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Friday, August 10, 2012

Hard to Swallow?

Photo by Katy Brown, Davis



COLD IN KILBURN
—Patricia Hickerson, Davis

and where were you?
off at a London racetrack
throwing our cash at losers

it was cold up in that dark room
on Kilburn Road
away from light and life
rented cheaply to tourists
by indifferent hosts

what was I doing there anyway
when I could have been dancing my heart out
at Roseland
or listening to geniuses on 52nd St.
colleagues of Dizzy and Miles
with bigger and louder horns than yours
cuddled closely in hot New York clubs?

but no, here I was
a storm coming, lightning streaked the window
waiting for you in the dark and cold
wondering at my choice       

_________________

DICKENS IN DEVON
—Patricia Hickerson

take a cold cramped Devon house
where you’ve never been before
across the road
from a time-blackened 9th century church
read a book, Dickens last
The Mystery of Edwin Drood
lie in bed as dark day nudges night
turn on a dim light
for better reading this unfinished novel
Dickens died at his London desk
while writing it
no wonder since it contains:
an opium den
murder
a black scarf seen only once
(was this to be the murder weapon?)
a crypt
a broken engagement
a scary guy named Jasper

huddle in bed
read as long as you can
till midnight, maybe
go to sleep finally
for the worst nightmare of your life 

________________

WHAT WE USED TO DO IN TUSCANY
—Patricia Hickerson

on a sunny afternoon
we dragged the kitchen table
from the old stone farmhouse
set it under a tree
loaded it with food and drink
grappa, Hemingway’s favorite cheap brandy
(the dregs of a grape press)
because Tim thought he would be another Hemingway
or at least a Bukowski
there were bottles of Gallo Nero, Campari
untidy chunk of pecorino
marzolino di chianti, caciotta
mozzarella di buffalo on tomato slices
big ugly loaves of bread from a farmer’s oven
we read each other’s works
ate and drank all afternoon
sat there till twilight
when the first fireflies began to flicker
pulled up lemon grass weeds at our doorstep for tea
our supper was prosciutto shavings
wrapped around cantaloupe
that’s what we used to do
Tim and I



—Photo by Katy Brown




AIR PASSAGES
—Michael Cluff, Corona

La Golondrinas
regulate arrivals
and departures
much better
than the FAA
could ever even
dream about.

Instinct always trumps
innovations and clocks
marvel at such aerial timings
in Coloma, Clovis, Cleveland,
Catalina
and Capistrano.

_________________

AT THE MISSION BETWEEN 8:10 AND 3:30
ON MOST UNIMPORTANT DAYS
—Michael Cluff

Jo Laura
waits slowly
for swallows
to come in
and demolish
the fly colonies
next to the hollyhocks
and chokecherries
but this year's
tidal shifts
have kept them
adrift and off-kilter.

The clean-up crew
of wings and hollow bones
glide over
a honeysuckle bush
and sycamores set
near the caves
where nights
are darker
and pests aplenty
even San Juan
can't coax
them to roost
in such familiar
coastal places
many miles to the west
a ways.

Jo Laura
reveries in how
her sketches
are not Audubon
enough for local brochures
but holds the pencil
perpendicular to the beach
abiding now
for any flock
to cross
her paralyzed
line of sight.

________________

AT THE END OF THE NINTH HOUR
OF SOME PARTICULAR DAYS
—Michael Cluff, Corona

After nearly fifteen years
Fate has not released
its tight palsied fit
on my throat—
assigned the care
of an uncaring
yet needy
but unapologetic
succubus
set of co-relatives
restricted
to self.

Thank you
is not part
of any section
of their vocabularies
and I am tired
of never hearing
it said to me
at all.

______________________ 

HARD TO SWALLOW
—Caschwa, Sacramento

She was perched on a
Gargantuan gargoyle
Partaking through
Geriatric goggles

The perfect landing of
La Golondrina
Clutching the purloined
Golden Ganesh

Point of Order! piped
The guardian of giggles
Perhaps we've been fooled
By a glorified goose

___________________

Thanks to today's gourmands for our fresh fare, including Carl Schwartz and Michael Cluff for the golondrinas (our Seed of the Week), Pat Hickerson for a little taste of across the sea, Katy Brown for some well-needed flowers, and Michelle Kunert for her winsome LittleNip. Michelle has sent us some photos from the Shine reading last Weds., which have gone into a new photo album on Medusa's Facebook page. Check it out!

Trina Drotar writes: there are still openings in the Surprise Valley Writers Conference. If you've never attended, it's really amazing. 8 students per workshop, field trips, chances to study with amazing poets and writers, and this year there's a translation workshop. Cedarville is just the most beautiful and peaceful place! That’s Sept. 13-16: Surprise Valley Writers' Conference in Cedarville, Modoc County. Poetry, translation, fiction, non-fiction with Primus St. John, William O'Daly, Willis Barnstone, Kirby Wilkins, Ray A. March. Info: www.modocforum.org/writers_conf.html

___________________

Today's LittleNip:

    I had a dream of this little train just like those at a children's amusement park
    I rode it on its tracks around a bend I couldn't see
    And then on the other side of it was a cemetery filled with tombstones
    I thought, how remincient of the tricks played on me...
   
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

______________

—Medusa



 Michelle Kunert reads at the
Poetry With Legs open mic on Weds., Aug. 8.
—Photo by Bill Gainer
Check out her album on Medusa's Facebook page!