—Anonymous Photos
FOUR CLEVELAND HAIKU
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
Cleveland Haiku #562
Wet meadow
behind a park—
hiding a rare plant
* * *
Cleveland Haiku #564
Open field—
some geese honk
when I get close
* * *
Cleveland Haiku #565
Field used
as a parking lot—
smell of exhaust
* * *
Cleveland Haiku #567
Autumn field—
smell of wet leaves
after rain
TOOTH FOR TOOTH
—James D. Casey IV, Illinois
my mistake
was to put you
first
the darkness
my heart
in atrophy
now
how many ways
can I
deny your
kiss
without saying
sorry
how many times
do we have
to bury the
bodies
of our enemies
especially
when that enemy
is yourself
________________
BAPTIZED BY FIRE
—James D. Casey IV
Strange creatures with their needle-holed arms,
baying loud for the blood of the moon. Murder
and chaos in their veins after a prolonged
derangement of senses. Singing to their
own brand of anarchy under a strange
flag. Marching under the cover of
night, wearing masks made from
skin of dead kings and queens.
Baptized by fire condemned.
So consumed, confused, by
their own fears. Never
thinking twice about
how far to push the
envelope for their
deadly addiction.
What becomes
of man when
they stick
needles
inside.
PROPHET OF BLIGHT
—James D. Casey IV
He is the jewel
running through
dreams of a hot
Sunday down
in New Orleans
or Babylon
one in the same.
All his people
gathered round
room for forgiveness,
but no salvation
found in this
prophet of blight.
Plastic outlaws
broken against will
like waves crashing
upon rocky shore.
Be still my son,
this will only hurt
a little.
SWEPT AWAY
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
Sometimes, things just go off,
Like firecrackers, guns, bombs,
Tempers, each for its own reason(s)
Often unexplained,
Something to do with an historical record
A suppressed feeling that maybe should complain
But let it go,
At least for now,
But it rains too hard,
The river rises,
A herd of cows is swept away.
And when the river recedes,
Only coyotes patrol the banks
Searching for easy prey
Among the bloated carcasses,
Done in by something
That normally nourishes,
But in excess,
Betrays.
__________________
BURROWING
—Joseph Nolan
A wreath of fresh-dug earth
Surrounded a hole
Where a ground squirrel
Pushed his home
Under the surface.
Strangely similar to us, perhaps,
As I have pushed my home into you,
Over and over again,
With great energy and vigor,
To reach a pleasing result,
To live!
Underground.
A PAINTER’S TREATMENT
MUST BE ENDURED
—Joseph Nolan
If early, today
What will she say?
If late,
What, then, our fate?
If broad-brush stroked,
Or print, or plaid,
Would that make me
Happy, or sad?
If pointillist,
In rendering,
Impressionist,
Or, cubist,
However she might
Render me
Beneath her
Painter’s hand,
I could not run away
From the canvas.
_______________
ESSENTIAL TRI-CUBE, 101
—Joseph Nolan
(With a nod to Phillip Larrea,
originator of this form)
Three things count:
Syllables,
Words and lines.
Essential
Elements
Of tri-cube.
Don’t forget!
More or less,
Forbidden!
INHABITING A TRI-CUBE
—Joseph Nolan
I sense walls.
I sense room.
Rhythm calls.
Format or
Floor-mat, I
Can’t be sure.
Something like
Gift-wrap, torn.
Oh! A door!
_______________
TRI-CUBE, SQUARED
—Joseph Nolan
Tri-cube, squared!
Nothing spared.
Angles, tossed.
What’s the loss?
No-one cared.
Cat-King, snared,
Elvis, Boss!
He was lost!
Count the cost!
MORNING
—Michael Brownstein, Chicago, IL
Say too early
Sunday morning
at the YMCA.
Say father and son
swapping shots,
passing the ball.
Say the only one
on the track
an old man
bearing weight.
Say fastwalking.
_______________
TRADITIONS AND A TALMUD
—Michael Brownstein
You don't have to brag about the mitzvahs you do.
That is not how the world is settled.
You don't have to take a dollar for every job well done.
That is not how the world grows old.
Can you not taste the soft flesh of winter?
Can you not smell its breath?
The perfect sky holds within reach an angelic dance of linen
And I think of other matters:
What counts is not a perfect nose,
A blushed cheek, a stomach flatter. No, not these.
Intelligence comes in speaking and a quality of eyes,
Wrinkles formed from smiling, someone who knows truth from lies.
________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A POEM FOR NO ONE
—Joseph Nolan
If I write a poem with no message
For no-one in particular to read
Never to be published,
Kept unknown
To be found in a trunk at
The foot of my bed
When I’m dead
By a dear sister
Or personal friend,
It might better my end,
If it’s a good poem, maybe.
You’d have to read it to see.
_________________
A plethora of poems today, from far and near, and a hearty thanks to all these fine artists! “Morning” is from Michael Brownstein’s new book: A Slipknot to Someplace Else: A Poet's Journey to the Borderlands of Dementia. James D. Casey IV was featured in the Kitchen on August 8, 2018. His most recent title is Isomorphic, released September 24, 2018, by Cajun Mutt Press (www.amazon.com/gp/product/1724001140/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i5/).
Joseph Nolan’s “Burrowing” is a tip of the hat to Taylor Graham’s dog, Loki, for Taylor's recent poem about Loki's irritation with the cheeky ground squirrel. (I used to have a garden full of them, so I know whereof you bark, Loki.)
Phillip Larrea’s tricube, by the way, has the following form: Each stanza is three lines, three syllables per line, any subject.
In the mood for some cowboy poetry? Manzanita Press poets will be reading at Hoot and Holler in Angels Camp on Oct. 20, 12-1pm. Check it out at www.manzapress.com/events/hoot-holler-cowboy-poetry-and-storytelling-contest/. Sign up to read poetry or tell a story; prizes for audience faves!
Closer to home, poetry in our area begins tonight with local Russian-American poets at Sac. Poetry Center, 7:30pm. Before the reading, from 6-7pm, members of Sac. Poetry Center are encouraged to attend the SPC Annual General Meeting, which will include elections.
Poetry Off-the-Shelves poetry read-around meets in Placerville this week on Wed. from 5-7pm. And Khiry Malik will read at Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento on Thursday, 8pm.
And this is Jack Kerouac week in Davis, with the poetry contest deadline at noon on Wednesday; the prize reading and presentation at John Natsoulas Gallery in Davis on Friday at 7pm; and the Davis Jazz and Beat Fest on Saturday from 2-9pm. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa
Weeping for seasons past . . .
—Anonymous
(Celebrate poetry!)
—Anonymous
(Celebrate poetry!)
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