—Photo by Ann Privateer, Davis, CA
PERMISSION TO FEEL
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento, CA
driving up with a roar and flourish
somehow Arden found me
hitchhiking home like a fool
18 years old, Illinois highway
Get on, he grinned, and
I wrapped my arms around him
no time for fear
stopped at his relatives’ home on the way
Thanksgiving spread, relaxed ranch house
they welcomed, fed us
kindly ignored me
at my lowest weight then
just 99 pounds on my 5’4” frame
proud of having starved for months
mind empty, cold
all desire gone, body shutting down
the family’s casual banter
easy generosity
encouraged me to nibble
turkey, vegetables, bread
after dinner, we raced
few miles home to Quincy
where my divorcing parents
made war within our house
dissolution, despair seeping
I grazed through that weekend
then back to Urbana on Greyhound
shrunken belly bloating
six months-long, self-imposed diet broken
grasping at food, at life
to feel, desire, survive
—Photo by Ann Privateer
MANY YEARS AGO
—Ann Privateer
When the world was younger
And so was I, we laughed
Without thinking, and cried
Unabashedly, while the cows
Roamed free and we played
At cards or other games
Those days are gone
The cows are lost
Fires take a toll.
—Photo by Ann Privateer
HOW COULD YOU
—Ann Privateer
Have ever loved
Another? It seems
We were born yesterday
Never knowing any other
Insularity together
When now is all there is.
—Photo by Caschwa
HAIKU PLUS ONE TOO MANY
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
However many words
you put into the same poem,
it only matters once
***
Could I have just one more
syllable to lullaby my
rough draft had a hard day?
***
At the doorstep, stumbling
over the iambic footprints
forcing obedience
***
I swear, I am okay
to drive myself home from this place,
Bring me my space shuttle
***
Had I won the Lotto
alienating all my friends,
maybe not so worth it
***
I try to remember
to put a shirt on before I
face the Paparazzi
***
Experimental verse
can be its own very worst curse
unless it is divine
—Photo by Caschwa
POMP AND CIRCUMSCRIBE
—Caschwa
War brings us heroes,
Torture brings us martyrs,
which in turn brings us spelling bees
Each year we highlight the bombastic
nature of our glorious Revolution and
celebrate with huge, fiery explosions
as if that is the key to making things
better for anyone who’s had insufferable
grievances to bear
In His infinite wisdom, God gave us
the Ten Commandments as traffic
signals to guide us on the path of life
Then Man, in his infinite pomposity,
embellished those rules etched in stone
as if it was soft dough, ready for us
to shape and squeeze into millions of
laws, bylaws, rules, ordinances, statutes,
codes, regulations, canons, mandates, etc.
God’s revenge will be swift and ironic: He
will simply replace all of our color-coded
traffic signals with rainbows…just watch.
—Photo by Caschwa
MAKING A DIFFERENCE
—Caschwa
A serious malfunction was
detected somewhere in the body
and so great numbers of helpful
antibodies responded to the call
one by one, each boasting that it
alone was the savior, it alone had
the best cure, it alone owned the patent
rights; all glory to this one antibody!
Sounds a bit foolish and selfish, and
still does, looking at the finite groupings
of health-care institutions who
partner together to fight cancer
instead of it being a universal collective,
a veritable shopping mall of rival entities
working together for that win-win result,
and in the meantime, we all lose.
—Photo by Caschwa
BORROWED OBSERVATION
—Caschwa
Others see
complete ethnicity,
geographic and
cultural origins,
OR
only what we have
in common
—Photo by Caschwa
FORTISSIMO!!
—Caschwa
The piece started quietly, below
the staff with a humble arco;
long, learned fingers holding
dutifully tuned strings hostage
followed by woodwinds silently
switching octaves, surfing high
ledger lines like birds darting
from tree to tree with no injury
enter a hint of percussion, using
bells to complement the melody
and asserting bold visceral powers to
salute the one and only downbeat
and there at the back of the risers
sits the low brass, counting each new
rest sign like a trail of laboring ants.
The baton is lowered….. Oops!
—Photo by Caschwa
DAVIS ECO-POETRY READING CANCELLED
DUE TO TOXIC ENVIRONMENT
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
It’s getting bad out there!
We can hardly breathe
With all the crap in the air.
It’s even hard to drive through.
