River, Grand Canyon
—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
ALL THE REALLY COOL GUYS HAD NICKNAMES
—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove
I wanted one too.
Decided I wanted
To be called
Jellybean, like
Kobe Bryant’s dad, or
The musician
Jellybean Benitez.
Mentioned it
To the guys.
The guys
Had another idea.
Called me Jerk.
______________________
THE APOTHECARY JAR
—Kevin Jones
Every year when school
Started, a huge jar
Appeared in the drug
Store window. Was
Full of jelly beans.
There was a sign:
“Hey, Kids! Guess
The number and win.”
Always thought
I should have. I mean
How wrong can
“A lot” be?
______________________
FAMILY RESEMBLANCE
—Kevin Jones
Have always been fond
Of jelly beans. Could be
Because I sort of
Look like Mr. Jelly Belly.
If Mr. Jelly Belly
Had a beard
And a black t-shirt.
_____________________
JACK AND NEAL AND THE BAG OF JELLYBEANS
—Kevin Jones
“Jelly bean?” asks Neal.
“Give you a quick rush of energy
For traveling.” “What flavors?”
Jack asks, eyeing the bag.
“The usual, licorice, grape, lemon.”
“Why don’t they make them in
More adult flavors?” wonders Jack.
“Don’t think there’s ever gonna be
A Muscatel flavor,” says Neal.
—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove
I wanted one too.
Decided I wanted
To be called
Jellybean, like
Kobe Bryant’s dad, or
The musician
Jellybean Benitez.
Mentioned it
To the guys.
The guys
Had another idea.
Called me Jerk.
______________________
THE APOTHECARY JAR
—Kevin Jones
Every year when school
Started, a huge jar
Appeared in the drug
Store window. Was
Full of jelly beans.
There was a sign:
“Hey, Kids! Guess
The number and win.”
Always thought
I should have. I mean
How wrong can
“A lot” be?
______________________
FAMILY RESEMBLANCE
—Kevin Jones
Have always been fond
Of jelly beans. Could be
Because I sort of
Look like Mr. Jelly Belly.
If Mr. Jelly Belly
Had a beard
And a black t-shirt.
_____________________
JACK AND NEAL AND THE BAG OF JELLYBEANS
—Kevin Jones
“Jelly bean?” asks Neal.
“Give you a quick rush of energy
For traveling.” “What flavors?”
Jack asks, eyeing the bag.
“The usual, licorice, grape, lemon.”
“Why don’t they make them in
More adult flavors?” wonders Jack.
“Don’t think there’s ever gonna be
A Muscatel flavor,” says Neal.
On Top of the Clouds
—Photo by Katy Brown
HOLDING HANDS IN AUTUMN
—D.R. Wagner, Locke
There was no need to make arrangements.
It was possible for a very large number of people
To dream collectively and make events occur.
He was walking down the Ramblas in Barcelona.
The human statues were flashing colors yet remained
Perfectly still. There was a low hum but it seemed to come
From deep inside the earth. No one seemed to notice.
There were only a few days left. This afternoon might
As well be gold. The light in the woods. Voices
Filtered through centuries of gospels are carried
By our own glistening bones with their stardust
Flashing as it holds the meat of our bodies aloft.
We see the ships approaching and climb as high
As we are able to see how many of them might
Be coming toward us here.
They are of such bright colors in this light.
The size and color of jelly beans from a distance
Such as this. And perhaps as sweet. “Sweet dreams,”
Everyone said, and rising from the tops of the cliffs,
An updraft that compels us to exactly that.
—D.R. Wagner, Locke
There was no need to make arrangements.
It was possible for a very large number of people
To dream collectively and make events occur.
He was walking down the Ramblas in Barcelona.
The human statues were flashing colors yet remained
Perfectly still. There was a low hum but it seemed to come
From deep inside the earth. No one seemed to notice.
There were only a few days left. This afternoon might
As well be gold. The light in the woods. Voices
Filtered through centuries of gospels are carried
By our own glistening bones with their stardust
Flashing as it holds the meat of our bodies aloft.
We see the ships approaching and climb as high
As we are able to see how many of them might
Be coming toward us here.
They are of such bright colors in this light.
