Invisibling?

Sunset on a Hot, Steamy Day

—Photo by Taylor Graham

THIS JUST IN…

in the midst
of summer’s blistering heat
births, people dying
left and right,

the news

Obama halts deportations,
a flesh-eating bug
eats a woman,
and there’s a Tiger
in the U.S. Open.

the world’s going broke,
down the toilet
terrorists, child molesters,
death and politics

who the hell
is who?

movie stars
worshipped, lusted after
in youth
frighteningly old now,
or dead

Gene Bloom, great local poet,
died the same day
as guitar legend Doc Watson,
good company

my sister’s biopsy
came back benign
i stopped
holding my breath

heat
pushes a hundred today
steam
rising from the pavement

—Charles Mariano, Sacramento

_______________________

BY THE WATER
—Kim Clyde, Sacramento

Watching

From the windows

Of this misshapen cocoon

This

Faceted cube

Sitting high upon

Spindly iron legs

In the treetops

By the water

Dazzled by the reflections

Coursing by

Imagining my self

A leaf

On this morning river

Making my way

To the distant shore.

_______________________

WATER NYMPH

—Kim Clyde
 

Keeping pace

With the frog prince

Doing laps in the pool

His body

Leathery and bronze

Lithe.

His stroke easy

Unstudied

Long and strong

For all his

Diminutive

Size

I'm certain

He can out pace me

No matter how much

Stronger my kick

From the edge.

It is not in my genes

To be so beautiful.

 

_______________________

MORE ABOUT FROGS

—Kim Clyde
 

Nighttime chirruping

Frogs

Sing for

Each glistening

Star

Wheeling in

Heaven.

______________________

EVENSONG
—Kim Clyde

Moonlight on water

Like torchlight

On soldiers shields

Marching

Relentlessly onward.

_______________________

 

IN FEW WORDS

—Taylor Graham, Placerville

My father was a study

in silence. In sepia: a young man

harnessing horse to buggy,

guiding a newborn to first breath;

old man turning kitchen parings

into a desert backyard lush

with avocados, lemons, his sly smile.

He opened up worlds by walking

strides longer than his legs.

Silence was his best

friend, it kept his secrets.

_______________________ 

FAIRY STUFF

—Taylor Graham

Sneak away

and plant a garden along the stream—

Indian paintbrush, columbine, edged with rocks

that glitter hieroglyphs in water. Learn

to read them all, language that's so close to

Fairy, indecipherable to humans;

invention of magic, of imagination; each

syllable spawned from zero, owned by

no one. Streamlet stories of mountain alder, owl

pellets—while, back at camp, they're

banging on the dinner gong. You're only hungry

for this language: Fairy, flowing water.

Swallow it word by word until

it glows from you inside. You're lightening,

invisibling, with wings.

Your garden till summer passes

into spring.

_______________________

I'M MAKING SHRINES AGAIN—

gathering seeds and bells
and shiny things—
pine resin and myrrh oil—
feathers and bits of broken robin eggs.

Shrines for spirits—
for attracting desires—
creating small spaces to express
devotion—  to project hope—
to summon something larger. . . .

No need to build a pyramid
or reach into forever.
For me, small wooden boxes
become monuments,
balance satisfaction with desire.

—Katy Brown, Davis

_______________________

WE HAVEN'T SPOKEN OF SERPENTS LATELY—

forked tongues, quick as lightning;
smooth sulfur underbellies;
black stare— obsidian intense.

Mostly, they’re not interested in you and me.
None of the local ones are hunting the cat;
and aside from the odd urban rattler,

they are harmless— locally.
I mention them because I saw a dead snake
beside the road on the way home last night.

All grace and a million years of stealth—
a flattened twist beside the lane.
I wondered who would swerve out of traffic

to run over a snake.
The spot was far from urban development
and not near a bike path.

My headlights tunneled through the dark
and I kept thinking about the snake: helpless
against a car and the killer behind the wheel.

I wonder at a wider intolerance
barreling over any foreign thing,
no matter how far removed.

I think it is time to talk about serpents
and apples again; and the sound
of a stone axe smashing a brother’s skull.

 

—Katy Brown

______________________

Today's LittleNip(s):

WHOOPS!

—Kim Clyde
 

Floating in the pool

The bird lands on my belly

I am an island

MORNING COFFEE MUSIC

—Kim Clyde

The water is lead

Like my eyes in the morning

Untold depths in each. 

_____________________

—Medusa

—Photo by Taylor Graham