—Poetry by Joseph Nolan, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Michelle Kunert, Michael Ceraolo, Caschwa (Carl B. Schwartz)
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan,
Steven Kingsnorth and Michelle Kunert
BIRD
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
Oh!
What is it?
A lizard?
Mixed with feather-fluff,
Set upon a wing,
To us,
Sweet songs
To be heard,
We should call it,
"Bird!”
Just like an alto-saxist,
Who played
While high on smack,
Who went by
The name of,
“Bird” Parker,
For the high-notes
He could
String-out
Into syncopated
Melodies,
To set the air
On fire,
Higher,
Ever higher!
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
Oh!
What is it?
A lizard?
Mixed with feather-fluff,
Set upon a wing,
To us,
Sweet songs
To be heard,
We should call it,
"Bird!”
Just like an alto-saxist,
Who played
While high on smack,
Who went by
The name of,
“Bird” Parker,
For the high-notes
He could
String-out
Into syncopated
Melodies,
To set the air
On fire,
Higher,
Ever higher!
THE BLESSING OF MIXED WATERS
—Joseph Nolan
Rivers have their tributaries,
Flowing in,
To bolster
Seasons’ flows,
Out toward
Sea-ward,
Both they go,
Brought together,
Liquid integration,
Both toward
The waiting sea.
Upon the meeting
Of the sea
And the
Conjoined rivers,
Murky creatures
In the mud,
Like oysters,
Rejoice
For what
Mixed-waters bring:
Their only survivable offering!
—Joseph Nolan
Rivers have their tributaries,
Flowing in,
To bolster
Seasons’ flows,
Out toward
Sea-ward,
Both they go,
Brought together,
Liquid integration,
Both toward
The waiting sea.
Upon the meeting
Of the sea
And the
Conjoined rivers,
Murky creatures
In the mud,
Like oysters,
Rejoice
For what
Mixed-waters bring:
Their only survivable offering!
TRAIN-WRECKS AND THEIR COVERAGE
—Joseph Nolan
Slant angles
Run sideways
Toward derision,
Toward collision!
With something
That could stop a train,
Like a boulder,
Blocking a byway,
Well-dug in,
Anticipating mayhem,
When
An unimaginable force,
Meets something,
Immovable,
On which its force might feed,
To make its passengers bleed.
Newspaper-photographers,
Attempt to do justice
To the bloody, gnarly,
Twisted grim-and-gore,
They display
In cover stories,
For the evening news
And on
Newspaper covers,
For everyone to
Absorb and abhor.
—Joseph Nolan
Slant angles
Run sideways
Toward derision,
Toward collision!
With something
That could stop a train,
Like a boulder,
Blocking a byway,
Well-dug in,
Anticipating mayhem,
When
An unimaginable force,
Meets something,
Immovable,
On which its force might feed,
To make its passengers bleed.
Newspaper-photographers,
Attempt to do justice
To the bloody, gnarly,
Twisted grim-and-gore,
They display
In cover stories,
For the evening news
And on
Newspaper covers,
For everyone to
Absorb and abhor.
WHEN FIRE OVERRAN PARADISE
—Joseph Nolan
The crush of silky velvet,
Under rough taffeta,
Brokered vain ephemera,
Chance-ventured,
Clouds to rain,
Releasing all their pain,
In one
Flooding cloudburst,
Before the drought began,
Preparing for the
Fire season,
When fire
Overran
Paradise.
Homes were reduced
To their concrete pads,
While verdant trees and bushes,
Standing on the same lots,
Retained their green leaves.
It was a forest fire
That did not burn the trees.
After it was over,
The Feds sealed it off.
Examining the outcome,
All the burned homes,
Cleared away.
Those who might come later,
To survey
The horrible destruction,
The gruesome incineration,
Of eighty human beings
In a day,
Would find no sign
Remaining,
Of what had really happened,
On that fateful day.
—Joseph Nolan
The crush of silky velvet,
Under rough taffeta,
Brokered vain ephemera,
Chance-ventured,
Clouds to rain,
Releasing all their pain,
In one
Flooding cloudburst,
Before the drought began,
Preparing for the
Fire season,
When fire
Overran
Paradise.
Homes were reduced
To their concrete pads,
While verdant trees and bushes,
Standing on the same lots,
Retained their green leaves.
It was a forest fire
That did not burn the trees.
After it was over,
The Feds sealed it off.
Examining the outcome,
All the burned homes,
Cleared away.
Those who might come later,
To survey
The horrible destruction,
The gruesome incineration,
Of eighty human beings
In a day,
Would find no sign
Remaining,
Of what had really happened,
On that fateful day.
QUE SERA, SERA
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
You know her thoughts in haze surround,
unencumbered, laid out scene;
for why float loose-held floristry,
past memory, behind her day,
not focus of prospective way?
