We Do Not Seek a Life of Grey

 

Ready for another week? 

(Tie Knot by Origami Master)

—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joe Nolan
—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa (Carl Schwartz), 

Michael Ceraolo, and Joe Nolan

 

 

 

SUNLIGHT
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK

How vital dark, to show the light,
the glow of distant snow-capped heights
to give perspective here, below,
to know seeds, dead and buried, sown
both out of mind and beyond sight,
but guarantee, though future stowed,
through their slow growth, high winnow thrown,
blown since the globe first spun free,
despite the groan of human greed,
tomorrow’s promise owed we fools,
both crows and clowns unfit, yet need.

 

 

 

 

 

SPATIAL INTERPLAY
—Stephen Kingsnorth

To one laid shade, some bright delight,
a ghostly wight from dark arts plays,
unsafe breaking, in burglar light—
dust soup revealed by gold shaft rays,
but blinding of night owls, cave bats,
with migraine, photophobia,   
flap open for nocturnal cats,
wise feline sagas, sophia.

We do not seek a life of grey;
sharp silhouettes or shadows crisp
tell us the sunrise set halfway,
and not yet hints, willow-the-wisp.
The time creeps near, hour come to pass
when burning parchment, baking clay,
will curse the earth, as icepack glass
turns land to see, shelves flooded prey.

Helios, welcome traveller,
a journeyman, apprentice star,
from hibernating sleep, a spur,
exemplar, heavens to globe desire;
but when we draw world’s curtains back,
let in from height more solar streams
as stewardship, creation, slack,
like mares on moon, our wealth, bad dreams.

 

 

 

 

RÉGIME
—Stephen Kingsnorth

It’s odd that summer sunlight glare
spreads sharpest shadows, outline cut;
though winter shades may not appear
our minds so often darker brood.
Sidereal and solar power,
clock change in turn can generate
such swings, conjure our roundabouts
as if astrology our plot.
Then what of serendipity
that charts our chances unprepared,
of minor and the major scales
blind justice, trifles, tragedies.
Both place and time, earth’s tilt in space
season the taste our buds discern
with sprinkles like god’s fairy dust
that damage growth or fruit appears.
This fragile fate, frightful or fête
lapped by those gods, bags shaken bones,
a jungle code that overrules;
can this be régime that obtains?

 

LIFE IS SUNLIGHT
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

from the moment we
emerge from the womb
we are nourished by
sunlight: the warmth of
touch, brilliance of smiles,
nothing artificial…..yet

as we age we seek light
from any source, some
of it steering us to paths
we’d do better to avoid;
the radiance of diamonds
reduced to Kaching!

I was told I was born on
a rainy Friday; that’s a
start, but after I die maybe
I’ll track down those long
deceased physicians who
signed off on my birth

certificate and see if the
whole event of my debut
was just time at work for
them, or if they felt any rays
of sunlight on that rainy,
winter day

 

 

 

 

 

COMING OFF
—Caschwa

there I am driving home and
on the right side of me is a
freeway off-ramp looping
around like a backwards
letter “C” ascending to the
level of the overpass where

there I am driving home and
right alongside me is what my
daddy used to refer to as the
deceleration ramp, welcoming
drivers who never embraced
that concept in any shape or form

there I am driving home and
all the sudden several cars
had already come off the freeway
and are now whizzing along the
curving off ramp like it is still part
of the freeway proper

there I am driving home and
I’ve been there and done that
enough to be trained to just
slow down and yield right away
to any and all blind drag racers
who may not know that I’m there 

 

 

 

 

THEY CAME AND GIGGLED
—Caschwa

I worked in downtown Sacramento and
enjoyed taking daily walks into Old
Sacramento, surely older than I was

but not as much as Stockholm, which is
800 years old, quite the senior to the
entire United States of America

and not as old as Jericho, for which
artifacts found go back 11,000 years
now we’re talking old, really old

maybe it is the waterway that flows
alongside Old Sacramento’s buildings
that qualifies it as being called “old”

in full sunlight we hear the old water’s
snarky giggles as mere, innocent gurgles,
while they laugh out loud right back at us 

 

 

 

We're all just along for the Ride...

 

 

 

INFAMOUS, AND WORKING ON IT
—Caschwa

among the many exhibits at
the Chicago Sports Museum
is a pulverized baseball, kindly
referred to as the “Infamous
Foul Ball”

maybe also someone has kept
a collection of the chips and bits
of stone left on the floor by master
sculptors

or the fishing gear employed to
catch all those promising next meals
that “got away”

now sure, an unfinished symphony
won’t earn you any merit badges, but
it could find a home with someone
who likes those sorts of things

 

 

 

 

TAXONOMY
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH

The Committee has classified
the seven types of Congressional Dwarfs;
some can embody multiple types,
and all embody number five

The list:

Trumpy

Dopey

Schlock

Yappy

Cashful

Sleazy

Creepy

There is no prince

There is no Snow White

 

 

 

MY DIFFICULT MOUSE
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

My mouse
Is having issues
Today.

