—Poetry by Sue Crisp, Joseph Nolan, Michael H. Brownstein, Caschwa
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
THE COLOR GREEN
—Sue Crisp, Shingle Springs, CA
The round oak claw-foot table
still sat in the middle
of the room.
Aged, and still running, the Coldspot refrigerator,
with its round silver eye staring out into the kitchen,
remained in the same corner.
Atop the Coldspot sat the little
lime green plastic radio,
just where it has always been.
Sitting down at the table
brought a tsunami of memories
flooding back, like it was yesterday.
8:00 a.m., the little green radio
poured out the story of
“One Man’s Family,”
8:15 a.m., it was “Lorenzo Jones,”
followed by “Helen Trent” at 8:30 a.m.
Then “The Guiding Light” at 9:00 a.m.
And so the day went,
in fifteen-minute increments
until noon.
The little lime green radio played out dramas
for the listener, day after day,
without a snap, crackle, or pop of static.
Rising from the worn oak table,
She walked to the faithfully running Coldspot,
and lifted the radio from its fifty-five-year perch.
Cradling it in her wrinkled arms,
she retraced her steps to the back door,
then firmly closed the door on another chapter of her life.
SHORELINE RUNNING
—Joseph Nolan
The ocean's big,
The beach is long,
The air is light,
My legs are strong.
I reference
Myself
In this enormity.
A run along a beach
Is not just exercise,
It’s worship and release!
Into motion,
Earth-bound flight,
My legs are strong,
My body, light.
The endless view
Speaks of eternity
As outward
Eyes and heart can reach,
All the way.
The rhythm of the waves
Betrays all need of speech.
Hard, wet sand
Caressed by
Receding waves,
Bubbles and white foam,
Wetness
Underneath my feet,
Joyously,
My body greets the sea.
TOXIC FISHING
—Joseph Nolan
As a boy,
In a little mill-town,
I fished for fish
I could not eat
From poison.
PCB’s, and every
Foul fluid
From railroad yards
That infiltrated
Flows of water
That made
Their way
Downstream.
How they could live,
But not be eaten?
So toxic
They might get revenge,
One small fish
At a time.
THE TOP OF THE WHEEL
—Joseph Nolan
Whatever happened to
Snaz, pizazz and
Red-hot jazz,
Sizzling nights on the town,
Down in Greenwich Village
Atop the “Top of the Mark,”
Watching Dizzy blow trumpet
For at least three sets a night?
What is it
We didn’t get right
When we shut our night-life down?
Whatever happened to
Social satisfaction,
Artistic freedom,
Interpersonal action?
And where do we go from here?
Nowhere?
Just stay home and Netflix
All our nights away?
RECOVERY FROM MISERY
—Joseph Nolan
It’s not necessary
To carry a huge burden
Of ancillary passages
From modern history
To be advised that
Half of us
Look sideways,
That some of us
Look backwards,
That one quarter
Are looking forward
Into bright pastels
Of our forward day.
Well, well,
Who’ll ring the knell
Of current celebration,
Once we’re let out
Of this time
Full of doubt,
Of imprisonment
Across our nation?
I’d like to ring a bell
For everyone, to tell
It’s over, it’s over, it’s over!
You can all come out
And be well!
We can dance
Together, again,
Be happy
And live life, like when
There were no horrible goblins
Waiting to eat our brains
And everything was just the same
As the time of Donna Reed
And also of Ozzie and Harriet.
SHASTA SPRING
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
A few miles before
we arrive, Mt. Shasta sheds
her heavy gray shawl
for a gauzy cloth
of pure cerulean blue,
snow fading on slopes.
Shasta Indians:
melted crystals offer, ah,
clear, sweet spring water.
FOUR SENYRU
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO
we called him Time Out
school, apples against his head
a loom of missteps
* * *
Ground Crew
skied down the mountain
a snowman smiling
* * *
rainfall and heavy boots
splashing dancing giggling
mud in the mouth
* * *
digging through splat
he said no need for gloves
a broken waste pipe
JPS*
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
forget time, bands march
on hot, stinky, asphalt streets
I am stuck there yet
incurring many
revolutions per minute
before being flipped
the powdered white shoes
I wore at the Rose Parade
now another shade
*John Philip Sousa
WALL RIPPLES
—Caschwa
let’s start with the wall
for which Mexico will not
pay one single cent
that wall itself is
a metaphor for massive
government trespass
building a fortress
around a drive-in movie,
shutting down business
quite the opposite
from endorsing government
deregulation
this wall mania
handed over the controls
to private concerns
who make a profit
wherever the government
leaves an opening
imagine a world
where all revenue from golf
supports public works
balderdash! you say
the rich deserve to be kings
it’s their birthright……ooops!
THE EXERCISE
—Caschwa
experts in knowledge
were jostled and pushed aside
by dark art demons
costs too much, they cried
socialism is our doom!
tax cuts to the rich
on the mountaintop
they peer down at us and laugh
like the goats they are
what is all this stuff?
tall buildings, short tempers and
a set of wrong keys
insurrection day
planned like a happy, cheerful
quinceañera
welcome disorder,
no federal intrusion
free as an eagle
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
NO SHORTCUTS
—Caschwa
English teachers will
not take bribes in exchange for
a reduced sentence
__________________
Oh, Carl! How can we start off a week with such a purple pun?? But thanks, Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) and all our other sterling poets for today’s contributions—half of which are delightful Senryus (www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-senryu-poems#quiz-0/). Claire Baker, on the other hand, has sent us a Haiku Sequence, about which she says “it can be a challenge to put three or more [Haiku] together and still retain the spirit of the Haiku”.) For more about this, see www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html/.) And Sue Crisp’s little lime green radio is a nostalgic nod to our Seed of the Week, Green.
Poets everywhere will be saddened to know that Lawrence Ferlinghetti, poet, publisher, and City Lights Bookstore owner in San Francisco passed away from interstitial lung disease last Monday at the age of 101. For more information, go to www.nytimes.com/2021/02/23/obituaries/lawrence-ferlinghetti-dead.html/.
Sac. Poetry Center’s Socially Distant Verse features Bri Blue tonight, 7:30pm, plus open mic, at Zoom: us04web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. Password: spcsdv2020. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/801674790490610/. Host: CharRon Smith.
This coming Thurs. (3/4), 8-9pm: Poetry in Davis presents Andrea Ross and Indigo Moor, both reading from new books! Zoom: ucdavisdss.zoom.us/. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/234399385017711/. Host: Andy Jones.
________________
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