First Lady of Spring
—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
BROTHER BIRD
White-breasted Nuthatch
this morning at the feeder
so frantic-busy—
must be famished between storms.
I’m glad I filled the feeder.
__________________
WILL IT SNOW?
Rainbow behind me,
sun blinding on the shotgun-
window side, big dark
cloud’s downpour pelting car roof—
dusk and I’m aiming for home.
SNOW ON SPRING STREET
(a Catena Rondo)
We’re at the black ice edge unraveling
on four-lane highway and back roads of town,
a fairytale of snowflakes drifting down.
We’re at the black ice edge unraveling
on four-lane highway and back roads of town,
the secret alleys’ mysteries under snow.
Streets reflect blind dazzle, an eerie glow
on four-lane highway and back roads of town,
the secret alleys, mysteries under snow.
A car fishtails and winds up in the ditch,
its traction zeroed by the gaze of witch.
The secret alleys? mysteries under snow.
A car fishtails and winds up in the ditch.
We’re at the black ice edge unraveling
our plans set yesterday for traveling.
A car fishtails and winds up in the ditch.
We’re at the black ice edge unraveling
on four-lane highway and back roads of town,
a fairytale of snowflakes drifting down.
We’re at the black ice edge unraveling.
ACROSS CONTINENT AND TIME
for Coppa Hembo and Elihu Burritt
In this midnight between days and ages
two long-dead men of peace in storm-weather—
the Yankee blacksmith who wrote long pages
on brotherhood bringing men together;
a Nisenan chief of the same feather.
In their timeless day beyond Earth Mother,
what might they speak of, one to another?
Too many wars white against white; white
against red, black, brown, and yellow brother,
against green Earth herself. Night against light.
OLIVE LEAF SEWING CIRCLES
1846, 1866 and so on
The women sit at their needlework
stitching a pattern. Brotherhood.
Shall their boys become soldiers?
Each stitch says never. Still
war happens, as it always has before.
Men’s ideas turn to argument;
they speak with guns and swords.
Isn’t this how the last war started?
It takes one hundred million needles
every week to mend what battles
tore. Families in tatters. Every stitch
for the love of some woman’s man,
that he come home safe from war;
that man-kind change its heart to Peace.
PRISONERS OF WAR
after Elihu Burritt's “After-Battle Amenities”
These Russian soldiers taken in battle
by the French, detained
inside Liédot—island fort on the Île d'Aix—
look how they come tonight
in full uniform, but convivially
on invitation of their captors.
What of the war?
French and Russian, they speak of far-off
homes, of wives and sweethearts
left behind; a little girl called Tatyana,
a boy christened Jean-Christophe.
In time the conversation turns to politics.
A Russian says, we are only machines
of slaughter. Off the field of battle,
we have no enemies.
Does he raise a glass to his hosts?
And a man—English or French, or
Russian—wanders the battlefield at night,
binding up wounds of the dying,
no matter what uniform they bleed,
in what language they cry.
What of the war?
We are only brothers.
BORDER BROTHERS
Mexico City earthquake, 1985
In the brotherhood of nations, who are we?
After disaster across the border
our government sent aid—
from fiber-optic and seismic mining teams
to a tool primitive but perceptive
as my search dog’s nose
to help rescue a brother-nation’s people—
such resilient people working day and night,
some with hacksaw blades in bare hands,
cutting rebar and smashing cement,
digging through tons of rubble
to find family, friends, strangers—
people like Fernando, come now
to our country to work among us. When storm
blocks our driveway with snow-fallen oak,
or rain clogs the culverts, making
our creek a river to overflow the road,
he’s here at the ring of a phone,
clearing a path for us,
doing what we couldn’t do for ourselves.
I call him Brother.
Most of us from immigrant stock—
aren’t we Americans a generous people?
How have we lost our way?
Today’s LittleNip:
RAIN ON THE POND
—Taylor Graham
Raindrops on water,
each drop rippling rings outward
joining as network—
what message in this lovely
already dissolving web?
___________________
Many thanks to Taylor Graham for today’s fine poems and photos! She writes, “Brotherhood makes me think of Elihu, the American advocate of world peace.” Elihu Burritt (1810-1879), called the "Learned Blacksmith," conceived measures that helped internationalize the 19th-century pacifist movement. Taylor Graham’s book, Walking With Elihu, may be seen at www.amazon.com/Walking-Elihu-Burritt-Learned-Blacksmith/dp/1452896216/, and you can read more about Burritt at www.encyclopedia.com/people/history/us-history-biographies/elihu-burritt/.
Check out the Catena Rondo form at www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/catena-rondo-poetic-forms OR www.thepoetsgarret.com/2013Challenge/form17.html/.
Poetry in our area begins at noon today with Third Thursday at the Central Library, Sacramento Room, 828 I St., Sac. (Bring poems by someone other than yourself.) Then tonight, 7pm, head down to the Crocker Art Museum for Open Poetry Night at the Gallery, 216 O St., Sac. (Open mic sign-ups begin at 6pm.) The evening will be dedicated to celebrating the current exhibit of artist Jacob Lawrence with a poetry open mic, poet Donté Clark, and a brief overview called "History, Labor, Life: The Prints of Jacob Lawrence". Go to www.crockerart.org/event/1901/2019-02-21 for info and to register; space is limited. Free for members or with the price of admission to the Museum.
Or keep going across the Causeway to Poetry in Davis at 8pm, featuring Lee Herrick plus open mic at the John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St. 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 (Celebrate Poetry!)
Our Brother, the White-Breasted Nuthatch
—Anonymous Photo
—Anonymous Photo
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
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