Joey and the Gang

Joey

Photo by Janet Pantoja

MY FRIEND JOEY

—Janet Pantoja, Woodinville, WA
                               
My
best friend
loves me with
no conditions
in good times or bad.
My patient loyal friend
listens, forgives, is joyful.
My friend is my Dog—is God.

_____________________

Thanks to Janet Pantoja for rounding off our Seed of the Week: Best Friends Forever.  Next Tuesday (10/26) is Sacramento Poetry Day, so let's celebrate with poems about Sacramento—for better or for worse! Send your Sacramento thoughts to kathykieth@hotmail.com. 

_____________________

Sophia

When Dogs Wear Green Socks I
(cinquain pattern 1)

Sofia
wears green
socks after frolicking
in the freshly cut
grass


When Dogs Wear Green Socks II
(cinquian pattern 2)

Sofia
white, groomed
running, basking, frolicking
on freshly manicured lawn
disaster


When Dogs Wear Green Socks III
(cinquain pattern 3)

  white dogs
wear bight green socks 
after frolicking in
freshly manicured green grass
so cool


—Janet Pantoja

_________________________

YOU THANATOS!
—Janet Pantoja

Euthanasia: Eu + Thanato from Greek meaning good, well or happy + death;  Thanatos (death personified) an easy and painless death, act or method of causing death painlessly so as to end suffering.
 

Charlie . . .
I can still see you trotting happily
home from a jaunt in the woods 
coming through the chain link gate . . .
it would only be a matter of days until
you would return to the woods—still, cold, lifeless—

in a cardboard box.

Suddenly ill . . .
you wasted away in pain,
shivering sometimes--three long days,
three long nights passed by so quickly . . .
yet not so quickly, while You Thanatos!
hovered.

Decision:  euthanasia
it was a long last ride
to do the kind deed for you my best friend;
it was a long last hour for us . . .
you were heavy in my arms  
while I waited in anguish
in the little exam room for You Thanatos!

the needle prick was quick—
the last pain for you—wincing
your brown eyes wide open,
you were overcome by peaceful sleep . . .
the sorrowful ride back home seemed endless—

me with empty arms . . .
you in a cardboard box
in the trunk of the car.

Back home . . .
a headstone, a footstone
a circle of rocks, a covering of rocks
a torrent of teardrops
a few parting words  . . .
bye bye Charlie . . .
sleep peacefully next to dear little Koosha.

Epilogue . . .
fourteen years seemed like such a long time
and yet . . .
so suddenly, oh so suddenly
it was over—

you were gone, Charlie.
You Thanatos!
YOU TOOK THEM BOTH!

Note: Both the author's beloved dogs were euthanized.
Charlie 12/21/91 - 9/4/06, 14 yrs 8 mo
Koosha  10/7/89 - 4/14/05, 15 yrs 6 mo

____________________

Today's LittleNip:

The newest computer can merely compound, at speed, the oldest problem in relations between human beings, and in the end the communicator will be confronted with the old problem, of what to say and how to say it.

—Edward R. Murrow

____________________

—Medusa

Charlie

Photo by Janet Pantoja

The Pomegranate Speaks

The pomegranate speaks:
My leaves are like your teeth
My fruit like your breasts.
I, the most beautiful of fruits,
Am present in all weathers, all seasons,
As the lover stays forever with the beloved,
Drunk on "shedeh" and wine.

All the trees lose their leaves, all
Trees but the pomegranate
I alone in all the garden lose not my beauty,
I remain straight.
When my leaves fall,
New leaves are budding.

First among fruits
I demand that my position be acknowledged,
I will not take second place.
And if I receive such an insult again
You will never hear the end of it.

. . . .
With lotus in bloom
And lotus in bud,
And oil and sweet myrrh of every kind,
You will be among the contented
For the rose pavilion is highly thought of
And well looked after.

. . . .
There he is!
Let us go up and embrace him
And keep him here all day long.



(Translated from Anonymous Egyptian hieroglyphic texts,
c. 1500 BC, by Ezra Pound and Noel Stock)

_____________________

Lots going on this week, most of it courtesy of Sac. Poetry Center. But Thursday night, the long-awaited WTF7 from Rattlesnake Press will make its debut, along with some dandy featured readers, at Poetry Unplugged. Then this weekend, head on up to Placerville to hear the Finklemans at the new ArtSpace series on Friday. Saturday it’s the GATEways Art Fest at UCD Arboretum during the day, then Luna’s Café for the annual Kerouac tribute in the evening. Sunday, drive down to Lodi for the First Annual Teen Poets Showcase—and kudos to A Starry Night Poetry Series for providing a venue for teenaged poets! See b-board for details on all these events.