The merest moment in her glide,
a feint slide swing as hint of sad,
the skein maybe of spider’s web,
fragility of night before.
Seen, maybe, hun-bun in the dance
but dawn brought re-evaluate,
a wait to shoulders in bare light,
diaphanous, a through-see thought,
now hemmed by actual circumstance.
Smooth flesh held in by creases, pleats,
speckled foxing of her dreams;
easy sway now gathered in,
was she a puppet pulled by strings?
(prev. pub. by Poetry Potion)
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
You know her thoughts in haze surround,
unencumbered, laid out scene;
for why float loose-held floristry,
past memory, behind her day,
not focus of prospective way?
The merest moment in her glide,
a feint slide swing as hint of sad,
the skein maybe of spider’s web,
fragility of night before.
Seen, maybe, hun-bun in the dance
but dawn brought re-evaluate,
a wait to shoulders in bare light,
diaphanous, a through-see thought,
now hemmed by actual circumstance.
Smooth flesh held in by creases, pleats,
speckled foxing of her dreams;
easy sway now gathered in,
was she a puppet pulled by strings?
(prev. pub. by Poetry Potion)
PAST DEATH
—Stephen Kingsnorth
I did not know her, here laid out,
a careful combing of the hair
not as I’d known it set before—
forehead laid bare, cleared silver strands;
not of my choosing, frame beside.
But father told he wanted this,
a final farewell to his wife,
though he knew, as did I, full-well,
she long had left; this trolley bare,
enforced that spirit flown the room.
By absence seeping beads drawn down—
the knowledge that we paused alone,
skeletal cage deserted now.
And since, the question posed myself—
should I dissuade through queries raised?
Poor memory’s now fixed in place—
this mask should not replace her face;
some say dread visit reinforced,
that shock fires mould of empty clay—
unnecessary proof for me.
For him, for his, I dare not say;
the sixty years entitle him
to linger, lose, yet loose again
the bond and knots that tied them close.
And sons accompany past death.
(prev. pub. by Sparks of Calliope)
—Stephen Kingsnorth
I did not know her, here laid out,
a careful combing of the hair
not as I’d known it set before—
forehead laid bare, cleared silver strands;
not of my choosing, frame beside.
But father told he wanted this,
a final farewell to his wife,
though he knew, as did I, full-well,
she long had left; this trolley bare,
enforced that spirit flown the room.
By absence seeping beads drawn down—
the knowledge that we paused alone,
skeletal cage deserted now.
And since, the question posed myself—
should I dissuade through queries raised?
Poor memory’s now fixed in place—
this mask should not replace her face;
some say dread visit reinforced,
that shock fires mould of empty clay—
unnecessary proof for me.
For him, for his, I dare not say;
the sixty years entitle him
to linger, lose, yet loose again
the bond and knots that tied them close.
And sons accompany past death.
(prev. pub. by Sparks of Calliope)
The NeverEnding Story by Michael Ende concludes that, in regard to its characters, it "is another story and shall be told another time".
Ever since I was a kid there were many other books whose stories would say at the ends “to be continued…”
For instance, the Book of Revelations which is last in the New Testament, near its end, gives this warning:
"If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book…”
This statement apparently was taken as literally as “closing the book” on incorporating many other Christians’ outstanding stories;
that’s why there are no later stories including those of “saints” martyred for their faith, including those of women
such as the African Christian woman in Carthage named Perpetua who ended up being murdered by Roman gladiators in an arena in 203 A.D.
Her violent death reportedly brought an end to the persecution and punishment of Christians by death where she lived
Also, without the “to be continued” concept, the Book of Revelations otherwise seems to offer no more hope than does Malachi at the end of the Old Testament
which mentions a Lord who will “come and smite the earth with a curse…”
—Michelle Kunert
“All’s well that ends well” is a common English idiom
a definition being that people can forget going through difficult, unpleasant things
if the results are that everything ends in ways that are satisfactory to them
Another English idiom is “the end justifies the means”—
something likely “immoral” had to be committed to achieve a certain desired goal
Both of these idioms have been used in regard to oppression and persecution of others
Notice those in power live by these two idioms, even when outright genocide is being
committed?
There are demands for causes for giving instead—for human lives, new beginnings and
continuations
rather than a system that wants to see an end to their lives
—Michelle Kunert
a definition being that people can forget going through difficult, unpleasant things
if the results are that everything ends in ways that are satisfactory to them
Another English idiom is “the end justifies the means”—
something likely “immoral” had to be committed to achieve a certain desired goal
Both of these idioms have been used in regard to oppression and persecution of others
Notice those in power live by these two idioms, even when outright genocide is being
committed?
