To the Edge of the Earth

ON THE WAY HOME FROM JACKSON
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton

I see a hodgepodge of logs, nearly naked,
appear to have suffered a beating, great

gouges exposed, oozing dark sap,
pines stripped of branches and birthright,

stacked together between steel ribs.
And I notice the growth-rings' life-

spans highlighted in the afternoon light,
color-coded with pink or green paint.

I watch a missed limb flap in the wind.
Maybe they will become a group of chairs

like the fifty or so I saw huddled and roped
together in Barry's Furniture parking lot

reduced in price for a quick sale.

________________________

She tangos after work:

comes dressed in fluid skirts,
hoop earrings,
bangle bracelets
and sling-back pumps.

Her spine is a little straighter
as she flows down the hall.

She leans against the wall,
flirting with a co-worker,
flips her dark hair and
laughs through siren red lipstick:

She tangos. . . .

—Katy Brown, Davis

________________________

•••This Friday, 11/17, 7 PM, Our House will feature the poetry of Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.


Tonight:

•••Wednesday, 11/15, 6:30 PM will be the final Urban Voices reading, hosted by BL Kennedy. It will feature Kathryn Hohlwein and Pat Grizzell. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac.

•••Also tonight, 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.

•••And don't forget: today (11/15) is the deadline for sending poems/art/photos/etc. to Rattlesnake Review!

_______________________

The last of the "change" poems, and thanks to all of you who participated:

repeating
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento

every day
i come home,

purge,
and cover myself

with mother-hat...

but before that
find Dawn in the dusk;

gloaming brings about
the night,
of which I am a child,

raised on the nectar
of drug addicts, alcoholics,
and dreamers.

and so
to find my center,
step to the edge
of the earth
and watch the sun die.

_______________________

THE DEMISE OF SELECTED SHORT SUBJECTS
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento

Lights in the Tower Theater begin to dim.
The little guy, looking like Ziggy, slips
into a celluloid art gallery at closing time.
At first he doesn’t notice Atlas and Apollo,
sculptures in Claymation, mostly head
and shoulders. Then, he jumps as they twist,
stretch sinews, choke on their chunky rubble.

He sits in front of a painting: fish fins
harping on rocks, stubborn puffins
standing in line to feed, webbed feet fluttering,
lock-jawed orange beaks like vice-grips.
He has a headache, but minds his own business.

Now a large sketch reaches out, charcoal
horses, plaster faces galloping, blunt
munching mouths all muscles and manes.
Then, a metallic taste, a bronzy ballerina
spinning on point. Startled, by the intruder,
she topples headfirst, clutters the checkered tiles.

He didn’t know he would instigate such a ruckus.
Lights scream a frantic mazurka, a warning—
You should not be here! He tumbles out the door
like a sow bug, lands on his feet, blinks back
at the dark museum, hands in pockets, looks down,
sees clay forming around his tiny brown shoes.

________________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)

The Deconstruction of Freckles

why change is often overrated
—debee loyd, modesto

like the words to a song in a strange tongue
they must at the very least rhyme, for god’s sake
at least let me tell it the way i saw it

reflecting on all the changes i have seen
i can tell you stories
of time, work, struggle misshapen into
adventure or stuffed in a closet for a half century
to become legend at least a black cloud hovering

change by its nature an uneasy guest
we like the way we were the way we perceive
life and our living of it at least that is what we
tell each other in the stories and familial chisme
that breeds like river moss under shade
we deny knowing when we do
we hope it doesn’t look like we know
we steamroll the innocents among us
wring every last word from their gaping and
surprised mouths grab those as they fall from
denying lips, stuff them into our own mouths
chew until we can speak around them
and repeat the never changing refrain ...did you know

_______________________

Thanks, debee! Rattlechapper debee loyd, a past Poet Laureate of Modesto, is one of the editors of hardpan, a fine new journal of poetry which will be celebrating its second issue this Saturday (11/18) at the Mistlin Gallery in Modesto [see yesterday's post].

Send me any poem about change (seasons, moving, or otherwise) by midnight tonight (Tues., Nov. 14) and I'll send you Jane Blue's wonderful new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions. Or Sharyn Stever's equally-wonderful chap, Heron's Run. Or something else, if you have those two. Send your change poem to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662. Or send it in a bunch with your submission for Rattlesnake Review (deadline is tomorrow, Weds., November 15!); just mark which is which. All "change" poems you send will be posted on Medusa.


Calendar addition for this Thursday:

•••Thursday (11/16), 7:30 PM: The Nevada County Poetry Series & The Center for the Arts presents the NCPS's Season Finale, a party to celebrate the release of NCPS's Year 2006 Anthology. $5/$1 for those under 18. Refreshments. Off Center Stage (enter from Richardson St.) behind The Center for the Arts, 314 Main St., Grass Valley. Info: 530-432-8196.

_______________________

END OF FRECKLING TIME UP NORTH
—Marie Riepenhoff-Talty, Sacramento

This green and golden grappled leaf
wraps up my summer in its folds.
It's seen the flint of tiny grapes,
covered them from hail and rain,
let them blush with simple pleasure,
turning red, then darker, richer
into luscious purple Concords,
making scent that salivates;
leaf hangs speckled, freckled, dying.