Redwood Writers Conference in Santa Rosa, 10/30

Here are some highlights of the upcoming Redwood Writers 2010 Conference at the Flamingo Hotel and Resort, 2777 Fourth St., Santa Rosa. The theme is “Celebration of the Written Word”. For more info, go to redwoodwriters.org/redwood-conference

•••Pre-conference Poetry Evening (Fri., 10/29): EMCEE is Penelope La Montagne, Poet Laureate Emerita of Healdsburg (2004-2006); Special Guest is Gwynne O’Gara, Sonoma County 2010 – 2011 Poet Laureate; Evening Keynote by Cheryl Dumesnil: “I Triple-Dog Dare You: a Celebration of High-Risk Poetry”

•••Saturday Conference: Morning Keynote: Author and motivational speaker Elisa Southard delivers her presentation, "Your Writer's Secret to Achieve and Succeed". The Technology and Business Track builds sessions on name recognition, working with agents, online networking and new ways to publish featuring Teresa LeYung Ryan: the "Building Your Name" Craft of Writing Track takes writers from beginning the research stage through finding the proper voice, developing character and descriptive writing that bring scenes alive. The Genre Track offers tips for screenwriting, memorable writing, mystery how-to and enthusiastic writing for children and young adults.

____________________

"FRIENDENEMIES"
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

On an NPR show discussing "friendenemies"
they said "friends" that make you feel ambivalent
can significantly raise your blood pressure
even though they aren't the
"with friends like this who needs enemies"
kind of people
but perhaps the "enemy of my enemy"
because one can both love and hate them
and maybe one might love to hate them too
Your relationship is like Abbott and Costello
such as their arguing "whose on first"
just disagreeing is something to do
even though you can't prove who's right
At least it’s not having fist fights
or like Ralph with Alice in "Honeymooners"
who wish they could send the other "to the moon"
then sometimes say "Baby you're the greatest..."
Okay maybe you wouldn't want to "marry" them
but what are you going to do without them
and would we have real friends otherwise?
Because at times we need them for a reference
just because we didn't shoot them
or just because we tolerated their attitude
they may at times appreciate you for that

_______________________

I find my love fishing
His feet in the shallows.

We have breakfast together
And drink beer.

I offer him the magic of my thighs
He is caught in the spell.



(Translated from Anonymous Egyptian hieroglyphic texts,
c. 1500 BC, by Ezra Pound and Noel Stock)

_______________________

I wish to paint my eyes,
so if I see you, my eyes will glisten.
When I approach you and see your love,
you are richest in my heart.
How pleasant this hour is!
May it extend for me to eternity.
Since I have lain with you
you have lifted my heart high. 


(Translated from Anonymous Egyptian hieroglyphic texts,
c. 1500 BC, by Willis Barnstone)

_______________________ 

Today's LittleNip: 

We shall not cease from exploration.
And at the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time

—T.S. Eliot

_______________________

—Medusa

Photo by Carl Bernard Schwartz, Sacramento

When Locked Up...

Der Sonnenschlucker (The Sun Eater)

Painting by Joan Miró

FABLE FOR WHEN THERE'S NO WAY OUT
—May Swenson

Grown too big for his skin,

and it grown hard,

without a sea and atmosphere—

he's drunk it all up—

his strength's inside him now,

but there's no room to stretch.

He pecks at the top

but his beak's too soft;

though instinct and ambition shoves,

he can't get through.

Barely old enough to bleed

and already bruised!

In a case this tough

what's the use

if you break your head

instead of the lid?

Despair tempts him

to just go limp;

Maybe the cell's 

already a tomb,

and beginning end

in this round room.

Still, stupidly he pecks

and pecks, as if from under

his own skull—

yet makes no crack . . .

No crack until 

he finally cracks,

and kicks and stomps.

What a thrill

and shock to feel

his little gaff poke

through the floor!

A way he hadn't known or meant.

Rage works if reason won't.

When locked up, bear down.

_____________________

—Medusa

Questionless, Answerless

GOING TO HEALING PLACES
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

And when they go, down to the wild places
where they go—the ancient crow
and the old dog who are friends—
they smile in the moonlight.

