Jellyfish Clouds
—Photo by Katy Brown
SKYFISH CLOUDS
—Katy Brown, Davis
Tendrils of virga trail from jellyfish clouds
in the sky above the Yolo bypass.
A cirrus sailfish, bright against the horizon,
plunges over the Vaca Hills
toward the distant Pacific.
My lingering glass of iced coffee
wrings condensation out of the last
hours of a humid day.
Water-drops carve streams
down the side—miniature rivers
falling to the sea.
The improbable skyfish float
over a pond—double there
to skim the surface:
escaping the deep ocean
to explore the deeper sky.
________________________
Tendrils of virga trail from jellyfish clouds
in the sky above the Yolo bypass.
A cirrus sailfish, bright against the horizon,
plunges over the Vaca Hills
toward the distant Pacific.
My lingering glass of iced coffee
wrings condensation out of the last
hours of a humid day.
Water-drops carve streams
down the side—miniature rivers
falling to the sea.
The improbable skyfish float
over a pond—double there
to skim the surface:
escaping the deep ocean
to explore the deeper sky.
________________________
owl is back
book-ending the day
my pre-dawn alarm
calling out
as he tucks his head
under a dusty velvet wing
my signal to
out the light
surrender my book
as he lifts his wings to hunt—
book-ending the day
my pre-dawn alarm
calling out
as he tucks his head
under a dusty velvet wing
my signal to
out the light
surrender my book
as he lifts his wings to hunt—
in dreams
we hunt together
silently
over the sleeping landscape
glistening city
lonely delta
we soar
red in tooth and claw
till gold cracks the horizon
and night
calls it good.
—Kim Clyde, Sacramento
we hunt together
silently
over the sleeping landscape
glistening city
lonely delta
we soar
red in tooth and claw
till gold cracks the horizon
and night
calls it good.
—Kim Clyde, Sacramento
________________________
LOTS OF WORDS
—Caschwa, Sacramento
there's nothing like a good old mud fight
to keep the blood circulating
racing to where it is needed the most
it is the rhythm and flow of poetry
unlike old mountains and stagnent ponds
and sailers lamenting the doldrums
lacking movement, frozen still in time
locked in a room with no doors
encountering complex jigsaw puzzles
patiently building the frame, then filling it in
ending up with a complete picture
lacking movement, frozen still in time
people who just kind of "get it" are
locked in a room with no doors
racing to where it is needed the most
ending up with a complete picture
here's nothing like a good old mud fight
and sailers lamenting the doldrums
patiently building the frame, then filling it in
to keep the blood circulating
—Caschwa, Sacramento
there's nothing like a good old mud fight
to keep the blood circulating
racing to where it is needed the most
it is the rhythm and flow of poetry
unlike old mountains and stagnent ponds
and sailers lamenting the doldrums
lacking movement, frozen still in time
locked in a room with no doors
encountering complex jigsaw puzzles
patiently building the frame, then filling it in
ending up with a complete picture
lacking movement, frozen still in time
people who just kind of "get it" are
locked in a room with no doors
racing to where it is needed the most
ending up with a complete picture
here's nothing like a good old mud fight
and sailers lamenting the doldrums
patiently building the frame, then filling it in
to keep the blood circulating
________________________
GERMAN GRAMMAR CAKE
—Caschwa
To the forest he raced
because why, I forgot
perhaps something he saw
then again, maybe not
if you could in your heart
my story believe
the verb at the end will
explain and not cleave
but oh, the wait, endless wait
through modifiers and such
has one grasping for action
so elusive to clutch
like children being good
for a long ride in the car
the burden wholly on them
a vacation not to mar
when will we
on this long drive
to some place fun
ever arrive?
—Caschwa
To the forest he raced
because why, I forgot
perhaps something he saw
then again, maybe not
if you could in your heart
my story believe
the verb at the end will
explain and not cleave
but oh, the wait, endless wait
through modifiers and such
has one grasping for action
so elusive to clutch
like children being good
for a long ride in the car
the burden wholly on them
a vacation not to mar
when will we
on this long drive
to some place fun
ever arrive?
Laverne Frith
reading at Poetry With Legs,
Shine Cafe, Oct. 2012
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
SUPERVILLE
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
A statue stands in lieu of tree.
No more leaf-wild breezes through green
shadowed forest—the forest's gone.
The statue's raised its fist to fall
on where we used to walk, and call
shadowed forest. The forest's gone,
no more leaf-wild breezes through green.
A statue stands in lieu of tree.
_______________________
PRINCESS OF WILDWOOD
—Taylor Graham
Into uncharted territory this foggy October
Saturday, travelers rushing to get home
before dark, even the wind is in a hurry.
Spilled wine at the wooden tables. You pass
on by. Beyond pavement, stone steps
down to where they put the statue in place
of a tree. You find the boundary fence;
walk on through, till tires are a muffled rasp,
the far ridge is clouded purple
and pines are pirouetting like you never
saw a grown tree dance. Dried-up
pea-vine tangles its golden strands around
ancient burn-circles fading into earth.
One grapevine's surviving wild.
Taste its dusty-blue; sweet past picking.
Shadows disappear in flight. From
somewhere in wildwood steps the princess,
where she's tucked herself safe away
from strangers. What riches here? Native
trees rise rooted in soil. You've given
your name to the voice of wind and winter.
______________________
AT JACK'S LANTERN
—Taylor Graham
Toward evening they gather
at the watering hole—Wood Duck, Elven
Princess, Lumberjack with crosscut
saw—for enchantments in a ripple-glass.
Masks, webbed wings of arms; a half-moon
veil, red-plaid flannel trunk—a cedar tree
blazed to show the way. Costumes
reveal the scars, each with ancient lore
once shared among the species under stars
and sun. Song undone, except when
the fabric between spirit and costumed
body wears so autumn-thin.
______________________
Today's LittleNip:
College professor
vested suit and paisley tie
peace unfulfilling
vested suit and paisley tie
peace unfulfilling
—Michael Cluff, Corona
______________________
—Medusa, with reminders that TODAY is the deadline for both WTF and the Jack Kerouac Poetry Contest! See the submissions part of the green board at the right for details. (And no, you need not be a Luna's reader or even attendee to be published in WTF...)
Dale Pendell reading at Shine
Oct., 2012
—Photo by Michelle Kunert