Esparto Snow
—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
—William O'Daly
Fifty miles west the salty sea
lures its children to table.
White clouds tumble in
the blue waves of sky,
swell around the hills
and rise to the ridges.
Raven snags a worm
along the empty bank—
all too soon, life is labor
in delicate muscles of the wing.
_______________________
MONDAY
—William O'Daly
The rising sky
holds the light
of a windblown star.
Time has always
been this way. This blue.
Or this blue?
I spit out the bone—
all that remains
is the sacred.
________________________
No, you're not having déja vu—these two poems were indeed posted yesterday in William O'Daly's feature, but the stanza breaks got lost. *sigh* Medusa's bad. Herewith are the corrected versions; sorry, Bill!—and thanks to today's other contributors. Ya gotta watch me every minute!
Today is the deadline for the ninth issue of WTF—see the b-board at the right for info.
And don't forget to send five lines to Sacramento Poetry Center's The Sacramento Poem project! Deadline has been extended to March 1; see the b-board for details. Don't be put off by the "renga" word; just send 'em five shiny lines about Sacramento for inclusion in what could be the world's longest poem. It'll be fun—you don't want to be left out, and you don't have to live in Sacramento to contribute.
________________________
IN MY DREAM I
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento
you understand me
would never be unfaithful or violent
though your passion burns
in my dream, you want to hear
what happens in my days
what frightened me, or hurt me
and how I soldiered on
you hold me in my dream
sometimes first asking if it’s OK—
and it always is—
cuddle close, share my breath, my warmth,
share yours
in my dream, each time we make love
is unique, and never only physical
in my dream,
we are together night and day
we may journey
far away in mind, yet
stay close by each other
as one
in my dream, mistakes we
made were just wrong turns
on our roads to each other,
long forgiven, though not forgotten
in my dream, we see each other
as fair twenty-one year olds, crowned with fire
in a rain of flowers, standing under a tree
we hold out our arms to each other
in my dream, we can endure
starvation together
we stand unconquerable
by sickness, insanity, even death,
after which, in my dream, we simply
awaken once again, in each other’s arms
you are the man of my dreams
_______________________
IN MY DREAM II
—Ann Wehrman
You were somewhere around me
at my back, smiling,
swirling like clean mountain fog
stars in a fiery swoop
lissome, sinuous
seductively dancing behind me
I caught a glimpse of
your movements—quick,
matching mine, shadowing
I understood
though shy, you love me
________________________
IN MY DREAM III
—Ann Wehrman
a waking dream, it is
things bad and getting worse
it’s winter, so everything aches
bones melting together
some have simply disappeared
now 5’3”, not 5’4”
aging delayed
by genes, exercise, vitamins
finally catching up
white hairs, receding gums
all this is bad,
but worse is living alone
night and day silent, or
talking to oneself,
understanding oneself
comforting oneself, loving oneself
bah, why! is this not, then,
just a bad dream?
_______________________
AFTER A DREAM
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole
When the fog lifts
all the tall trees
with their green feathers
will spread wings
and fill the sky;
a few bushes will
roll along and mingle
on a closer hill where
a single songbird sings.
_______________________
STOREFRONT WINDOW
—Claire J. Baker
She studies her time-lapse face—
crosshatched lines like smudgy lace;
weathered skin now leathered, drawn,
on rugged nights she yawns till dawn.
Once she thrived then, homeless, poured
her dreams down drains. At last adored
over a treat of lemon pie
by One who gazes past the sky,
past stories made stranger by diction
in truthfulness of fiction.
She wonders, window, can this be me
slip-sliding toward eternity?
_______________________
AN ELEGANT GIFT
—Claire J. Baker
Someone gave me
a leather-bound
blank-page book.
So far, all I
insert is blue sky,
blue wind,
white clouds
moving through
the pale pages.
_______________________
Today's LittleNip:
HOW LOVELY WHEN
—Claire J. Baker
How lovely when eyes
develop weaknesses,
quirks in the viewing,
bleeps in depth & focus.
Now instead of one
full moon,
two full moons.
_______________________
—Medusa
Blue Poinsettia
—Photo by Katy Brown