I have tried to follow them, under the
wet trees, my shoes making no sounds.
But they know I am behind them.
They turn and look at me.

Now they are going there again,
the half-blind crow on the gray shoulder
of the limping dog, the crow guiding them along
by the stars in brief-lit openings.

When they return I hear them brushing the walls
with their torn shadows that mend by morning—
poor old creatures, tame and napping—one at my
feet, the other on the coat rack by the door.

_____________________

THE FAMILY FRIEND DROPS BY
—Joyce Odam

The family friend stands in the doorway
watching the children play dress-up
from a large tumbled box of clothing
in the open closet.
The girls feel like movie stars
as they costume and pose for each other.

Then they realize he is standing there
watching them
and they grow silly
and don’t know how to act.

They feel a power from his interest.
They say they are hot and thirsty
and ask him to go buy them some ginger ale
from the corner store before it closes.

                                             
(first appeared in Nerve Cowboy, 2000)

____________________

TWO: ONE DRINKING FASTER THAN THE OTHER
—Joyce Odam

I was with a drunk and lonely friend
who bore my name like sorrow on the tongue

who said me slowly while I poured the wine
who used the word remember like a game

and always always said the same thing twice
and laughter splintered forth like spilling time

and we with so much emptiness to fill
caught all of it caught all of it until.
                                                

(first appeared in Quoin, 1975)

_____________________

CONJURING UP MEMORIES
—Joyce Odam

Oh, broken childhood,
full of places and fears—
tears and forgotten

faces— who,   
and who,    and who,
are these others flowing past,

forgetting you—
you who are so small
and must go where life leads,

all the ways toward the center
past the quick
forgotten friends,

you who promised them
forever:  goodbye,    goodbye,
and more goodbye.

Now you spiral back
and arrive where you are:
questionless,   

and answerless:
everywhere is here,
has always been here,

moment upon moment,   
hour, and year—why grieve
for what you cannot know.

A seagull appears in your dreams,
and another,    and another—
those old cries.

____________________

A MELANCHOLY FOR FLUTE AND RAIN
(Listening to MINDSCAPES  “Rainsong”)
—Joyce Odam

If I could play the flute
I would play it in the rain.

I would let the sad wet notes
carry away my nameless pain,
my rhyme of loneliness.

I would let the far soft thunder
become the slow reverberations
that it needs to resonate the same.

I’d let the lightning crack about
in vain—as blind as any unfound
dark heart such as mine.

I’d learn at last of how such music
carries its own self away—perhaps
to you, my unknown spirit-mate,

my haunted friend, where
you are—hurting—listening,
to some carried sound,

oblivious to me, but mentioned
in this music just the same.

____________________

Today's LittleNip:

STALEMATE—Joyce Odam

we are not friends
we are not
lovers now

we are
a cage

we lock each other
we threaten
freedom

           
(appeared in Prophetic Voices, 1992, 
and Love Bites, chapbook, 1998)

__________________

—Medusa (and thanks to Katy Brown for finding us the photos!)

In The Company of Angels

Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

AZRAEL
—Cynthia Linville, Sacramento

Angel with a broken wing
flies along limpingly

I follow, land, meet his marble cousins
in a still graveyard where

cold white arms cradle a skeleton
and chubby cherubs unfurl a banner I lean in to read

the tombstone slowly opens and – suddenly –
icy wings, pointy nails and teeth envelop me

razor sharp, wrestling
crashing through a ceiling

unable to regain my breath, still reeling
only to find warm darkness

and feathers
slowly brushing me

_____________________

Thanks to today's contributors, including Cynthia Linville, who sends us a "tribute" poem (see below), and whose angel poem is pointing us in the direction of Halloween.

The latest edition of Laverne and Carol Frith’s Ekphrasis is out, with poems by several SnakePals, including locals Kathleen Lynch, Jane Blue, and Jeanine Stevens. Go to www.ekphrasisjournal.com for a copy and/or a subscription. (See also the b-board...)

Speaking of Kathleen Lynch, the Second Annual Confluence College Poetry Tour takes place around our area this week, thanks to travelin’ poets Kathleen Lynch, John Murillo, Lawrence Dinkins, and Dorine Jennette—and hard-working host Bob Stanley. They’ve added three venues this year—see the b-board!

