Monday, January 10, 2022

What The Heck ??

—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa (Carl Schwartz), 
Jean Jones, Joseph Nolan
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan and 
Michelle Kunert

—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK

A useful shortcut, to assign
a judgement on those unlike us
but send to heaven, as reward,
myself, with those whose faith relates.
But now as most dismiss the gnash—
one almost says—‘to hell with it’—
most still maintain vague heavenward
as meeting place for those we’ve lost.

But this hell comes from gospel page,
and there the word’s for rubbish mound,
a site where garbage ever burnt,
the city corporation dump.
With smoke arising from the slag,
this very earthy, tipping point,
soiled as an incarnation plot—
consuming flames were something else.

But if your faith is of that God,
then I declare as atheist,
but read of man who scrapped that view
and paid the price for doing so.
His manifesto, other view,
a God whose love reviewed assumed,
where never folk were trash or waste,
detritus, dross or synonym.

I notice, pronoun, here is ‘it’,
not personal, as folk commit;
this is no sentence, humankind,
but objects, actions, arrogance.
There is plenty to be dispatched—
injustice, selfishness, abuse,
corruption, and poor stewardship,
treating the globe as if our own.

The tongue that lashed the temple trade
for market that displaced the prayers
of those outsiders, seeking grace,
was same as suckled, Mary’s breast.
For if we want things meek and mild,
we’ll not find that in stable child;
by painting hell, medieval art,
we save selves facing mirrored fools.

—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

(with maybe some influence
from over the pond)

each day my local travels take me
past an unimproved, fenced lot
where there is often gathered a
small herd of goats, waiting calmly
for the grass to grow,

where their keeper allows and
encourages them to enjoy their
little trickle-down-treat munching
on weeds and such, none of them
seeking the lavish spoils of kings

at home I put on the TV for news
and see this very same scene, as
a metaphor to describe how some
of the biggest, meanest, political
power players function

affording us common folks weeds
to munch on, and expecting that
we’ll be deliriously happy to have
only that and no more, because our
main job is to worship our keeper 


the whole power behind the statement
“the Hell with it!” is no kind of compliment

but rather a condescending undertone
that rips one apart, from bone to bone

sending hordes of people to the returns
counter to forfeit God’s gift of free will while Hell burns

you are a tool and a fool to believe all this crap
an insecure human, not God, brings the slap

God wants His creations to succeed and do well
not sink to the man-made concept of Hell 

—Jean Jones, Wilmington, NC


What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

Blade Runner:

[Roy Batty: I've done questionable things.]
Also extraordinary things. Revel in your time.
[Roy Batty: Nothing the god of biomechanics wouldn't let you in Heaven for.]

Jean Jones:

What a piece of work is a man
depraved in reason,
finite in capabilities,
in form insane, and unpredictable,
in action a killer angel,
in apprehension
how like a demon—
This paragon of animals,
and yet, to me,
this quintessence of dust—
 Masthead of Medusa on Roman Emperor Caligula’s Ship
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Michelle Kunert, Sacramento, CA

—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
Rambo comes of age,
Learns to
Control his rage,

Shine his angry light
Though a broken prism,
Clefts in schism,
Colorful and deep,
But he
Still screams out
In his sleep!,
Due to his PTSD.

—Joseph Nolan
My heart has held onto places
Where I have lived before.
It sets itself in longing,
Seeing photos,
Drawing over
That only in
The past, can be,
But cannot be repeated.

Outdated furniture,
Long ago,
Old smells and odors,
Musty living-rooms,
Not aired-out in winters,
That thump and squeal,
Reminding you
That frost is real
And must be overcome,
With whatever
Must be done.


Today’s LittleNip:


when any creature
threatens our health and safety
we want to kill it

there are plenty of others
waiting to step in

mafia boss
king of the jungle
drug lord
gang leader
fire ant

they’re waiting in line
hot to fill the vacancy
right away, like now


Good Monday morning here in our cozy Kitchen, where some of our poets are exploring our Seed of the Week: To Hell With It! Thanks to all of them for poems and photos to launch another week.

Tonight (Mon. (1/10), 7:30pm, Sac. Poetry Center Socially Distant Verse features Connie Post and Donna Hilbert. Zoom (only) at (Meeting ID: 763 873 3462 / password: r3trnofsdv/.) Info: In addition, SPC’s weekly workshops will resume, including:

•••Tues. (1/11), 7pm: SPC Tuesday night workshop hosted by Danyen Powell: Bring a poem for critique. Contact for availability and Zoom info.

•••Wed. (1/12), 6pm: MarieWriters workshop (prompts) hosted by Nick LeForce:

•••Fri. (1/14), 4pm: Writing from the Inside Out workshop led by Nick LeForce. Reg. in advance at: After registering, you will receive a confirmation email containing information about joining the meeting. (If you have registered before, use the same link.)
—Photo by Suzanne Roberts

•••Saturday (1/15), 6-7:30pm: Poetry Art Walk in Placerville at Toogood Cellars, 304 Main St., Placerville. Theme: Journey into January. Please wear a mask to protect yourself and others.

•••Sunday (1/16), 3pm: Poets Club of Lincoln will meet on Zoom at  (Meeting ID: 874 6601 5982; Passcode: 766105) Robin Gabbert is the guest poet, followed by open mic. Host: David Anderson.

•••For more about El Dorado County poetry events, check Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook:




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