre Berthiaume
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—Medusa