Monday, September 27, 2021

Is It Sukkot Already?

 
—Poetry by Joseph Nolan and Caschwa (Carl Schwartz)
—Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
and Michelle Kunert



ASSESSING AN EMPTIED TOWN
—Joseph Nolan

Maybe all the lights are down?
Maybe there’s no-one home?
Maybe some disaster
Has befallen
This abandoned town?

Maybe there was a tsunami
That washed in from the sea?
Maybe no-one survived it
Or maybe they all got the memo
That it was time to leave?
 
 
 

 
 
YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH
—Joseph Nolan

Drive this car.
Go madly mad!
Tell everybody
Every secret
You ever had.

Act like you’re
The honcho.
Eat bacon
And drink grease.
Act like you’re
Entitled,
To do
Just as you please.

Swagger down the sidewalk.
Don’t move aside, at all.
Act like no tomorrow’s
Reserved for you—
You’re ready for your fall.

Accept your own
Impermanence,
As though it were a blessing,
That made you an Earthly king
And face whatever
Comes your way,
As the Universe’s
Offering. 
 
 
 

 
 
IN PASSING TRAVELS
—Joseph Nolan

Maybe I didn’t
Make it to Sligo.
Sligo is by the sea.
Maybe I didn’t
Make it to Sligo,
But I made it to Tralee.

That’s not to say
One is better
Than the other
Or one wouldn’t
Wish to see.

I also made it
To Dingle
And Galway
And both are
By the sea.

Not that any
Of this
Means anything,
Since we
Come and go
In the blink
Of an eye.

No-one
Ever stops
To wonder
Why one came by, thus,
Then, went by. 
 
 
 
Can you find the owl?
 


BLINDNESS AS LESS REAL
—Joseph Nolan

You know?
It often goes like that,
Where you cannot find your way,
Where no-one appreciates
Whatever you have to say,

Where nothing,
In particular,
Is given you for
You to call your own,
And you’re forced
Into reticular,
Backwards,
Toward your fall.

Retinae,
Catch the splash of the sun.
The wafting that
Bright light-beams bring
Into the brains
Of everyone
Who is not blind,
Nor left-behind,
As the blind,
So often feel,
When vision has
Escaped them,
Leaving them,
Less real.
 
 
 
Il Commandatore
—Sculpture by Anna Chromý
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Michelle Kunert 

 
 
THE HIT-MAN WITH BAD BREATH
—Joseph Nolan

The hit-man had bad breath.
It might have been the death
Of anyone
He didn’t kill with lead.

From everyone
From whom
He extorted money,
All were heard
To have said,
“If his bullets do not get you,
His bad breath, might, instead.
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
You’ll still be just as dead.” 
 
 
 
Crystal Cave Under Mexico City
 
 
 
LOAD YOUR GUNS AND CELEBRATE SUKKOT
—Caschwa  

somewhere way back in my prepubescent
years the adults at temple tried to inform
all us kids about Sukkot

guess I was just too young to process such
data, along with not understanding or
laughing at the Ernie Kovacs jokes that
older family members did

then more recently when my store-bought
calendar says it is Sukkot, I finally chose to
delve into its recorded history, which arises
from the Old Testament

a double meaning comes to light, as both an
agricultural festival to celebrate the end of the
harvest, and another festival to celebrate how
the Jews travelled 40 years through the desert
during their Exodus from slavery in Egypt and
would set up these plant-covered shelters in
the fields (now we need another festival to
celebrate the end of this stanza)

not done yet with history, this blazing hot
epiphany enters, center stage, announcing that
our own beloved Constitution, in a section
ironically entitled the Bill of Rights, features one
Amendment that makes damn sure white males
have easy access to guns in case there is a slave
rebellion

It is goodbye tabernacles, hello pickup trucks with
confederate flags and arsenals of weapons, and
by the way, Happy Sukkot, everyone!
 
 
 

 
 
OPPOSABLE THUMBS
—Caschwa

Thom Thumb and
his twin Tim stood
together to debate
whether they were
related to arboreal
animals who have
the almost human
ability to grasp limbs
and since they both
were grasping at
straws neither one
won the debate 
 
 
 
Be sure Ting the Tiger is locked up before you
execute a raid!


 
LOOSE RULES
—Caschwa

Facebook is like playing
solitaire on computer
Vegas Style

colorful opinions are sorted
and displayed like colorful
playing cards, while dollar
signs are used to trigger
real feelings about fictional
successes

both share the addictive
qualities of virtual participation
in pursuits that simulate some
of the peripheral markers of
winning an argument, without
ever linking to any actual
contractual commitment

so go ahead, deal out a fresh
hand of cards while dwelling
on the prospect of forcing our
heads of state to donate all
$208 of their winning game
to the charity of our choice 
 
 
 

 
 
IN MEMORY OF STEPHON CLARK
—Caschwa

there is nothing finer
than when police do
their job

apprehend, arrest, and
book suspects who pose
a threat to the community

sometimes it only takes
a Taser to put down
the problem subject

other times the use of
greater force is quite
appropriate

but when it reaches the
point where it looks and
smells like an execution

when 2 white cops inflict
20 rounds of gunfire on an
African-American man
holding a cell phone

no praise at all will be
forthcoming, it will be held
in reserve, because

there is nothing finer
than when police do
their job 
 
 
 

 
 
CATCH AND RELEASE
—Caschwa

standing at the clothes dryer
used a sponge to gather all
the lint off the trap, and then
tossed it in a waste can fated
to end up in a landfill

wonder what strange kinds
of monster fabric molds
will sprout from all the lint
from all the households?

it would remain odorless
until touched by a mammal
lined up like appliances
painted with enamel

add to that old mattress toppers
extricated from bedding, just
getting along with new neighbors
at the landfill is an issue of trust

multiply times millions
 
 
 
Heart of the Matter Remains
—Sculpture by Barbara Selland from
Sermon on the Mount Art Exhibit, 
Arcade Church, Sacramento, CA, 2021
—Photo by Michelle Kunert

 

Today’s LittleNip:

TOO MUCH KARMA
—Caschwa

biding one’s time on Lane Three
drinking beer after beer
dizzy from crushing pins
going wild when the pinsetter stalls
hoping the car parked outside remains
standing like a
split

_____________________

Many thanks to Poets Joseph Nolan and Caschwa (Carl Schwartz—by the way, last Friday in the Form Fiddlers’ section, I called him Carl Schultz. Though I’ve fixed it, I still apologize. There’s nothing worse than messing up someone’s name…). Also, our thanks to Michelle Kunert and Joseph Nolan for today's photos! Michelle reminds us that Sculptor
Anna Chromý (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anna_Chromý) passed away in September. About his LittleNip, Caschwa says it’s “an Acrostic on the SOW theme.  The first letter of each line corresponds to the initial letter of each of the Seven Dwarfs.” Interesting.

Tonight, (9/27), 7:30pm: Sac. Poetry Center’s Socially Distant Verse features JoAnn Anglin and Jana Moore on Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. Meeting ID: 763 873 3462 (Passcode: r3trnofsdv)

Sat. (10/2): Sac. Poetry Alliance (www.sacramentopoetryalliance.com) presents Poetry in Locke, featuring readers from
Voices 2021: An Offering of Fruit (Cold River Press, www.coldriverpress.com).

____________________

—Medusa
 
 
 

 






 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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