It wiggles
On the screen
And slips away.

I cannot call it back
At times.
It defies me
With insouciance,
Like ancient texts
That rhyme.

We cannot control
What we can’t understand.
There’s a wire between
My cursor and my hand.

 

 

 

 

THE CAPISTRANO CENTIPEDES
—Joe Nolan

The Capistrano centipedes
Strolled on branches
Searching for what
They would need,

Hoping to not
Be swallowed,
By Capistrano swallows.

Probably,
You’ve only heard
Of the swallows
And not the centipedes,

But swallows have their needs
And one of them
Is to swallow
Centipedes.
You should know that, too! 

 

 

 

 

SEIZING THE MEANS OF OBSTRUCTION
 —Joe Nolan                                                   
 
Seizing the means of obstruction
Against the will of “The Vanguard,”
Saying, “Enough is enough,”
Just like Tian An Man Square.

Thousands of “tank-men”
Armed with big-rigs in snow,
Blocking roadways and bridges
Saying, “The mandates must go!”

There is a rock and a hard place
Between Chaos and Control
Where is Agent 99?
Do we need to call Get Smart?

It’s a bounce back like a Super-Ball
And the truckers are in between
Encroaching tendrils of tyranny
And the ways of freedom we need.

 

 

 

 

SEEKING REFUGE IN CUBAN MOJITOS
—Joe Nolan

“Well, thank you,
But I’m not interested in that.”
That is the comment
Most folks make
In response to
Most modern poetry.

What can we say
That’s not been written?

As writers,
We try to make our way
Through gauntlets of indifference,
Affronted, vague ambivalence
And ways that meanings fade,

As we make our way into the shade,
Like Hemingway,
To suck on rum mojitos,
Bought for us
By admirers,
Who succor up to us,
Since they know,
Hemingway is friends with
“El Barbado”
Who is the primo jefe of
This Cuban Island.

 

 

 

 

MUSIC AND CONTRITION
—Joe Nolan

Sheet-music
Floats across the skies,
Unbridled and unbound,
Carrying its sound,
Yet to be unwound,

Into flutes, lutes,
Strings and any other things,
Capable of rhythmic repetition,
Like sinners in contrition,
Breathing penance in the
Incense vapors,
Who promise not to sin again,
But know they always will,
Since it’s in their nature.
 
Thus, will rhythms ring again
And thus will lovers love again
And dancers dance their afternoons, away,
Since such is nature’s play.

__________________________

Today’s LittleNip:

HITTING THE BOOKS
—Caschwa

beware where the lye lie
when lain upon the lane
precious lode too much a load

weighty lead cargo lade by
workers led to be laid, so each
one lays down a ray of lase

____________________________

Plenty of sunlight in today’s poems, as SnakePals have contributed responses to our Seed of the Week, Sunlight. Tune in tomorrow for a new Seed of the Week, but there are no deadlines on current or past SOW subjects. Click on Calliope’s Closet at the top of this column for our cornucopia of ideas, past and present,

Did I say last Monday was Presidents’ Day? Must’ve been those Gorgon snakes, fiddling with the keyboard—and maybe with Joe Nolan’s difficult mouse… Anyway, Happy Presidents’ Day today—or whatever cheery greeting one uses for such occasions.

About his poem, “Seeking the Means of Obstruction”, Joe Nolan writes:  “I read this poem last Sunday [2/13] on Rattlecast [www.rattle.com/rattlecast], at 2:32 into the show. With the invocation of the Emergency Powers Act in Canada, they are in a state of near martial law. So, this is very topical right now.” Keep our Canadian friends and poets in your thoughts, as they try to deal with what’s going on in their country these days.

 

 

 

 

•••Tonight (Mon. (2/21), 7:30pm, Sac. Poetry Center Socially Distant Verse features Neil Creighton and Chen Chen, plus open mic. Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. (Meeting ID: 763 873 3462 / pass: r3trnofsdv/.) Info: www.facebook.com/sacpoetrycenter/.

 

 

 

 

Dave Boles

 

•••Sat. (2/26), 2pm: Poetry of the Sierra Foothills features Dave Boles of Cold River Press, plus open mic, Love Birds Coffee & Tea Co., 4181 Hwy 49 (where Hwy 49 meets Pleasant Valley Rd.), Diamond Springs, CA. Host: Lara Gularte.

•••For more about El Dorado County poetry events, check Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/.

____________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

We Do Not Seek a Life of Grey

(Monet's Garden Today—Click once for a moment

of astounding beauty.)

 

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