Dreaming of the Seashore
—Public Domain Photo
HOW SOME THINGS BEGIN
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO
We walk away from ourselves
the climb up the stairs too heavy,
heat burning our features into toast.
Everything is written in rain.
Bring on the storm towels.
You can go home again.
Just then when no one is looking
a shadow breaks away from the shade.
and tells you it needs to hold your hand.
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO
We walk away from ourselves
the climb up the stairs too heavy,
heat burning our features into toast.
Everything is written in rain.
Bring on the storm towels.
You can go home again.
Just then when no one is looking
a shadow breaks away from the shade.
and tells you it needs to hold your hand.
—Public Domain Photo
THE STONE ROOM
—Michael H. Brownstein
I no longer can tolerate this repetition of speech as if
As if
You only visit the stone room.
The stone room?
The whisky spit, the beer gallows, the wine cells, vodka vodka,
The noisy space of the drunks
Crushing the night with loudness and crow caws,
Off-colored perfume breath,
Off-colored odors of body and too much of all things.
Oh.
Son, oh is not enough.
Oh is all I have.
The stone room is only one room from the bone board
And the bone board is too close to the sea.
You cannot swim. I have seen men drown is the flesh of air,
Blood from carcasses and corpses,
Broken glass and shards of shell.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Sue Crisp
FEVER
—Sue Crisp, Shingle Springs, CA
There were those, in days of old,
whose eyes were fixed on mounds of gold.
They came in relentless droves, like hordes of locusts.
Only on finding gold were their eyes focused.
Leaving all they once knew behind,
to unearth any hidden gold they could find.
Gold Fever, that relentless drive,
seemed their only passion to stay alive.
In the next shovel or pan, it might be there,
striking that gold-rich layer.
Many met folly because of greed,
some met folly because of relentless need,
once that word “gold” had planted the seed.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
At my work now they have you “check in” and they interview you for coronavirus symptoms
they shuffle through binders of paper til they find your name
takes several minutes to find check-off sheets and a legal document to sign that you’re not sick
I have told them something like, "That is so pre-computer mid-twentieth-century age,
but I can fix that for you; it’s called ‘Windows 95 Excel Spreadsheet’”
I get looked at strangely by 20-somethings at this check-in table
even when I explain I once did create info spreadsheets like that, even as just a “temp” office worker
which is, of course, more technical than my current job of making packaging in a warehouse
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento, CA
1918 Spanish Flu Masks
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
I’m having to wear a medical mask at work to help protect from coronavirus
So in the absence of lipstick
I decided to really make up my eyes
much like women in Middle-Eastern countries who have to wear veils
I put on my waterproof eyeliner and mascara thick
and use bright eye shadow colors I might have previously refused
including glittery shadows that I might have considered for drag queens
I paint on, under my brows, shades that I found at dollar stores, such as glittery greens
My make-up is part of being uplifting emotionally during this pandemic
—Michelle Kunert
Huge Beast from the Oceans of This Planet
260 Million Years Ago
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
URBANIZED RIVER
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
several decades ago my little
elementary school friends and
I would stroll idly along the banks
of La Ballona Creek
become one with various varieties
of algae, and curiously watch as
tadpoles somehow turned into tiny
frogs—oh, the wonder!
at some point a monstrous change
took place as the overlord of the
landscape wielded his largest
brush to paint cement everywhere
converting quiet alleyways and
rustic lanes into vociferous freeways,
intricate interchanges, and the creek
into a febrile flood control channel
where little kids could now only gaze
at the bigger kids climbing over the
fences that had not been there before
and wonder, what is all this?
Virus Protection
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
CREEKSIDE
—Caschwa
creekside
keen distraction
from a middle too wide
eating up all the scenery
gurgling
***
necklace
draws the eyes up
above bulging fabric
catch and release angles of light
fishing
***
bathing
alone of course
quiet and peaceful heat
at last some soothing for the feet
phone off
***
turnstile
slowing traffic
robotic reflexes
unpopular impediment
hurry!