The weekend is upon us. Get your poems to Frank Andrick for WTF8 today, then tonight head over to Davis for The Other Voice to hear Edythe Haendel Schwartz and Margaret Hoehn. Not much doin' Sat. and Sun. (go see Howl), but gear up for next week and next weekend! More about that to come; did I mention you should keep watchin' the b-board....?

_____________________
 

PATIENCE:

a card game
bringer of all that's fair

a virtue
a minor form of despair

sorrow's slave
which at times, proves at fault

necessary ingredient of genius
hardest time of all

nature's secret
triple steel

hour-glass
sov'reign o'er transmuted ill

passion of great hearts
bitter, but its fruit sweet

the future
curled up like a dog at our feet


This is a tribute poem:
line 2 The Bible
line 3 A proverb
line 4 Ambrose Bierce
line 5 Charles Churchill “Prophecy of Famine”
line 6 Robert Browning “Paracelsus”
line 7 Benjamin Disraeli
line 8 Sarah Doudney “Psalms of Life”
line 9 Ralph Waldo Emerson
line 10 John Milton Paradise Lost
line 11 John Christian Morgenstern
line 12 Samuel Johnson “The Vanity of Human Wishes”
line 13 James Russell Lowell “Columbus”
line 14 Jean Jacques Rousseau Phaedrus Fables
line 16 Kurt Vonnegut

—Cynthia Linville

_____________________

I dream we are riding the bullet train north.

Your arm is draped over my shoulders.
As the miles flow over us in breathless minutes,
we are content to sit in silence
and I am reminded of that August I spent alone in London
hardly saying anything to anyone other than
pardon me
just one ticket
with oil and vinegar please.
I squeeze your palm between mine
and you draw me closer,
briefly resting your chin atop my head.
What is this country we are hurtling into?

—Cynthia Linville

_____________________

Today's LittleNip:

HIS NAME WAS LORD BYRON
—Patricia A. Pashby, Sacramento

No Kafka nightmares drooped his tail—
he was a Sheltie and a lover.
He barked poetic, brought in the mail—
dreamed that Lassie was his big brother.

_____________________

—Medusa

Photo by Katy Brown

Like Silvergreen Shadowanimals

ArtCar at the Crocker

Photo by Michelle Kunert

(Is your car your best friend?)

BDFF
for Tippy Biscuit Browning
—Tom Goff, Carmichael

My best friend never human is a dog:
what’s commonplace about that? She knows, she knows
to nose for food and wield teeth like a hand,
to dig and kick with stubborn hind feet a bog,
a right bone-burying bog albeit no leg
stripped of its chicken ever wound up below
her topsoil scrabbles in strata of hardpan.
No water dish but she pinks out the dregs
with licks. She guards rugworn perimeters,
harries with indignant nips our cats.
A zealous overseer of the kitchen chair,
from which perch she originates bitter spats
with puppy siblings—yet altimeters
fail to clock the height to which will reach
my feelings for her apricot and white peach
when fresh and cockapoo-trim in all her nap,
dog paw draped over man-hand, she fits my lap.

_____________________

Viola Weinberg writes to say check out the new Blue Lake Review at bluelakereview.weebly.com/. There's a spot on the b-board in the Kitchen (see the flying pig) for where you're being published; don't be modest about sending us your creds! Many poets are looking for venues to showcase their work.

Speaking of which, tomorrow (Friday, Oct. 15) is the deadline for WTF8! See the b-board for details.

_____________________

GIRL, BOY, FLOWER, BICYCLE
—M.K. Joseph

This girl

Waits at the corner for

This boy

Freewheeling on his bicycle.

She holds

A flower in her hand

A gold flower

In her hands she holds

The sun.

With power between his thighs

The boy

Comes smiling to her

He rides

A bicycle that glitters like

The wind

This boy this girl

They walk

In step with the wind

Arm in arm

They climb the level street

To where

Laid on the glittering handlebars

The flower

Is round and shining as

The sun.

___________________

WHERE HAVE YOU GONE?

—Mari Evans

where have you gone . . .

with your confident

walk . . . with

your crooked smile . . .

why did you leave

me

when you took your

laughter

and departed

Are you aware that

with you

went the sun

all light

and what few stars

there were . . . ?

where have you gone

with your confident

walk your

crooked smile the

rent money

in one pocket and

my heart

in 

another . . . .

_____________________

SELF-PORTRAIT
—CECIL BØDKER

Weeds grow shamelessly

on my tongue

in the middle of a bed

of taste buds,

and among my hair's

mangrove roots

swamp-fish shoal

like fleeing silvergreen

shadowanimals.