The size and color of jelly beans from a distance
Such as this. And perhaps as sweet. “Sweet dreams,”
Everyone said, and rising from the tops of the cliffs,
An updraft that compels us to exactly that.
______________________
BEYOND THE BARRICADE
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
The scent of a missing girl is carried off
into the woods, strewn thin on air
and tangled into scrub, litter, blown leaves.
My dog leaps ruts intended as a road.
Wind has erased every track in the dust.
Here’s a mattress-bridge over a ditch;
olive-drab drape of old canvas, once
a tent. Working against the sun, we pass
No Trespassing signs by a worn couch
and easy-chair, three empty buckets
astronaut-blue. No one’s home. Tonight,
extra rooms in the stars. Where
could she be? In a clearing a torch
flares gold-crimson leaves November cold,
her scent keeps leading us away.
_______________________
AUGURIES OF WEATHER
—Taylor Graham
Under the pot, the flame burns electric-
blue. Inside the pot, a hen with two hearts.
Seven months since rain. The sky
sparks heat-lightning at night. It sizzles
like the absent song of birds. The chicken
stews in the pot, having given up
on pecking hardpan clay. Even that prince
of the free atmosphere, the sparrow-
hawk, has flown, its scream diminished
to a low boiling on the stove.
The grass is clay, the sun a shadow-stain.
Birds gone from our dreams except
for this one hen in the pot, her double-
heart perhaps a sign for the mercy of rain.
_______________________
WHAT DOES COLOR TASTE LIKE?
—Taylor Graham
Pale pink light pink
dark red orange
jewel orange and yellow
light green bright green jewel green
dark blue light blue and blue
purple off-white black licorice
she dreams in colors
cheaper than oil paints less messy
on a gray day in sensible
shoes in a square room her mother
says candy’s nothing
but sugar and bad for the teeth.
But oh the colors.
_______________________
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
The scent of a missing girl is carried off
into the woods, strewn thin on air
and tangled into scrub, litter, blown leaves.
My dog leaps ruts intended as a road.
Wind has erased every track in the dust.
Here’s a mattress-bridge over a ditch;
olive-drab drape of old canvas, once
a tent. Working against the sun, we pass
No Trespassing signs by a worn couch
and easy-chair, three empty buckets
astronaut-blue. No one’s home. Tonight,
extra rooms in the stars. Where
could she be? In a clearing a torch
flares gold-crimson leaves November cold,
her scent keeps leading us away.
_______________________
AUGURIES OF WEATHER
—Taylor Graham
Under the pot, the flame burns electric-
blue. Inside the pot, a hen with two hearts.
Seven months since rain. The sky
sparks heat-lightning at night. It sizzles
like the absent song of birds. The chicken
stews in the pot, having given up
on pecking hardpan clay. Even that prince
of the free atmosphere, the sparrow-
hawk, has flown, its scream diminished
to a low boiling on the stove.
The grass is clay, the sun a shadow-stain.
Birds gone from our dreams except
for this one hen in the pot, her double-
heart perhaps a sign for the mercy of rain.
_______________________
WHAT DOES COLOR TASTE LIKE?
—Taylor Graham
Pale pink light pink
dark red orange
jewel orange and yellow
light green bright green jewel green
dark blue light blue and blue
purple off-white black licorice
she dreams in colors
cheaper than oil paints less messy
on a gray day in sensible
shoes in a square room her mother
says candy’s nothing
but sugar and bad for the teeth.
But oh the colors.
_______________________
Today's LittleNip:
YOU NEVER KNOW WITH HYBRIDS
—Kevin Jones
Planted a handful of jelly beans.
“If this works, I’m fixed
For life,” I thought.
Gum drops came up
Instead.
YOU NEVER KNOW WITH HYBRIDS
—Kevin Jones
Planted a handful of jelly beans.
“If this works, I’m fixed
For life,” I thought.
Gum drops came up
Instead.
_______________________
—Medusa, with thanks to today's contributors for an auspicious beginning of sweet and tasty poems for our Seed of the Week, Jelly beans; to Katy Brown for these photos of the Grand Canyon taken from the plane as she traveled cross-country recently (click on them to enlarge them); and a reminder to check out Medusa's blue bulletin board (scroll down past the green board) for all the poetry events this week—an embarrassment of riches!
Grand Canyon
—Photo by Katy Brown