It’s even hard to see through.
It would be hard to read through.
So just stay home.
We hope you don’t
Feel too alone
Hunkering down
Against the smoke?
Maybe you’ve got some pot?
This might be a good time to smoke it.
Your lungs may not notice the difference.
As without, so within.
What’s a little extra fog-bank
Inside your home
To get you through
A smoky time alone
Hunkering down
Against the smoke-storm?
—Photo by Caschwa
ADIRONDACK BUGS
—Joseph Nolan
Loop the pine-treed lake,
Sweep the horse-flies
Off your nape,
Who come to make your
Patience dive, and swat
To stop their biting,
Mosquitos then, alighting,
And don’t forget the deer-flies
And no-see-ums
That make an evening walk
A major mayhem!
It’s just a summer
Adirondack lake’s
Normal evening.
You can always wear a head-net
Over broad-brimmed hat
And get along with that,
Unlike Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne,
When he and his men,
Were driven half-mad, when
They traveled this way toward Saratoga,
Where they were sore defeated!
Half-undone by the mosquitoes.
—Photo by Caschwa
WHAT MADNESS IS THIS?!?
—Joseph Nolan
Let a blizzard seep into every pore
To cool the waves of madness
Overwhelming the agitated populace
Driven into streets in desperation
To undo the prelude to what
Must turn out to be a reckless season
Of divisive rhetoric spewed
Like fertilizer onto
Planted crops of nescient violence,
Growing like spores of fungus or mold
That overgrow and poison
Slowly at first,
And then all at once,
When the edges fold
Over themselves into over-posted envelopes
And bombs are mailed
To every American household
Just in time for the mid-term elections.
What madness is this?!?
—Photo by Caschwa
PLEDGES OF ETERNAL LOVE
—Joseph Nolan
In summer’s
Early morning
Slumber
We play with
Cucumber,
In between!
We love red tomatoes,
Dangling on vines,
Juicy with sweet
Running juices
When we nip
The tender skin
And stick our
Lick-tongues out
To catch the drips
Upon our lips, and
Slipping down our throats,
We feel the summer!
So warm,
So loving
And so fine!
Later on,
We’ll get buzzed
On Cabernet wine
And linger
Softly in the
Summer shade,
Where pledges of
Eternal love
Are so easily made,
When feeling fine!
—Photo by Caschwa
TO LIVE AGAIN A
FLEETING DAY UNWON
—Joseph Nolan
A day was lost.
Away it slipped;
It never touched
My grip!
I never touched
Its slipping sun,
Its flying moon,
Its fleeting love,
Lost beneath!
Lost to me,
Lost in grief,
Lost to none,
Save me,
Lost only,
To this one!
I’d give
A thousand killings
Of feasting lambs
Undone,
With meat so sweet
Untasted,
For another chance
To live again
That fleeting day,
Unwon!
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
I AM
—Ann Privateer
I am a dragon
Dragons breathe fire
Fire could kill people
People like you and I
I am me, you are you.
__________________
Many thanks to today’s fine contributors as NorCal poetry begins the week with Placerville’s Poetry in Motion tonight, 6-7pm at the Placerville Sr. Center. Then Susan Kelly-DeWitt and Julie Bruck will be featured at Sac. Poetry Center, 7:30pm tonight.
A busy weekend begins on Thursday with The Funky Good Time Poetry Event at Laughs Unlimited in Old Sac., 8pm; and Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe will present featured readers and open mic, also 8pm. Then on Friday, SpeakUp: The Art of Storytelling and Poetry will meet at The Avid Reader on Broadway in Sacramento, 7pm, this month featuring stories and poems on the theme of “At the Table”.
The Miller Party (the Sac. Poetry Center annual fundraiser formerly known as “The Annual Burnett and Mimi Miller SPC Fundraiser” before Burnett passed away recently) will take place this coming Saturday from 6-8pm at the Bob Stanley/Joyce Hsiao home, 4010 Random Lane, Sacramento. Food, libations, camaraderie; music by Elizabeth Unpingco Duo; poetry by NSAA (Lawrence Dinkins). $30 at the door. And on Sunday, the MoST Poetry Association reading will feature Joseph Nolan and other readers plus open mic at 240 N. Broadway in Turlock, 2pm. 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
Devour books! And celebrate poetry!
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