Monday, August 03, 2020

Scraping Off The Barnacles

—Painting by Norman J. Olson



ON MEMORIES AND FINGER MOVEMENTS
—Norman J. Olson, Maplewood, MN

memories, green as
Wisconsin grass, drizzle
through
the gray folds of
my brain…  hurricanes
whisper and wince on
flatulent flat screens… 
and scenes
of destruction unfold
in my fishtank
eyes…

open pit mines are always on my mind…

does the quantum
universe leap from
reality
to reality
like a
wave of electrons?  and
are finger movements
immortal?



 —Painting by Norman J. Olson



WALKING ALONG LAKEWOOD DRIVE THIS MORNING
—Norman J. Olson, Maplewood, MN

a huge hydraulic robot arm,
shoveled scoops of dirt
from the street…  so I could see
that beneath our feet
brown clay is hidden by
concrete… 

why did the waiting dump truck seem monstrous?

two workers in lime green
safety vests and masks
held onto a pole
while the sky
reflected the dirt
in white and blue clouds
and somebody’s
god
did a pirouette and laughed
at my confusion…



 —Painting by Norman J. Olson



JOHN LEWIS (a First-Word Acrostic)
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA


I admire outrageous people who
couldn’t be kept boxed in because they
have such a strong inner soul, and their spirit
said “you have no limit,
it is you who will clear the path of
any obstructions with your
‘better than that for all’ outlook” which gave
myself and my family a bridge to proudly cross 



 —Painting by Norman J. Olson



MUMS
—Caschwa
 
An ant trail defines the path
that parades of old women follow
through the garden to the bath

I usually on't ive a uck about mums
tulips are more my speed
they just grow without green thumbs

Horti of a different culture
plucked from the source of its beauty
to be carrion for the vulture

Passed around from hand to hand
stuck in a vase in the house
an improvement on the land

Outside the din from swarms of bees:
who took all the summer flowers away
leaving desolation like winter's freeze?



—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan



READING A TREE
—Caschwa 
 
A tree is a difficult story to tell:
its leaves are unnumbered, and scattered pell mell.

There is no handy device, such as treeroots.com
to profile its life, its children and mom.

It may stand alone, or in groves, or in woods,
and it may be just pretty, or provide useful goods.

It’s a prosthetic for tree snakes on which they may crawl,
many limbs for creatures who have none at all.

While man-made devices have all kinds of flaws,
cats just use trees to sharpen their claws.

Dogs pee on trees, and squirrels store their nuts there.
People hang hammocks to lie still and not care.

In exchange for being so generous with shade,
if it’s ever in trouble, we must come to its aid.



—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
 


BREAK TIME 
—Caschwa 

“Make
America
Great
Again”

Uttered first by Ronald Reagan,
then again by Donald Trump 


“Make” is an instruction to someone else
to grab the bull by its horns and hold tight
the person issuing this instruction
is a refreshment-stand regular sight
jelly beans and fried chicken—make it right!
or I will defund you right here and now
no, you won’t see me wearing army boots
while I’m busy making war-training films
or selling homes priced well above recruits
who make sweatshop clothes like imported suits

“America” the beautiful land of
fulfillment of dreams as soon as we shove
Indian savages aside for the
highest, best use of this land that we love
to market and sell to the whitest glove;
level it, drill it, skyscrapers galore
trickle-down economy surely works
for the stakeholders, who are having more
fun than a barrel of young soda jerks
America, with the world’s grandest perks

“Great” once aptly described a Depression
but now it means super, hunky-dory
patience, friends, until a vaccine is found
the pandemic could well end our story
do we really seek death for our glory?
people who lost health, jobs, homes, everything
really ache for a return to normal
no more suffering imposed by the pain
free from fine print, so legal and formal
Great news! we can soon cage the animal

“Again” sounds redundant, but there it is
along with the jelly beans and chickens
the consent of the governed is just told
to us, our true feelings are slim pickin’s
global powers rule all, the plot thickens;
what we had before was a chance to change
and a Constitution to guide us through
it is incumbent on us to alter
our course away from the will of the few
Again praise voters, for all that you do! 



 —Painting by Norman J. Olson



NO!
—Thomas Hood (1799–1845)

     No sun—no moon!
     No morn—no noon—
No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day—
     No sky—no earthly view—
     No distance looking blue—
No road—no street—no "t'other side this way”—
     No end to any Row—
     No indications where the Crescents go—
     No top to any steeple—
No recognitions of familiar people—
     No courtesies for showing 'em—
     No knowing 'em!
No traveling at all—no locomotion—
No inkling of the way—no notion—
     "No go" by land or ocean—
     No mail—no post—
     No news from any foreign coast—
No Park—no Ring—no afternoon gentility—
     No company—no nobility—
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
     No comfortable feel in any member—
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
     November!





