Loves of Our lives

 —Poetry by Michael H. Brownstein,
Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Taylor Dibbert, Caschwa,
and Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Visuals
Courtesy of Joe Nolan

 

 

FOR MY VALENTINE
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO

1.
water fills me with you
actuaries of mist and drizzle
Christmas light in prisms
 
 2.
listen to the water fall
the edge a pool of glimmer
smooth skinned and happy
 
 3.
when I drink this water
I wear your hand in my glove
your impression on my love
 
 4.
God created life out of water
good from the earth
you because he knew of me
 
 5.
water silvers the skyline
the city and town
the branch you sit upon
 
 6.
because of you
even water
is more beautiful 

 

 

 

 

LOVES OF MY LIFE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

You’d think that men
would catch my fancy,
make me swoon and sigh.
But few could pass
the test of time.
They’re memories at best.
The loves that bring
me back to them,
no matter how I change,
are dogs and books
and herbal tea
and wind and snow
and rain.

 

 

 

 

HOW’S YOUR LOVE LIFE?
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

It was the Parliament of Fowls
when birds first featured, choosing mates,
romantic love to celebrate,
though Valentine, unlikely date.
In time, my first love, literature,
whose study started, same name tamed,
translating words beyond my own,
vocabulary, new term, Lent.
With Chaucer came the pilgrim’s tales,
poor testimony to the faith,
some bawdy for holy pretence,
bear naked truth of cloistered cell.
Expense of spirit, waste of shame,
is sonnet form, unmastered Will,
the mistress, discard, in distress,
for no romance, chivalric code.

And there staged drama, musing voice,
the words of verse in rhythmic terms,
a love of life in all its tones,
romantics ’fore the greetings card.
Seems strange that she who won my heart,
would not share lines that so appeal;
sews cross stitch, stretchers, needlepoint,
embroiders, pouncing, crewel work.
But each of disciplines is gold,
an auric ring for valentine,
a pin cushion, so less averse,
outrageous fortune, cupid’s slings.
Those arrows from the quiver drawn,
find bullseye, target of the core;
a husband, wife, or husband more,
but will romance be certain love? 

 

 

 

 

LIFE’S LOVES RECALLED
—Stephen Kingsnorth

These jigsaw pieces of my life
invested my experience,
displayed about, my furniture,
to others nought, but sum for me.
An object takes subjective form,
stirs memory of who, when, where,
a unity of time and place,
but more, emotion, so evoked.
To offspring, unknown father’s part,
but clutter, late, to be removed,
dead fripperies not understood,
as too resistance to their cull. 

 

 

 

 

MIXED BAG
—Taylor Dibbert, Washington, DC


Getting over
That first
Big heartbreak
Is a mixed bag,
Great to have her
In the rearview mirror
But there are
No guarantees
And that means
That the next one
Could be
Even worse.

 

 

 

MY FIRST CAR
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

a 1963 Dodge Dart GT which I bought
in the early seventies for under $200

Slant 6 engine, AM only radio, push button
transmission, manual steering, bias ply
tires, hand crank windows, different keys
for ignition and doors; it was red, more like a
sore wound than a fire engine, no right side
mirror until I added one myself; same with
seat belts for the back seat

not very long after I bought it, the transmission
needed to be repaired which cost about the
purchase price of the car, all over again

had a tow ball in the back, which moved a
friend of a friend to send me to the rental yard
to bring him a cement mixer so he could repave
his front walkways; the yard supplied over-sized
mirrors left and right so I could pull the mixer
and see around it; the day went very well

This was my vehicle when I got a job in down-
town Los Angeles at a sheet music store; I took
the bus most days but took the car on Saturdays
when traffic was lighter and street parking was free;

after that job ended, I got an early morning
paper route, where I loaded about 200 papers
daily and 300 Sunday, and brought a stake wagon
to pull around the luxury condo communities newly
built on the studio lot where MGM had filmed Gone
With the Wind; a bit tedious, but as soon as I was
done, I’d drive across the street to the donut shop
where the owner loved to greet me with a freshly
baked apple fritter; now half a century later, one
apple fritter would overload my aging metabolism. 

 

 

 

A.M. AGONY
—Caschwa

it was between midnight and dawn
during a steady, moderate rain
the shrieks of a kitty cat gone
crazy rang through my windowpane

one voice, not two, was all I heard
someone was very upset
then the chirping of a bird
as if to defy it was wet

multiple times through the wee
morning hours this scenario told
the story of how it would be
to lose one’s lover in the cold

abyss outside my warm abode
where I sat at a computer to
quietly decipher the code
spoken by only a few

the rain is still here and
now there’s light in the sky
over soaking, wet land
where lone kitty cats cry

 

 

 

HOODWINKED
—Caschwa

we did it! we found a wonderful
model of democracy in Greek
history and borrowed from it to
form our own; then something
off script upset the apple cart:
we let the slaves go free

you see, the very same Greeks
who devised that model were
slave owners, and so their version
of democracy was geared toward
the management of property, much
like our present day HOA’s for
condo owners

so it appears we invited a Trojan
Horse, and what godawful treasures
did that hold for us?

as our own history would show, while
we were blinded by the promise of a
perfect democracy, we swallowed the
wrong pill and instead got a full dose
of another ancient Greek tradition:
walled, warring City-States, which we
modeled in our bold Declaration of
Independence, giving each separate
state the power to declare war, and
which explains the underpinnings of
much of the friction we experience
today in our proud but troubled nation.

 

 

 

 

 BROKEN PROMISES
—Caschwa

just went over shapes
with some very small youngsters
they know what rings are

then they see women
wearing earrings that are not
ring shape, but are pearls

had to act quickly
to console them I said we’ll
call those shapes ear balls 

 

 

 

PLASMIC FLESH
—Joe Nolan

Do women get much bigger
When they become mothers
Or is that just the way it seems?

Maybe when the umbilical’s cut,
A separate balloon inflates,
Still joined together
In spirit, in plasmic flesh,

Leading to a vague impression
That a woman’s size has grown,
With all her offspring
Seized around her,
Floating in
The outer layers
Of her aura? 

 

 

 

SURRENDER TO ADDICTION
—Joe Nolan

To find one’s fleeting meaning
From measured mania
According to the size of a dose
Is to become addicted.

Whatever was before
Has disappeared,
Dissolved into
What is in a spoon
Held above the
Flame of a Bic lighter,
Waiting for an arm
To be strapped
To let it in,
To bring its
Peace and exaltation,
Only for as long as it will last.

 

 

 

 

YELLING OUT LOUD
—Joe Nolan

At their local restaurant
Some parents were very proud
When their little infant-son
Yelled out loud.

You could see it in the way they beamed,
When they looked his way—
An image of parental love
On a happy day.

 

 

 

 Welcome to the Year of the Dragon!

THE VICTORY OF WATER OVER FIRE
—Joe Nolan

This is Friday
And the sky is gray.
They say
It may
Come down—
Rain, rain,
Across our fields,
Flooding out
Our town.

If it may,
Maybe it will?

Look across
Your windowsill.
See the drops
Drop down,
One, after the other.
Watch the sun turn brown
From vibrant yellow.

Celebrate the victory
Of water over fire!

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

CLAY BENEATH THE STARS
—Joe Nolan

Enlightened tolerance
Accepts things as they are,
Though they’re far from perfect—
Clay beneath the stars.

_________________

—Medusa, with thanks to today’s contributors! Our Seed of the Week was “Loves of My Life”; be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest SOW. 

 

 

 

 Speaking of brutal weather…










 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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