There are demands for causes for giving instead—for human lives, new beginnings and
continuations
rather than a system that wants to see an end to their lives
—Michelle Kunert
TWO DAYS IN MASSACHUSETTS
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euglid, OH
December 21, 1891
I was a teacher at the
International YMCA Training School,
but because I had opened my big mouth,
instead of giving students a test
I was given a two-week test of my own,
two weeks that were up today,
after which I would receive my grade
The only question on the test:
could I come up with an indoor sport
that would be accepted by a class
known to all as the incorrigibles?
All my previous efforts had failed
But yesterday I had come up with thirteen rules,
and today using peach baskets
because they were the only kind available,
and coming up with a height of ten feet
because that was the height of the track above the gym,
the class played the first game
of what came to be called basketball
It spread quickly around the country
when those students went home for Christmas,
and spread around the world with missionary fervor.
I had put up so I didn't have to shut up.
* * *
February 9, 1895
My name is William Morgan
I'm not nearly as well-known as Dr. Naismith,
something that bothers me not at all;
it was an honor to be a student of his
After graduation I became
Director of Physical Education
at the YMCA in nearby Holyoke
Basketball was a great sport,
but it wasn't for everyone
I took it upon myself to create a game
that had less running, less physical contact,
and overall was less rigorous than basketball,
but one that still required some athletic ability
On this date,
with two teams of five men each,
we demonstrated to the delegates
to a conference of Physical Education Directors
a game I originally called Mintonette
because the ball went back and forth
over the net like in badminton
Almost immediately it was suggested
that a better name would be volleyball,
and I agreed; the rest is history,
albeit not-well-known history
END SUMMER’S DROUGHT
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
(expression taken from “First Hard
Rain” by Joyce Odam, Medusa’s
Kitchen, November 9, 2021)
he had lost both legs serving his country,
but then found a well-paying job that
accommodated his disability, until an
entirely preventable pandemic stole away
that job, his main source of income
“thankfully,” according to money managers
who themselves have seven figure incomes,
along with generously funded offshore
accounts, he was awarded a tax break
lovely! a tax break to a person who has little
or no income is like that first hard rain in a
drought-stricken desert, like hospital staff
hooking up a patient who is nearing death from
loss of blood, to an intravenous infusion of
nickels and dimes
maybe we need to take money managers out
to the shooting range and teach them the viable
differences between water balloon targets
and silhouettes….one can be used over and
over, and the other needs to be fully replaced
after each use
then march them all over to Wall Street to
find gigantic corporations built like silhouettes,
outliving their human founders, who are mere
water balloons
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
(expression taken from “First Hard
Rain” by Joyce Odam, Medusa’s
Kitchen, November 9, 2021)
he had lost both legs serving his country,
but then found a well-paying job that
accommodated his disability, until an
entirely preventable pandemic stole away
that job, his main source of income
“thankfully,” according to money managers
who themselves have seven figure incomes,
along with generously funded offshore
accounts, he was awarded a tax break
lovely! a tax break to a person who has little
or no income is like that first hard rain in a
drought-stricken desert, like hospital staff
hooking up a patient who is nearing death from
loss of blood, to an intravenous infusion of
nickels and dimes
maybe we need to take money managers out
to the shooting range and teach them the viable
differences between water balloon targets
and silhouettes….one can be used over and
over, and the other needs to be fully replaced
after each use
then march them all over to Wall Street to
find gigantic corporations built like silhouettes,
outliving their human founders, who are mere
water balloons
ASPHALT SANDWICH
—Caschwa
on the schoolyard out in the hot,
blazing sunlight, all levels of young
predators zero in on all sorts of prey,
painting an image of bullies who will
leave you eating an asphalt sandwich
knowing full well that if you take any
visible action to defend yourself, the
playbook that the authorities have
written to address these situations
favors the default innocence of kids
from “fine” families
every day, Criminal Raucous Terrorists
(CRT) from “fine” families exploit the
vulnerability of whoever is near and
handy, and they are not roughly dragged
into the principal’s office, but rather left
to giggle while the attending adults
subject the victim to a stiff lecture
BRING IT ON…OR NOT
—Caschwa
it is like we are getting too used to
terrorism
and their harsh approach is becoming
our new normal, to the point where
it may even look
appealing
such as lining up all the insurrectionists
and bringing on the firing squad to put
a memorable limp in their
swagger
except that hateful demonstrations only
breed more hateful demonstrations, so
maybe we will need to yield the floor to
cooler heads
—Caschwa
it is like we are getting too used to
terrorism
and their harsh approach is becoming
