Saturday, May 11, 2024

How Will I Answer?

 Atmospheric River
—Photo by Ann Wehrman

* * *

—Poetry by Ann Wehrman, Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Chris Feldman, Ann Wehrman,
and StockSnap
roils, shifts, moves
holds a river-—no, an ocean within
storm’s dark premonition
envelops, wraps its weight around me
primal as Mom’s mink stole, claws intact
cool, wet wind penetrates mind, emotions, blood

Construction in Red
—Photo by Chris Feldman

returned to campus after Christmas at home
rage boiling in gut and throat
wild for release, revenge
we raced through dark night
stole into half-finished construction
rode a working elevator
top floor, boards, nails, open view
two kids in the dark
no security guards
we gazed out over campus
then ran back down, flew block-by-block
found a dorm door propped open
dried-out Christmas tree leaning in a corner
no ornaments, presents
dragged it to the door
threw it down from the top floor
thought we were cool
our tears buried, unvoiced
   Tree Cracks with Stars
—Photo by Chris Feldman

we sat on a stone bench
secure at the cliff’s edge
hearts as one, no words
at our feet, cliff’s massive, vertical span
rock wall insurmountable
no snowy heights, unearthly mount
deep blue above, around us
fertile, creative
lit from within, invisible starlight
cliff’s face led down, down
into the abyss
felt, known, unseen
we sat in silent contemplation
mystery, grim depth
ringing blue embrace

Sea Water Ocean Light
—Photo Courtesy of StockSnap (

I sought my love in the mountains
climbed far, high
found holds in graywacke
heels slipping, bleeding
slept huddled in a crevice
to no avail, you were not there
I sought my love in the oceans
gills bloomed
legs kicked like a tail
choked, then could breathe
viewed wonders in blue-black depths
but you were not there
I sought my love on the winds, on shifting sands
braved fire, seeking my love
still, found you not
I filled my life searching for you
now, wrinkled and slow, I sit alone
if you knock on my door, how will I answer?
An Old Hand
—Photo by Chris Feldman

combs long whitening hair
barren now, invisible
who can recognize her beauty?
worn body perseveres
soft wrinkled skin translucent
she makes tea, grins at the irony
body ages as heart deepens, grows
—Photo by Chris Feldman

tiny wren lands
on my open windowsill
in cool morning mist
shakes her feathers, preens
noticed I’ve just baked
hops over to cooling cake, nibbles
I reach slowly, holding my breath
touch her delicate wing
she briefly endures
then flies away


Today’s LittleNip:

It is not until you rhyme with a person that makes you their perfect match, it is when you are satisfied with each other’s peculiarities, and find jewels in their loopholes.
―Michael Bassey Johnson


—Medusa, with thanks to Ann Wehrman and Chris Feldman for today’s fine collaboration!
And the May issue of Sacramento Poetry Center’s Poet News is now available at
 Midnight at the Oasis
—Public Domain Photo

A reminder that
Manzanita Writers Press will hold
an Open House to celebrate
the re-opening of its bookstore
today from 11:30-3:30pm
in Angels Camp; and
Sacramento Poetry Alliance
features Richard Robbins
and William O’Daly in
Sacramento at 4pm today.
For info about these and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

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