Wanderelust, Retirement Hopes, and Other Dingie-Thingies

 

My Ol’ Pal, Bill

Bill Gainer, Grass Valley, CA

—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis, CA

—Poetry by Tohm Bakelas, 

Caschwa (Carl Schwartz), 

Stephen Kingsnorth, Joe Nolan

telephone conversation
—Tohm Bakelas, New Jersey

                  for Kent Taylor
 
a three-hour time difference 
leads to different days lived 
 
i eat dinner with my children 
while you await a grocery delivery
 
the ’60’s were 60 years ago
we both thought death 
would come for us 
before 30
 
birds outside windows 
may be dead friends
but they also 
might just be 
birds


(prev. pub. in “Three Poets 5” with Danny D. Ford and Mark Anthony Pearce, Hickathrift Press, 2021)

 

 

 

Julie Valin, Grass Valley, CA
—Photo by Katy Brown

 

 

 

WANDERLUST
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, 

Wrexham, Wales, UK

Lust, ploughed, compounded driven force,
grab, all-embracing spread out search,
dissatisfied with ground supplied,
demanding capture, further brands—
that is the story of our kind.
We admire hunger to explore,
discover what unknown before,
exposed slack code, genetic seed,
as curiosity explodes.
But is their cost not priced in yet,
as course set, travel getting there,
the deprivations driving trail,
those victims when a landfall made?
Yet here’s asunder, unconfined—
those windmills, driving synapse wynd,
Quixote throwing arms about
for fear of sails too close to wind.
There is no lust on my part here,
and yet there’s ponder, daily wide,
familiar scenes unrecognized,
unless there’s music in the spheres,
which strikes a bell, sounds harmonies.
With wonder, wander, so aligned,
conjecture why the squandered mind
is less explored than foreign climes,
when homeland, more folk, alien brain. 

 

 

 

Chris Olander, Grass Valley, CA
—Photo by Katy Brown

 

 

 

NOT SO FAST
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

“Wandering between two worlds,
one dead, the other powerless to
be born” —Matthew Arnold:
Stanzas from the Grand Chartreuse

elementary school: we were all
balsa wood gliders, allowed to
view but not touch the clouds

junior high: the weighty tails affixed
to our kites stood no chance against
that first wave of hormones

senior high: pick a college, pick a
career, test drive adult choices,
without overstepping our station

university: goodbye “in loco parentis”
our parents would drown in the
footprints of these professors

post-graduate: still picking up the
pieces of our broken, busted,
balsa wood gliders 

 

 

 

 —Photo by Caschwa

 

SYLVIA
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

She called her Daddy
A Nazi
Before gassing herself
With an oven.

Her children in the next room,
All the door-cracks
Taped shut,
Efficiently.

The title of her last book,
Ariel,
Seemed so full of light,
Ironically. 

 

 

 

—Photo by Caschwa

 

EXPERIMENT IN VERMILION
—Joe Nolan

I don’t know
What’s what
Anymore,
Or what is the score,
Between Jacks and Aces,
In East-European places,
Where it seems
There is lust for war.

Not just a little war,
Between two
Neighboring nations,
But a full-scale
Armageddon,
Replete with
Nuclear devastation.

What would that be for?
To kill five-hundred million,
In a Petri-dish
Experiment in vermilion? 

 

 

 

—Public Domain Illustration 

Courtesy of Joe Nolan

 

 

FORGOTTEN THINGS
—Joe Nolan

Did you do
The dingie-thingie
That was
On my list?

It’s so hard
For me to
Remember
What is
In my fist,
I picked up
Just moments
Ago.

I think it
Must be Tuesday,
But I see
It is Friday
And the garbage-truck
Has gone without
My garbage.

When will it go?
I’ll have to wait
For next Tuesday,
When, thankfully,
The garbage-man
Will pick up what I leave,
Without pointing out
I missed him,
Last week.

How could I
Ever miss a
Garbage-man
Who’ll pick up
All my
Unnecessary things?

 

 

 

—Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Joe Nolan

HOPES FOR RETIREMENT
—Joe Nolan
 
A smooth cruise down
Into stardom,
Not that I would be a star,
But that I’d be among them,
Far past the dregs
Of heartbreak row,
Pretty music,
Playing slow,
No place that
I’d have to go,
If I didn’t want to.

Contentment,
Like a lily-pad,
On a comfort-pond
Underneath a pine-tree,
Fed by a fresh spring.
Little things that satisfy,
Gratify, pacify,
One hopes for
In retirement.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

NIGHT PERFUME
—Joe Nolan

Heavy, stale perfume
Is put out in the night,
To lure in pale, white moths
To besmirch blossoms.

_____________________

A boatload of thanks to today’s contributors, and a note that more can be seen from Tohm Bakelas this coming Wednesday. Our Seed of the Week was “Wandering”, so a couple of the poems have sunk their poetic teeth into that subject. And thanks to Katy Brown for her photos of the Poetry Crashers reading in Grass Valley last Saturday.

It has been announced that Adrian Matejka, former State Poet Laureate of Indiana and prize-winning poet, will take over the editorship of Poetry magazine as of May 16. For details, see www.fresnobee.com/entertainment/article260765192.html/.

Click on our new UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS link at the top of this column for news about what’s happening in this area this week, including Sacramento’s Big Day of Giving on Thursday, and Cold River Press’s Poetry in Locke on Saturday afternoon. Sac. Poetry Center is all Open Mic on Zoom tonight.

_____________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

Bill Gainer Again

—Photo by Katy Brown



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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 I’m outta here~