***
building
a library
lexicon, thesaurus
specialty terms and exceptions
reading
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
RANDOM ORDER
—Caschwa
jump
from one stump
to quite another millennium
a Boomer’s view, in sum
one tires from being astounded
flap
your big trap
once too often in public places
you’ll be dealt no aces
sit in corner, wear the dunce cap
mark
bold and dark
permanent ink, deepest shade of coal
those dates that you control
save your pencils for promises
ask
for a cask
when offered a cup of aged lager
the thirst of a jogger
runs deep like a raging river
mock
expert doc
as if your opinion is better
than even Fred’s sweater
“who’s your daddy?” will take you down
join
shiny coin
will make empires of shaky towers
won’t stop foreign powers
from pursuing their shady plans
jinx
at the links
so many eyes and lenses watching
scorecard includes botching
place my ball over there, will you?
aim
is the game
it really doesn’t matter whether
ball is on a tether
just hit it hard, and say you won
slay
the big prey
or assume the pose of a winner
hiding TV dinner
which is really all you could score
owe
the bank so
those too-good-to-be-true offers are
a distant, twinkling star
my final answer is no deal
name
escapes blame
when old money has the louder voice
we exercise our choice
but old money writes the menu
do
what is you
our environment is props and stage
that change as we age
you can write your very own script
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
WHY I CANNOT FLY
—Caschwa
I would be laughed off
any runway in the world
wearing old-man clothes
too heavy, they say
toting grief makes my baggage
exceed their limits
poetry too wide
would take up all of their seats
no room for footnotes
inflated ego
poses security risk
boarding pass denied
my history has
too many peaks and valleys
for their gyroscope
Elvis visited
my town and I failed to ask
for his autograph
I watered my plants
to the delight of the ants
who have to drink, too
and just because, and
just because, and just because…
plus it costs too much
The Pantojas
—Photo Courtesy of Janet Pantoja
GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY
—Janet L. Pantoja, Ocean Shores, WA
Still golden and untarnished,
we celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary,
at home, March 22, 2020.
We had a party planned.
It was a memorable year.
All social events were cancelled.
Everyone sheltered in place.
A world-wide pandemic ensued.
COVID-19 struck.
A world-wide pandemic ensued.
Everyone sheltered in place.
All social events were cancelled.
It was a memorable year.
We had a party planned.
At home, March 22, 2020,
we celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary—
still golden and untarnished.
—Photo Courtesy of Janet Pantoja
GOD BLESS AMERICA
—Janet L. Pantoja
Under a full moon with Venus at its side,
the 4th of July 2020 has come . . .
. . . and gone . . .
foggy marine layer held at bay
so beach goers
(hopefully socially distanced enough)
could blast fireworks for hours
celebrate independence—
of our country?
COVID-19 lockdown?
Racism? Injustice? Greed? Poverty?
Hatred? Intolerance?
Freedom from a multitude of other evils?
At safe distance, perched on our observation deck,
I was bundled in a warm blanket.
Huddled inside the house, our dogs trembled in fear,
their sensitive ears accosted by war-zone sounds:
Pop! Pop! Boom! Bang! Piccolo Shrieks!
On alert, a doe and her twin fawns wandered by . . .
picked their way carefully through brush
in a small green space,
a vacant lot behind our house.
Showers of red, blue, green, yellow sparkles
illuminated the night sky . . .
a gentle breeze blew the smell,
the smoke of gun powder away.
Silence.
Peace and quiet descended once more on the shore,
except for the constant whoosh of the waves . . .
random cries of a seagull or two.
May this peace and quiet envelop every heart,
bless every home—
—heal this nation of its wounds.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
THREE POEMS FROM DUGOUT ANTHOLOGY
—Michael Ceraolo, South Euclid, OH
Bob Ferguson
Though I had started playing ball
before the fly rule went into effect in '64,
I earned my unusual nickname,
Death to Flying Things, a few years later
Unlike some later players,
who killed birds with batted or thrown balls,
no living things were harmed
in the earning of my nickname
I got it catching line drives at third base
If you think that's not enough to earn a nickname,
you should try doing it bare-handed
the way I did
* * *
Bender/Meyers/Zimmer et al.
Albert was a Hall-of-Fame pitcher
(though not elected by the writers),
while John and Charley were first-rate catchers
(and Charley was chosen as president
of the Players Protective Association)
The others of us here were less successful,
yet all of us, great and non-great alike,
might as well have been the same person
to pseudo-clever sportswriters,
because they gave each of us the nickname
CHIEF
* * *
Charlie Pabor
I was an average hitter
during the five seasons of the National Association,
and one source that considers it a major league
(I understand there is some debate about that)
counts me as the 1st player in MLB
But what is without debate
is that I have the most unusual nickname:
The Old Woman in the Red Cap
I wasn't old (only twenty-five when the Association began)
and I was never a woman,
so I have no idea why I was tagged with that name
And I understand subsequent researchers
haven't been able to trace the name's origin either
So if anyone out there knows,
please contact the poem and fill us in
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
LIKE ‘68, ALL OVER AGAIN
—Joseph Nolan
The inchoate aftermath
Of Original Sin
Threatens to ruin
All we could possibly
Hope to win,
As a grievance,
Resurrected,
Assaults us
With its din.
Vengeance is taken
Out in the streets,
Looting and burning
To make your head spin.
