On the Cusp of Spring

 

—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Nolcha Fox, 

Stephen Kingsnorth, Shiva Neupane,

and Joe Nolan

—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joe Nolan

 

 

 

HOLY PHOTO
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA

after a photo from
Medusa’s Kitchen,
March 2, 2023

Two hummingbirds,
one pristine white,
longer beaked,
the other iridescent
fiery fuchsia;

their beaks touch
or nearly,
momentous moments
etched in memory’s
feathery cells, under

a Sistine Chapel sky,
blue-domed, everlastingly
observant, listening.
God’s reply to Adam
will come as a humming?

 

 

 

 Prairie Smoke Flower

CANDLE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

I burn my candle at both ends,
casting flickering shadows
to light up the corners
of early-dark-thirty and midnight-too-dark,
of paisley past and furry future.
I sit in the middle, picking tissue lint
off just-washed clothes,
hoping I don’t find snot.

 

 

 

 

CANDLEPOWER
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

Surely burn-out, subject brought,
but not rooted, candlepower;
just as well the lighthouse does
pulse its sign both dusk through dawn.
Splutter candles, drowning wax—
though don’t forget guttersnipes,
children playing in the streets.
Worth the candle, that source of words?

Halo hovers round the flame,
more attuned to wholesome minds;
thorny matter to explain,
sticking point when with the kids.
Cockney rhyming slang in fact,
someone getting on your wick—
not the rosebush, this prick term.
Annoying, etymologists.  

Storage boxes, candlesticks,
cup or pricket, bobeche drips,
candelabra, multiples,
snuffers, douters long-arm reach;
Willy Winkie climbs the stairs,
upward, close shades, shadows feared,
lies beneath his candlewick,
on muslin, knotted cotton thread.

We have heard sage wisdom laid,
lighting candle better than
cursing darkness, global spread,
glimmer hope against the dread.
But the fire can burn instead,
searing, branding, scar bare skin,
if long hours, unbalanced lives,
burning our candles at both ends. 

 

 

 

 

 

IS SEXUAL MORALITY IPSE DIXIT?
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne, Australia
 
Your erotic madness
may give rise to ethical sadness
because it doesn’t attach importance to pudicity,
rather it does a romantic publicity.
 
If you’re a nihilist,
then again,
this ethical warning sounds eristic.
And, eerily uncharacteristic.
 
The sensual freedom may bring happiness,
but it must adhere to moral alertness.
The animals do not have conscientious obligation
as opposed to us in gaining a moral instruction.
 
The sex is a nectar of pleasure
if the code of honor is to ensure
the sanctity of human dignity
by avoiding the libidinal hostility.
 
The Sex is the celebration of mutual trust;
if not monitored by the ethical hazard, then it
may burst.
The sense of duty must not go off the moral
trajectory,
else you will not achieve a romantic victory.
 
The origin of sexual morality is
handed down from our ancestral civility.
Therefore, there is not an iota of Ipse Dixit
to be skeptical about it. 

 

 

 

 

NO PLACE IN HEAVEN FOR A SAINT
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

There is no place in Heaven
For a saint,
Since they can’t
Get along
With those
Who ain’t. 

They have their ways.
It’s said.  It’s true.
They’re married to eternity,
Unlike me and you.

They have their ways
To see through
Me and you—
Diaphanous glue.

Catching to the main-seam,
They never mention,
Never bother.
They know more than they say,
Though they never “other.”

 

 

 

 

 

OUR SNOW-FREE VALLEY
—Joe Nolan

Hello,...
It’s rain and
Not snow,
Although,
Up above,
It is—
Covering land in
Pure-white,
Like bliss!

If elevations were not amiss,
Depriving the lowlands
A taste of it,
We might have a Valley of Snow,
Don’t you know? 

We might quiver and shake
Here below,
Searching for shovels
To dig our way out
Of a wonderland
That falls on our ears,
Like silence
In a world full of tears. 

Hailstones are falling
I clearly hear,
Thank God they are small!
Hardly a bother, at all. 
They scatter and pout,
Drain themselves out,
Into water, forever,
Running fresh and clear.   

 

 

 

 

                                                             
GARBAGE MEN
—Joe Nolan

It is in the nature of garbage-men
To hate all garbage, utterly—
To wish it dragged away and disposed.
To have it cast away and buried in the earth,
To make it disappear and be no more,
To have it be destroyed, completely,
Removed from the world of men. 
 
It is in the nature of garbage-men
To mourn the loss of things that have passed,
Into the past and lost, lost, gone-away...
Though they hated bitterly
Against the things they cast away,
As garbage, garbage, utterly. 

 

 

 

NOT YET WAR IN UKRAINE
—Joe Nolan

Now, the launch,
Despite the paunch,
That comes with
Middle-age—
To move,
To drift away,
Into vague horizons,
Less luminous,
More at play...

I remember your sweet perfume,
Soft evening breezes,
Warm at the end of June,
Lingering on the plaza,
Feet propped into the air.
Off into the distance,
We could peacefully stare.
There was not yet war
In Ukraine.

 

 

 

 

 

Today’s LittleNip:

IF THERE WERE FLOWERS
—Joe Nolan

If there were flowers,
If only there were flowers,
I could love thee, forever,
Into hours,
Until our flowers bled,
By the power of flowers,
Until our dreams were wed,
Forever. 

_______________________

Thanks to our poets today for poems and pix! Hopefully they aren’t burning their candles at both ends (our Seed of the Week), but just writing about it. I’ve posted lots of flowers from Joe Nolan today to remind us of Spring, and that the Equinox is only a couple of weeks away~

Tonight at 7:30pm, Sac. Poetry Center’s in-person reading features Al-Mutanabbi Street Starts Here, a themed open reading on the topic of freedom of speech and freedom of the press. Thursday brings Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento, 8pm, with featured readers and open mic.

Next weekend will bring lots of poetry to our area! Saturday, 2pm, Mosaic of Voices in Lodi features Traci Gourdine, Patrick Grizzell, and Tama Brisbane, plus open mic. At 4pm, Sacramento Poetry Alliance features Bill Gainer and Todd Boyd in Sacramento, plus open mic. Then, in the evening, Serenity Bassett reads at Brickhouse Gallery in Sacramento, plus open mic (sign-ups at 7:30pm).

Next Sunday will be another in the Capturing Wakamatsu workshop series with Taylor Graham and Katy Brown at Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville. Sign up at www.arconservancy.org/event/capturing-wakamatsu-a-poetry-walk-workshop/. Then on Sunday afternoon at 3pm, Avery London, a high school senior, Jewish-Okinawan poet, indigenous rights activist and 3-time winner in the Voices of Lincoln Poetry Contest will read in Lincoln. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.

_______________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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