Old Dog Cowboy
—Photo by Taylor Graham
INHALE THE SKY
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
Past the gym, between classroom bungalows,
my dog’s tracking our quarry. Across grass
to tennis courts, along the shady treeline. Then
whoop! Cowboy cuts south, the wind’s full
in my face and behind my back, hide and seek
of sky and my dog swings wide and happy.
Head high. Forget that step-by-step trail
of evidence, every wrong turn the “lost man”
made. This dog was born to range unfenced
give-him-land far from the road give him hills
and valleys, green grass of a playing-field
on summer break, he’s moving too fast to tell
where he’s going, he intercepts scent free-
flowing on the morning breeze. Straight to his
quarry, the wrong way, who cares? He’s old
enough to be retired. To lie at your feet
and dream. Just for this morning, let him lift his
nose off the ground and inhale the sky entire.
_______________________
DECORATING FOR A SEASON OF ICE
—Taylor Graham
Why should she put up green festoons against
the atrocities of winter? Her dawn winces awake,
bundling itself in ice-fog. Long ago the molten
sun shipped out, skimming the south horizon
far beyond her sight. She used to think the stars
were brilliant, but they burned themselves out.
______________________
DRAWER OF DREAMING
—Taylor Graham
I know the history, fabricated of despond.
All those months of research,
recyclist of things that grow in meticulously
labeled cabinets, enclosed spaces—
the worm that eats at the dark
of a wildrose wood, that multiplies
in the interim when we’re not watching.
You handed me a dish on which lay
the worm, quite dead. I carried it outside,
flipped the dish to give the worm
back to earth. Mid-flip
it took wing, a hawk—not of the dead at all,
but of breezes, flashing its blue pinions
to disappear in the courageous sky.
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
Past the gym, between classroom bungalows,
my dog’s tracking our quarry. Across grass
to tennis courts, along the shady treeline. Then
whoop! Cowboy cuts south, the wind’s full
in my face and behind my back, hide and seek
of sky and my dog swings wide and happy.
Head high. Forget that step-by-step trail
of evidence, every wrong turn the “lost man”
made. This dog was born to range unfenced
give-him-land far from the road give him hills
and valleys, green grass of a playing-field
on summer break, he’s moving too fast to tell
where he’s going, he intercepts scent free-
flowing on the morning breeze. Straight to his
quarry, the wrong way, who cares? He’s old
enough to be retired. To lie at your feet
and dream. Just for this morning, let him lift his
nose off the ground and inhale the sky entire.
_______________________
DECORATING FOR A SEASON OF ICE
—Taylor Graham
Why should she put up green festoons against
the atrocities of winter? Her dawn winces awake,
bundling itself in ice-fog. Long ago the molten
sun shipped out, skimming the south horizon
far beyond her sight. She used to think the stars
were brilliant, but they burned themselves out.
______________________
DRAWER OF DREAMING
—Taylor Graham
I know the history, fabricated of despond.
All those months of research,
recyclist of things that grow in meticulously
labeled cabinets, enclosed spaces—
the worm that eats at the dark
of a wildrose wood, that multiplies
in the interim when we’re not watching.
You handed me a dish on which lay
the worm, quite dead. I carried it outside,
flipped the dish to give the worm
back to earth. Mid-flip
it took wing, a hawk—not of the dead at all,
but of breezes, flashing its blue pinions
to disappear in the courageous sky.
Morning Visitor
—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
MUST HAVE BEEN A DREAM
—Caschwa, Sacramento
I visited Locke once
And was treated very nicely
The mayor even gave me
The key to the city!
Then I learned that
Locke was just an
Unincorporated district
Sold the key on E-Bay
______________________
PLANNING AHEAD
I visited Locke once
And was treated very nicely
The mayor even gave me
The key to the city!
