Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Nine Espinellas

Janet Pantoya, Woodinville, WA

—Janet L. Pantoya

Dreaming away the hours,
wondering what to do next.
Clean out the closet? Send a text?
Go outside, water the flowers?
No, the forecast is rain showers.
Now what to do, sit for a spell?
Write a poem with something to tell
of a Muse who moves in mystery?
At least that is the theory.
It is a force that will impel.



wandering into the wetland,
their dreams and imagination
resulting in fabrication.
But some folks just don’t understand
when woods become Never Land—
fallen log is Hook’s ship then,
and burned-out trees are Lost Boys’ den.
Fun, abounding in fantasies,
creates long-lasting memories
called to mind:  “Remember when…?”

—Janet L. Pantoya


—Janet L. Pantoya

I have a place where I can go
to dream in quiet solitude.
I seek this space for interlude…
to ponder and let ideas grow,
Colorful flowers all in a row—
an artist’s pallet in full bloom—
release my thoughts from any gloom.
They soar to heights of inspiration,
paint a picture of sublimation,
unleash the worries that consume.

 Jennifer Fenn, Fresno, CA

—Jennifer Fenn

The news of shooting comes across
computer screens turned on each day
of black men shot while on their way
to run some errands.  Cops then cross
their paths and shoot—their lives a loss.
There’s news of demos, masses shot.
So many die, some make it.  Still,
at bullet-pace these stories fill
our minds with questions, answers sought.
These lives all count, or do they not?


—Jennifer Fenn

Here, layered fissured rocks of time
from ancient eras, long since past.
The Lord has carved with colors cast
from iron, copper—size sublime—
the echoes here would seem to rhyme.
As I imagine life below,
from high upon this lookout place,
I see the Colorado grace
the rocky bottom with its flow
with noontime sun that gives its glow.


—Jennifer Fenn

The waves are rolling onto shore
as in the days of long ago—
the days before I’d ever know
of everything there was in store—
before I’d see these waves once more.
The coastal mountain, like a dome,
looks out upon the wooden pier
and on the gulls that gather here.
Like reaching hands of God, the foam
is calling me, lost daughter, home.

 Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento, CA

—Carol Louise Moon

In New Orleans there is a park
called Audubon.  In dreams I go
there, see the hankie birds, a show
of snow-white feathers that is stark
against the tan of trees.  A spark—
a flash—the camera catches all
the flurry as the birds obey a call
They fly up all at once and wave.
White-bodied half-notes leap the stave
of branches browning in the fall.

(first pub. in Brevities)


—Carol Louise Moon

I cry as sleep is coming on
for there’s a tree within my dreams,
my friend is standing near—it seems—
I turn toward her but she is gone.
She floats through blossoms and beyond.
The blossoms on this tree are high;
I want to reach them, and I try
but cannot pick them on my own—
so as I reach I’m left alone.
She’s gone past clouds, beyond the sky.


—Carol Louise Moon

Imagine a bittern in the tule
pummeled by tempest all around.
A single reed he stands his ground
unnoticed.  He moves so gently
that swaying among the reeds he
won’t be found.  Now his disguise is
perfect here. Consider what if
you were a reed-bird, too—his mate,
engaging in his dream of fate—
your life creative, just like his.


Many thanks to our three poets today for their fine Espinellas! Also known as the decima, the Espinella is a 10-line poem with specific rhyme scheme: a,  b,  b,  a,  a,  c,  c,  d,  d,  c. Founder Vicente Espinel (1550-1624) was a Spanish writer and musician of the Siglo de Oro. The Espinella deals with a wide range of subject matter, including philosophical, religious, lyrical and political. It is often composed in 8-syllable lines, or tetrameter. Pedro Calderon del al Barca used decimas for some stanzas of his “Life is a Dream”; so, for their 2016 poetry challenge, the Pantoja Espinella Circle (including poets Janet Pantoja, Carol Louise Moon and Jennifer Fenn) have each composed three Espinellas on the theme of Dreams/Dreaming, and we have posted those today.


Today’s LittleNip:

The last winter leaves
Clinging to the black branches
Explode into birds




 Celebrate the poetry that won’t let us go!

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