My heart dangles

carefree

on its string

from my lower left rib,

if it gets broken,

I'll scatter it

like ashes on the top of my head,

—or perhaps

like gunpowder.

(Translated from the Danish by Nadia Christensen)

____________________

THE STREAM
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole

For even as love crowns you so shall
he crucify you. Even as he is for your
growth so is he for your pruning.
—Kahlil Gibran, from The Prophet

Yesterday she sat by a pond
she believed had never reflected
a crown more glorious.

Today, Kahlil, love prunes her
down to size. A swift river
swallows photos, flowers, poems,

sweeps away her crown. Prophet,
world, time, she whispers,
no one can crucify me but myself.

____________________

Today's LittleNip:

Friendship is a sheltering tree.

—Samuel Coleridge, from Youth and Age

____________________

—Medusa

Photo (and LittleNip) courtesy of 

Carl Bernard Schwartz, Sacramento

Between Friends

Photo by Kathy Kieth

BETWEEN FRIENDS
—Taylor Graham, Placerville

What need has a mule—
gangly weed of mismatch parents—
for a boy, himself mismatch
to all that humans tell him?
12 years old, not child or man.
The mule won’t be touched
by anyone. Can’t friends be deadly
as another breed? So each
believes. Then why does the boy
stand at the fence rail, palm open,
and the mule on the other side, muzzle
outstretched like a hand?
Mumble-talk between
languages, fingers brailling
the long ears.

A wrangler watches
from the distance, holds
his questions.

______________________

We’re talking about best friends this week—no matter how many legs they have—but feel free to send poems, photos, artwork about any subject. The Snakes of Medusa need constant feeding!

Next Mon. (10/18), 7:30pm will be the Memorial Rdg. for Pearl Stein Selinsky, at Sacramento Poetry Center, 25th & R Sts., Sac., with readings by JoAnn Anglin, Nancy Wallace, Jeanine Stevens, Ann Privateer, Mary Ellen Burns, Lisa Bert, Carol Louise Moon, Maggie Frost, Joe & Susan Finkleman, Jennifer Pickering, Melen Lunn, Allegra Silberstein, Tom Goff. Other friends are invited to contribute poetry and reminiscences, as well. By the way—anyone having contact information about how to get in touch with Pearl's family is asked to send it to eskimopi@jps.net

______________________

MY DOG IS NOW MY LOVER
—Patricia Hickerson, Davis

old lady all dried up
bent over
knees knocking, belly sagging
hair grizzled
teeth snaggled
nerves frazzled
Who would want me?

Except Digger my German Shepherd
he lieth beside me at night
he restoreth my soul
he leadeth me beside still waters

Yes, it’s Digger, my faithful prince
sprawled next to me on the bed
watching TV
sharing a bowl of Cheesits

Digger! of the long lean well-muscled body
eyes like brown soup
wet black muzzle nosing out my misery
pawing me for one more Cheesit
Digger wants me!

______________________

ANTHROPOMORPHISM IN THE OLD NEIGHBORHOOD
—Kevin Jones, Fair Oaks

Rode my bike
Over to the old neighbor’s
To walk her old Golden.

Rufus was on the porch,
Ran inside, ran out, inside again,
Back out.

Asking permission?
Telling them he was
Going?

Put on the leash, heard
Myself asking: “You ready
To go? Got everything
You need?”

______________________

STUCK AT THE CLOCKWORKS
—Richard Zimmer, Sacramento

Everything has its purpose—
even a pebble on the ground.
We’d all have peace of mind
if that purpose could be found.
—from the movie La Strada


Harvey was a clock storeowner,
and clocks were his best friends.
When talking to Harvey, his head
kept nodding like a clock ticking.

One day a large wall clock stopped
ticking. Harvey was upset. He loved
his clocks. He called the stopped one,
Wally, and went over to talk to it.

He said, “Sometimes you feel trapped
in a senseless occupation and become
stuck and unable to function. You need
a new sense of purpose to get unstuck.”

Harvey repainted Wally—drew flowers
on him, calling him his new Designer
Clock, and, Wally, the clock, started
ticking and telling time again.

______________________

Today's LittleNip: 

Your heart and my heart
are very, very old
friends.

—Hafiz

______________________

—Medusa

 

Photo by Kathy Kieth