The Vitality of Imagination

Armstrong Woods

—Photo by Cynthia Linville, Sacramento

PRIMITIVE ENTOMOLOGY

—Taylor Graham, Placerville

A hollow stump—I look closer.

Not hollow, but

honeycombed to its ancient

woodgrain. Gray. No,

silver with sound. Not humming,

infinitesimal vibration

of wings. Thousands. Silver

spurting from the stump, a swelling

chorus without words,

insect rapture rising from a ruined

choir, the stump-core.

Termites erupting too fast too many

to count. Seeking what?

Life. Famished to eat the world.

Renewal. From dead

wood, a silver jet of Spring,

that crazy dance we all

must join in.

___________________

PATIENCE
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento

black sky, hazy, cool, swaddles stars

leaves shimmer jade, cerulean

breathe pale against the night

new leaves on an old tree

canopy still broad green in summer

tonight, new leaves

buds a week ago

open like folded paper

notes passed in class

origami birds

two years ago

our love was new, rhapsody

I wrote my love to you

under this tree

tonight, I watch the leaves

my love coiled, longing, hoping

day after day, we’re apart

____________________

FRUSTRATION
—Ann Wehrman

the position was not offered

“They didn’t think you could do the job”

I underplayed my successes, and worse,

confided that it’d been a difficult decade

navigating secondary education credentialing,

a Masters program and an internship in community college

I left out many details of the difficulty

though they would have made a good story—

regardless, the committee decided against me

the irony is that for sixteen weeks preceding

I did do it, at their school; I did teach

called in at the last minute, temporary assignment,

could I take it?  Yes, oh yes!
start the next day, no materials written, text unread

I plunged in anyway,

forced myself awake at 4:30 a.m.

no coffee, hoping my aging bladder would make it

through the ninety-minute commute on public transit

cold, some days raining

one day, rain and wind so strong that power failed

yet I showered in the dark

flagged down the first bus in that storm

umbrella flapping inside out, cold and wet

I caught that 5:30 bus, then the 6:20 train,

then waited downtown, boarded-up windows

everyone but me smoking, leaving no clean oxygen

don’t look anyone in the eye, hold your own

I waited at the station, then caught the next, 6:50, train

ghost-eyed stragglers propped into corners

tough guys with bikes

kept my eyes open and to myself

gritted my teeth, lifted sixty plus pounds

books and binder in my sopping wet

rolling backpack off the train

walked fast to make it through the doors

down the steep stairs before the train pulled out

rolled steady and fast, kept walking in the cold

finally, the gym; ducked into the women’s bathroom

hot water, a mirror, a clean toilet

found myself in the mirror, rearranged my face

as a teacher, not an urban survivor

smoothed my hair, put away extra scarf and sweater

that no teacher would need

since teachers all have cars

put on lip-gloss, took a deep breath

dragged backpack to the coffeehouse

where my students gathered before 7:30 class

where I lost myself talking with them,

warmed up with hot coffee

then we walked to the nearby classroom

others filed in, each with a story—

sixty-year-old who took his chemo treatments

mornings before class

ex-Army man whose haunting memoirs earned him A’s

the warm, the pregnant, the scholarly

the rebellious, the funny, the beloved

my students who, in that class, like all classes

made it worth it

 

____________________

sitting by my window

waiting for you

loving you for the life

that flows from your heart

compassion in your voice

eyes that betray your love

I tremble for your kiss

greedy, unable to wait

I envision your lips

touch them softly with mine

—Ann Wehrman

____________________

MEMORIAL

—Caschwa, Sacramento

The beloved deceased had been a multi-tasker

Extraordinaire, leaving the Age of Specialization

Sitting still in a dark corner of history

To properly recognize his accomplishments

A funeral procession was engineered,

Synchronized, calendared, and refined

Nineteen cars, all different makes,

Models, years, classes, colors, engines,

Some metric, some standard

Each racing ahead in the darkness

High beams boldly lighting their separate paths

No tail lights or turn signals to follow

Would they all converge at the cemetery?

Would any be lost or call in late?

A busload of commoners awaited the answer. 

___________________

NAME IT LATER

—Caschwa

(Sometimes we need to gather

More facts, more data

Before giving something a name)

This is the poem I was going to write

After remembering just what is was

I was trying to say, to convey

There is always that piper to pay

But they don’t wear change belts

They confront you with black belts

I challenged my spell check to

Provide me a maitre d’ and it

Gave me Waiter Dee, tee hee

Why does the keyboard have

Two Enters and no Exit?

And Caps Lock is a key.

Personal ad:  Single, double chin,

3-piece suit, 4-wheel drive, off at 5,

Seeks perfect mate

 

____________________

Thanks to today's cooks. You can catch a glimpse of Taylor Graham if you go to Poetry in Motion in Placerville tonight! And Cynthia Linville has a new book of poetry out: The Lost Thing, from Cold River Press. You can purchase it there (www.coldriverpress.org/HTML/lost%20thing.htm) or on Amazon (www.amazon.com/gp/aw/s?i=stripbooks&field-author=Cynthia Linville). Or there will be a book release at Shine (1400 H St., Sac.) on Saturday, May 5, from 2-4pm, and you can get a copy there. 

There are retreats, and there are retreats. May 24-27 is the weekend of Writing Away Retreats in Colorado, which will include manuscript consultations, discussions and ample time to work in an isolated location that includes meals and all the bells and whistles you would expect for such a pricey endeavor. Info: www.writingawayretreats.info 

Closer to home is the Gold Rush Writers Conference May 4-6 at the Leger Hotel in beautiful, quaint Mokelumne Hill, off Hwy 49 just past Jackson.  Monika Rose writes: It's only $175 for the full weekend, including a picnic supper at novelist Antoinette May's home, buffet lunch, a banquet dinner with guest speaker, Mystery novelist Carla Black, and 4 workshops with noted scholars and writers, networking with other writers and editors—plus so much more. If you just want to come for the Poetry Clinic on Publishing and Marketing Poetry on Saturday, and add in the banquet dinner and speaker fees, as well as the open mic time afterwards until wee hours, then that is $55.00. The weekend will start with an open mic at the Mokelumne Hill Library which everyone is invited to attend, whether or not they are going to the retreat. Go to www.goldrushwriters.com and contact Antoinette May to reserve your space.

July 28 is the deadline for the 8th Annual Voices of Lincoln Poetry Contest, presented by Poets Club of Lincoln and sponsored by the Lincoln Library and Friends of the Lincoln Library. All ages, including a "Young Poets" category. Download the rules at www.libraryatlincoln.org (click on "poetry"), or call Alan Lowe at 916-408-1274.

______________________ 

Today's LittleNip: 

TRAVEL GUIDE

—Caschwa

Calico, California

A barren ghost town

Tourist attraction

Prospering from the

Vitality of imagination

Cartagena, Colombia

Another tourist attraction

Where prostitutes shed

Their calico dresses leaving

Nothing to the imagination

______________________

—Medusa

 Salt Point

—Photo by Cynthia Linville