Wednesday on Planet Earth

Sleeping Olmec Woman

DeYoung Museum, San Francisco

—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

FIRST FLIGHT

—Dewell H. Byrd, Central Point, OR

Dawn scrolls back the night

invites the wee tail of a rainbow…

glory to these old, sleepy eyes.

The stirrings of morning

nudge night’s silence into activity

greeting the casual spring shower.

A squawk somewhere beyond

my window demands attention.

Squawk, squawk, panic.

Crows swagger with authority

on the humming power lines,

challenge a small intruder.

A pin-feathered robin hops about,

calls for its mother, ignores crows

that make false bombing runs.

A feral cat slinks along the gutter,

tail twitching. The three crows

turn on the bigger prey.

Mother robin escorts her baby to flight.

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ON A DISTANT PLANET
—Caschwa, Sacramento

(I just bought a walker.  Added a gun rack.
Now it's Walker Texas Ranger.)


Somewhere distant
on a planet like Earth
women sit by while
it's men who give birth

to great nations
discovery
democracy
nude women on canvas

narrowmindedness
collateral damage
culinary shortcuts
burning the instructions

worst jokes at the worst times
buzz cutting all the pets
shoes with growth hormones
catching fish with hair nets

___________________

IDEAS
—Caschwa

I write down lots of ideas
in the form of poems
some I send in
some of those get published

Others get filed:
Hold Until
Submitted and Waiting
Once I've Been Discovered
Scrap Heap
Not Picked
Maybe Later

Some of my ideas don't get written down:
silent triggers of discontent
verse sung in the shower
epiphanies while dreaming
spontaneous musical creations
outright imitations
personal stuff I don't care to share

And then there are those form letters:
thank you for your submission
one tooth on the gear
has to mesh with other teeth
on other gears
in terms of size, shape, pace, tone
and some other element
we won't tell you
because we don't know
what it is yet.

If a soloist has an agent, is he really a soloist?

__________________

WINNER
—Caschwa

When one plays in Las Vegas
it is not about coming in first
or being the first
it is about beating the odds

When one is making waffles
it is not about what to mix first
or who gets served first
it is about beating the eggs

When one runs a marathon
it is not about being first in the lead
or being chosen to run first
it is about beating the pack

For summertime recreational swimming
it is not about being first in the water
or the first to tag some landmark
it is about beating the heat

But first is sure nice!

 Mayan Dog Jar

DeYoung Museum, SF

—Photo by Michelle Kunert

PEDDLER HILL

—Taylor Graham, Placerville

In the trunk of the car, remnants

of meteor come down to Earth, detritus

of a shooting-star that never meant

to end up on a planet like ours, in a dry

creekbed, then stuck in a trunk

and driven here, Peddler Hill,

where your boots grumble

over decomposed granite, splinters

of wood—cedar, fir?—shining silver

in sun; random debris

of chainsaw and weather,

under equinox and solstice, long

after you've found, or not,

whatever lode you were looking for;

loaded up and driven on.

__________________

JOY RIDE

—Taylor Graham

I'd go with you but it's so long a drive.

I'd go but shade keeps winking under oaks.

The sheep are sleeping and the dog's awake,

the wagon's resting on its rusty spokes,

and honey bees are goldening their hive.

I'd go with you, if just for old-times' sake,

but it's a Wednesday, there's so much to do.

The earth is singing, I forgot the words;

the clouds are passing, and the sky is blue—

its poem calls me for a stanza break.

__________________

CENTERLINING GREEN VALLEY

—Taylor Graham

He guides on lines they painted years ago.

So sure his progress, steady, it will last

through weather, speeders, deer, and traffic flow.

He guides on lines they painted years ago

that make our road fit tight; a chute, a show

of double-yellow rule, future as past.

He guides on lines they painted years ago.

So sure his progress; steady. It will last.

__________________

THREE VIEWS

—Michael Cluff, Corona

On this planet of ours,

Isabel was content to dance

however she wanted to

with only her flowerhorn

and potbelly silver mollie fish

in attendance;

if they could think human-like

they would have appreciated it

without critique.

On this planet of ours,

Sharon wanted equal patience

from a boss

who demanded

no negative words

about himself

but always of others

even including Sharon as well

in it all

and to reserve the worst of the ripostes

for herself alone.

And on this planet of ours,

Horace saw that the ocean

had not risen incrementally

for at least this summer

and that was good enough

for him...

and Sharon...

and even Isabel.

_________________

Thanks to today's poets for fiddling around with various Seeds of the Week and forms. About her poems, Taylor Graham says, I guess these qualify for a planet like ours. And here (I hope) is an Envelope Quintet (along with a Triolet—that centerlining machine this morning just seemed to beg for a Triolet).

In other news, Richard Hansen's surgery was a success! Follow the progress of the intrepid co-owner of The Book Collector (Home of the Snake) by clicking the link on our green board at the right of this (under Poet Nooz). While you're there, check out the other Nooz, including the release of Squaw Valley Review 2010.

_________________

Today's LittleNip:

FROM A SATELLITE’S EYE

—Michael Cluff

On this day on this planet,

thunder is heard by the jittery dog,

a piece of inbetween fruit strikes

some young lover on the head,

and peace amongst colleagues

is tentatively obtained.

 

________________ 

—Medusa

 Ancestor Skull

West Coast, Africa

DeYoung Museum, SF

—Photo by Michelle Kunert