It seems like ‘68
All over again,
As the struggle for equality
Threatens entire towns
With bringing it all down.
The aftermath will be worse
This time,
Since now they’ve got robots
Who won’t take no knees;
They’ll work 24
And never complain—
Perfect slaves-for-to-please.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
CUT WINGS
—Joseph Nolan
Its wings had
Their feathers cut
To keep the
Bird aground.
We didn’t want it flying
Where mysteries abound.
Once a cage-door swings,
The impetus
Of flight-lust
Will bear a bird to sky.
So, since we wanted to keep it
We made its flight-lust die
With cages and doors and
Feather-cut wings;
And now our neighbors wonder
Why our bird no longer sings.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
HUMAN BEINGS
—Joseph Nolan
Human beings
Are made of dreams,
Of whispers,
Fears and fire,
Forged from warm desire,
Into dancing clay,
Set upon
The Earth to play,
For just a moment’s breath.
Taken, then,
By death.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
MADNESS EMERGES FROM REASON
—Joseph Nolan
Madness emerges from reason
And chaos
Out of order.
Nightmares arise out of dreams.
The chameleon does not know
Which color he should turn to
In the dark.
Don’t let nightmares
Disturb your sleep.
Sleep deeply until dawn
When daylight’s
First, fresh sunbeams
Give birth
Your daily song.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
BUT I DIGRESS!
—Joseph Nolan
I don’t want to see
Your bunions bust
Out of your
Too-tight shoes,
When you tell me
You love a winner,
When I always lose.
In life,
There are choices.
Damsels in distress
Might be beggars
And not choosers,
But I digress!
_____________________
A Monday thank-you to our contributors this morning, with their varied styles and subjects. It’s great to hear from voices all over the country—and sometimes, from other countries, too. We’re all in this together, yes?
Michael H. Brownstein's latest volumes of poetry, A Slipknot to Somewhere Else (2018) and How Do We Create Love? (2019), were recently released (Cholla Needles Press). SnakePal Michael has an interview on there, by the way, at www.chollaneedles.com/2019/09/interview-poet-michael-h-brownstein.html/.
Joseph Nolan wrote to explain the origins of one of his poems from last week: “The ‘Kitchen Days’ poem was in honor of my Mother, whose 25th anniversary of her passing came on June 25. She had two master's degrees in a time when most women did not go to college. Very bright woman! She gave birth to 9 kids. I am the youngest. There was always a lot going on in our house, with the friends coming and going. She "held court" in the kitchen, smoking three packs a day and gulping coffee and tea all day long. Booze gave her a headache, so she rarely had a drink.” Thanks for this, Joe!
Cold River Press is now accepting submissions of Prose, Poetry, Short Stories, Flash Fiction, whatever word art you might have for their next anthology, Voices. This year’s theme is DREAMS, DELUSIONS and DESIRES. Deadline for submissions is July 31, 2020. Please send your submissions to submissions@coldriverpress.com
Here in our area, Sac. Poetry Center uses Zoom for weekly readings and workshops. For more info, go to www.sacramentopoetrycenter.com/.
•••Mon., 10am: Writers on the Air hosted by Todd Boyd. RSVP in advance via email to writersontheair.message@gmail.com. Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/j/358106078; meeting ID: 358 106 078
•••Mon. 7:15pm: SPC Monday Night Socially Distant Verse online, featuring Jeff Knorr, Douglas Manuel. Hosted by Lynn Belzer. Zoom: us04web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. Meeting ID: 763 873 3462; password: spcsdv2020
•••SPC Tuesday night workshop hosted by Danyen Powell. Bring a poem for critique. Contact Mo Stoycoff for availability and Zoom info.
•••Wed., 6pm: MarieWriters workshop (prompts) hosted by Bob Stanley at zoom.us/j/671443996/.
•••Thurs. (7/23), 7:30-9pm: Literary Lectures Series: Assonance and Alliteration in Verse by Frank Dixon Graham. Advance reg. required at:
us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/tZMsc-GrpjssH9LAcOokC4rJKUwANlEKzjHZ
•••Fri., 4pm: Writing from the Inside Out workshop led by Nick LeForce. Reg. in advance at: zoom.us/meeting/register/upwkde-opjkpnyQECAVBKolY4hKCdl61uA/. After registering, you will receive a confirmation email containing information about joining the meeting. (If you have registered before, use the same link.)
Also this week:
•••Fri., 7:30pm: Video poetry reading on Facebook by Davis Poet Laureate James Lee Jobe at james-lee-jobe.blogspot.com/.
•••For more about El Dorado County poetry events, check Western Slope El Dorado Poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/.
________________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
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in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world!
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