our new normal, to the point where
it may even look
appealing
such as lining up all the insurrectionists
and bringing on the firing squad to put
a memorable limp in their
swagger
except that hateful demonstrations only
breed more hateful demonstrations, so
maybe we will need to yield the floor to
cooler heads
GHOST CRUISE
—Caschwa
the sun rises as always
illuminating earthly foils
eliminating rays of hope
for passengers and crew
who will never again see light
or darkness, feel happiness
or sorrow, set or reach a
goal, or share memories
they are now ghosts aboard
a sunken cruise ship, far
below where sunlight fuels
warm-blooded animals
a skeletal record of plans
gone wrong, statistics set
forth in ink on papers that
will later line bird cages
the business lives, thrives,
draws more customers to
dangle their last thread of
life on a pleasure cruise
—Caschwa
the sun rises as always
illuminating earthly foils
eliminating rays of hope
for passengers and crew
who will never again see light
or darkness, feel happiness
or sorrow, set or reach a
goal, or share memories
they are now ghosts aboard
a sunken cruise ship, far
below where sunlight fuels
warm-blooded animals
a skeletal record of plans
gone wrong, statistics set
forth in ink on papers that
will later line bird cages
the business lives, thrives,
draws more customers to
dangle their last thread of
life on a pleasure cruise
THE FINGER TREATMENT
—Caschwa
(diverging a little from “squashed jam
seeping from bread edges” in "Hive" by
Stephen Kingsworth, Medusa’s Kitchen
November 13, 2021)
the home-alone chef brings out the marble
rye, either two slices or one cut in half, and
squeezes out a dabble of mustard onto one
piece and a dribble of mayo onto the other,
then folds the two pieces together to blend
it is not a rare occasion that a bit of that
blend will attempt to defy the rules of order
and sail out over the edge of the Earth and
fall off! thankfully, the chef has won full
independence from tall-hat training and
has a finger stiff and ready, to gather up
any such tasty residue and transfer it directly
to the tongue to savor and enjoy, while piling
on a host of favorite deli meats and cheeses
to the sumptuous sandwich
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip(s):
TOO MUCH NOT-THERE
—Joseph Nolan
There’s too much not-there
Intervening between us—
Flaking paint and rust.
* * *
ENDINGS
—Caschwa
One end of a pencil leaves a mark
That the other end erases
Until it becomes dark
______________________
Thanks to our agile contributors today for poems and pix! Monday is our day to whoop it up, posting plenty of fine poetry and fotos to start the week off with bells and whistles. And today is no exception.
—Caschwa
(diverging a little from “squashed jam
seeping from bread edges” in "Hive" by
Stephen Kingsworth, Medusa’s Kitchen
November 13, 2021)
the home-alone chef brings out the marble
rye, either two slices or one cut in half, and
squeezes out a dabble of mustard onto one
piece and a dribble of mayo onto the other,
then folds the two pieces together to blend
it is not a rare occasion that a bit of that
blend will attempt to defy the rules of order
and sail out over the edge of the Earth and
fall off! thankfully, the chef has won full
independence from tall-hat training and
has a finger stiff and ready, to gather up
any such tasty residue and transfer it directly
to the tongue to savor and enjoy, while piling
on a host of favorite deli meats and cheeses
to the sumptuous sandwich
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip(s):
TOO MUCH NOT-THERE
—Joseph Nolan
There’s too much not-there
Intervening between us—
Flaking paint and rust.
* * *
ENDINGS
—Caschwa
One end of a pencil leaves a mark
That the other end erases
Until it becomes dark
______________________
Thanks to our agile contributors today for poems and pix! Monday is our day to whoop it up, posting plenty of fine poetry and fotos to start the week off with bells and whistles. And today is no exception.
Our Seed of the Week is Endings, and Michelle Kunert has sent us a link to “10 of the Best Poems About Endings” (interestingliterature.com/2020/01/poems-about-endings/), as well as these to “The End” by The Doors: www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZeMlQEWEg2Q OR www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/doors/theend.html/.
This week on the local scene:
This week on the local scene:
•••Tonight (Mon., 11/15), 7:30pm: Sac. Poetry Center presents Sean Dustin, David Mills on Zoom at 7638733462; password: r3trnofsdv.
•••Fri. (11/19): El Gigante presents Josh McKinney at cccconfer.zoom.us/j/9348057923/.
•••Sat. (11/20), 6-7:30pm: Third Sat. Art Walk Poetry Open Mic in Placerville. Theme: Season of Small Kindnesses. Toogood Winery, 304 Main St., Placerville. Host: Lara Gularte.
•••Sun. (11/21), 3pm: Lincoln Poets presents Tapati Ray plus open mic on Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/85432894546/. Host: David Anderson.
______________________
—Medusa
•••Fri. (11/19): El Gigante presents Josh McKinney at cccconfer.zoom.us/j/9348057923/.
•••Sat. (11/20), 6-7:30pm: Third Sat. Art Walk Poetry Open Mic in Placerville. Theme: Season of Small Kindnesses. Toogood Winery, 304 Main St., Placerville. Host: Lara Gularte.
•••Sun. (11/21), 3pm: Lincoln Poets presents Tapati Ray plus open mic on Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/85432894546/. Host: David Anderson.
______________________
—Medusa
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