British poet James Reeves honored garden snails by declaring
     “Can her tender body spy
      While she herself a hungry thief
      Searches out the freshest leaf
      She travels on best she can
      Like a toppling caravan”
      I think I’d break the tender heart of James Reeves
      because I stomp on snails I catch eating my kale
      as vegan I know some who argue that I may be killing someone’s “reincarnation”        
      but I don’t believe that, since, as an evangelical Christian,
      for me only human life is essentially divine


—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento, CA



 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan



TWO POEMS FROM DUGOUT ANTHOLOGY
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH

       Lew Fonseca


Because of injuries,
I played more than a hundred games
only four times during my twelve seasons,
and was pretty much average
except for the year I won a batting title
My managerial record was well below average,
yet I was able to stay in the game sixty years
mostly because of what started as a hobby:
using a movie camera,
first filming players during my manager days,
then selling the American League
on the use of film as a promotional tool
Later during the war, I sold the Commissioner
on making a World Series film
as a way to keep up soldiers' and civilians' morale,
and I continued making the films after the war,
all the way to 1968
Then I became a batting instructor
for a couple of teams for a decade,
until I finally retired at age eighty,
an unrecognized pioneer in filming the game

* * *

       Johnnie "Pepper" Martin

I was a World Series star at age six
It wasn't on account of me being a prodigy,
it was on account of my birthday being February 29th
No one close to me called me Pepper
because they knew I didn't like it,
but I did like The Wild Horse of the Osage
that some sportswriter gave me
because it reflected where I was from
You've probably heard about
me riding the rails like a hobo,
the band I played in with my teammates,
the practical jokes I played,
the midget auto racing,
my playing football and basketball in the off-season
until the team asked to stop,
the way I played the game
Most of the stories were true:
I loved playing, coaching, and managing baseball;
how many are lucky enough
to get paid for doing what they love?



The Arrival of Zeus
 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan



COFFEE WITH SCONES
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA

Our flesh
Attaches to our bones.

Our homes
Are purchased with loans.

We clamor
For a savior,
Day to day,

As if there were
Salvation
Yet in play.

We linger
Over coffee
And light scones.

We offer
Our opinions
On the news.

We wonder
Whether efforts
To cure
Our ills, a-day,

Will have
Effective measure
Or just
Are idle play?



 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan



BARNACLES
—Joseph Nolan

It’s hard to find the person
By looking through his things.

Some things are there on their own,
Like barnacles that attached themselves
Somewhere in the past.

The old hull may already be gone.
Barnacles may be all that’s left of the bottom.

When they are scraped away
We will see what’s left
And if it’s seaworthy or not,
Or if it’s died of rot
And wouldn’t hold water out
For a single fathom.



Meanwhile, in the Temple of Hathor in the
Valley of the Kings 
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan



RECESSION
—Joseph Nolan

When we had enough,
We could make the moon shine,
But now, we barely make it glow.

Comets are collapsing
Into trails of falling stars,
Soon, to be lost
Upon horizon.

We watch them go down,
One by one,
Into boiling shadow.
Devoured, each,
In a distant ocean.

This is the way
Of recession.
We barely get a glow
No matter how we shine.

We invite friends over,
Then run out of wine.
Apologies
Won’t substitute
For plenty. 



 Meanwhile, confident in the power of blue, 3500 French folk
gathered to celebrate the Smurfs
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan



SUNDAY AFTERNOON DINNER
—Joseph Nolan

There was tea
After the whistle.
There was bread
Baked on clay
And coffee
When the rain shined
And washed
Our blues away.

There was happy,
There was lovely,
There was joy
And there was peace,
And many fair,
Fine offerings
Set out for to please. 



 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan



Today’s LittleNip:


THIS JUST IN…
—Caschwa

confidential sources have disclosed
that Attila the Trump has just aligned
forces with Osama bin McConnell,
Napoleon Barr, and Vladimir Pence
to create and enforce a global trade-
mark of the term “Hoax”

____________________

Welcome to our Monday anthology of cool poems and pix, and many thanks to our colorful contributors! About the Thomas Hood poem, Michelle Kunert sent it to us, and she writes, “At a local estate sale, I found a collection of poems that included Thomas’s Hood’s “NO!” Though the poem says ‘November’ at the end, it could instead, in 2020, say ‘COVID-19 pandemic quarantine’.” For more about Thomas Hood, see www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/thomas-hood/.

I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that, last Tuesday, I hadn't posted the "Outrageous" Seed of the Week in the green column at the right. Instead, I left the "Missing" one up from last week. So, to wipe out any outrage and confusion, since I HAD talked about it in the text of Tuesday's post, we'll just continue with Outrageous—the Seed of the Two Weeks (SOTW). Confused? Well, as they say about the government right now, if you're not outraged, you're not paying attention...

Here in our area, Sac. Poetry Center uses Zoom for weekly readings and workshops. For more info, go to www.sacramentopoetrycenter.com/:

•••Mon. 7:15pm: SPC Monday Night Socially Distant Verse online. Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462?pwd=YVltWXFFa2Rid2pZQ3pWaVordmZ5UT09;  meeting ID: 763 873 3462 ("P O E T R E E I N C”); password: spcsdv2020

•••SPC Tuesday night workshop hosted by Danyen Powell: Bring a poem for critique. Contact Mo Stoycoff at mostoycoff@gmail.com for availability and Zoom info.

•••Wed., 6pm: MarieWriters workshop (prompts) hosted by Len Germinara: zoom.us/j/671443996

•••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/ or youtube.com/jamesleejobe/.

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















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