Then I learned that
Locke was just an
Unincorporated district
Sold the key on E-Bay
______________________
PLANNING AHEAD
—Caschwa
When I die I want
A simple ceremony
Closed harmony fanfare
Played by a Dixieland band
Hire an auctioneer to
Conduct the rituals
Get it over with
Quickly
Then strut away
While the band plays
Visit a diner
Eat well, laugh
When I die I want
A simple ceremony
Closed harmony fanfare
Played by a Dixieland band
Hire an auctioneer to
Conduct the rituals
Get it over with
Quickly
Then strut away
While the band plays
Visit a diner
Eat well, laugh
Cedar Noses
—Photo by Katy Brown
THE FACE OF A TIRED OLD MAN,
in no mood for dancing,
sitting, as he is, in rattan.
A tall woman waves a hanky
as she sallies up to his gray face.
Her suitor chooses to ignore her.
Sitting, as he is, in rattan
impatiently tapping
his patent-leather shoes
as she sallies up to his gray face,
a tall woman waves a hanky.
Her suitor chooses to ignore her;
his patent-leather shoes
in no mood for dancing—
standing, impatiently tapping.
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
____________________
SEPIA
—Carol Louise Moon
When one first absorbs Sepia
there is a settling at the center.
I suppose the emotion is best
described as a settling in.
However, over-absorption
causes confusion, an unsettling
of the settling.
I have often wandered away
from Sepia into a desire for
complicated color, a shaking-up
of my focus, and a misguided
guiding of my direction.
Without Sepia, my Compass,
I am simply lost.
in no mood for dancing,
sitting, as he is, in rattan.
A tall woman waves a hanky
as she sallies up to his gray face.
Her suitor chooses to ignore her.
Sitting, as he is, in rattan
impatiently tapping
his patent-leather shoes
as she sallies up to his gray face,
a tall woman waves a hanky.
Her suitor chooses to ignore her;
his patent-leather shoes
in no mood for dancing—
standing, impatiently tapping.
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
____________________
SEPIA
—Carol Louise Moon
When one first absorbs Sepia
there is a settling at the center.
I suppose the emotion is best
described as a settling in.
However, over-absorption
causes confusion, an unsettling
of the settling.
I have often wandered away
from Sepia into a desire for
complicated color, a shaking-up
of my focus, and a misguided
guiding of my direction.
Without Sepia, my Compass,
I am simply lost.
Love Fish
—Photo by Katy Brown
MY NIKON COOL PIX 4200 CAMERA
sometimes has a mind of its own
I bought it because my flip cell phone can’t take good pictures
I had the same kind before that I bought from a Goodwill
Then it broke and I purchased another for $25 on eBay
What do I mean by a mind of its own?
It seems to decide to blur perfectly good shots
like it suddenly goes nearsighted without lenses
though I have the settings correct
The camera by doing this appears to want to get back at me
I wish my camera was more like a dog than a guy
and saw its purpose in pleasing its owner
rather than deciding what it wants to do when I press its buttons
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
____________________
Today's LittleNip:
LAST TIME I WENT SKATING
—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove
It was almost spring—probably
The last time for the season.
There was a sign at the edge
Of the pond, and naturally
I went over to read it.
Sign said, in about eight-point
Type, "Warning: if you’re
Standing here. . ." Didn’t
Get to read the rest. Fell
In. Was completely soaked;
Nobody would give me a ride.
But I warmed up on the jog home.
____________________
—Medusa, noting two events tomorrow: (1) "Karate, Art & Poetry", a Scriptorium Saturday Poetry Show featuring artist/poet Joseph Galinato plus open mic and Pre-Show Workshop at 6pm. Graphic Center, 3925 Power Inn Rd., Sac. Info: 916-446-3821, and (2) Race for the Arts 5K or fun run and 45 interactive booths featuring hands-on visual, cultural, performing and literary arts. Starts at 8:30am, Wm. Land Park, 3901 Land Park Dr., Sac. $15-$30. Info: 916-966-8893.
Campground
—Photo by Katy Brown