And I beside the vineyard know, the
time for juice and wine has come.
I’ll don my mittens, coat and scarf
and like the wise and noisy
geese, will head due south;
taking with me speckles, freckles
of a brief and sun-tanned summer.

_______________________

Thanks, Marie!

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)

Still on the Broad Road that Stretches

I WILL MAKE YOU BROOCHES
—Robert Louis Stevenson

I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
I will make a palace fit for you and me
Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.

I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room,
Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom,
And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white
In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.

And this shall be for music when no one else is near,
The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!
That only I remember, that only you admire,
Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.

(Today Robert Louis Stevenson would've been 156 years old.)

_______________________

This week's line-up:

•••Tonight, Monday (11/13), Sacramento Poetry Center Board Members will be reading their own poetry; go to the monthly Board meeting with them at 5:45 PM at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac, and then stay for the reading at its special time, 7 PM. Bring your own poems to read, too.

•••Also tonight, 8 PM: The Moody Blues Poetry Series present One Tough Poet at "A Taste of Laguna", 9080 Laguna Main in Laguna. $5, open mic. Hosted by Ms. LaRue, music by DJ Barney B.

•••Wednesday, 11/15, 6:30 PM will be the final Urban Voices reading, hosted by BL Kennedy. It will feature Kathryn Hohlwein and Pat Grizzell. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac.

•••Also Weds., 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.

•••Thurs., 11/16, 8 PM: Poems-For-All free-for-all at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. An evening celebrating Richard Hansen, publisher of the Poems-For-All mini-chap series. Selected poets will read from their works published in the series. Free.

•••Thursday (11/16), 7:30 PM: The Nevada County Poetry Series & The Center for the Arts presents NCPS's Season Finale, a party to celebrate the release of NCPS's Year 2006 Anthology. $5, or $1 for those under 18. Refreshments. Off Center Stage (enter from Richardson St.) behind The Center for the Arts, 314 Main St., Grass Valley. Info: 530-432-8196.

•••Friday, 11/17, 7 PM: Our House poetry reading features Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.

•••Sat., 11/18, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Crawdad Nelson, Brett Freeman, Laura Cook, and Juanita "Yoke Breaker" Mason, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (at Broadway).

•••Saturday, 11/18, 8 PM: FRANK ANDRICK IS A NAME-DROPPING WHORE (A BENEFIT): An evening of provocative and scandalous work at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac. to help poet frank andrick cover his medical costs. Featuring frank andrick, Gene Bloom, Josh Fernandez, Bill Gainer, James Lee Jobe, Rachel Leibrock, Ann Menebroker, Geoffrey Neill, Barbara Noble, Bill Pieper, Rachel Savage, Teryl & Eric (and many last- minute surprises). Also: an audio-visual overlay by J. Greenberg.

frank andrick, the Lockeford-San Francisco-Sacramento poet who has given so much of himself to the Sacramento literary scene, has suffered from a series of health setbacks that have led to hospital stays and mounting medical expenses. His friends have assembled this event in an effort to help him financially. We ask those attending give what they can at the door ($2-20). Additionally, items will be available for sale and auctioned, with all the money going to frank.

This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers with a grant they've received through the James Irvine Foundation.

Several folks have asked how they can donate to frank's medical fund if they aren't coming to the event. Cards, well-wishes and donations can be sent or dropped off in a sealed envelope at The Book Collector. frank has no checking account, so checks should be made out to The Book Collector, and we will give him cash. Or mail them to:

frank andrick
c/o The Book Collector
1008 24th Street
Sacramento, CA 95816

•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry reading that will feature Lisa Verigin at the gallery, 1015 J St/, downtown Modesto. Lisa ia a Central Valley native who migrated to Georgia State University for her MFA, the University of Nebraska for her PhD, then back to Modesto, where she currently lives. Her poetry has appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, including Quarterly West, Bloom, Solo, Court Green, The Worcester Review, The American Literary Review and Poet Lore, to name a few. A former editorial assistant for Prairie Schooner, Verigin is author of the chapbook, Two-Reel Comedy. There will be an open mic following her reading to celebrate the second issue of the local poetry journal hardpan, in which she is one of the 25 contributors. Free.

•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM, Shonda René hosts a poetry workshop at Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia St. and Yosemite Ave. in Stockton. Be sure to read T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for the discussion: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.S._Elliot#The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock

_______________________

REQUIEM
—Robert Louis Stevenson

Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he long'd to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

_______________________

Happy Birthday, Bob!

—Medusssssssa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)

Watching for Spring Birds

COCKTAIL HOUR
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama

For thirty years
they have sat together
as day fades into evening

Lifted glasses in toasts
smiled over triumphs
raged or wiped tears
over plans and people that sank

Today at his elbow
a cut-glass tumbler
filled with red wine
the color of hummingbird throats
diluted with water
and a trail of mucous down the side

In Alice’s hand
a crystal tumbler
of scotch over ice
barely watered
retaining the golden hue
of dried gorse and bracken

Wine abandoned
he dozes
head falls on chest

Alice wonders where wonderland went
picks up her novel
reads a chapter or two
Refills the glass of scotch
before heating dinner

_______________________

Thanks, PWJ, for this poignant poem. For the rest of you, send me any poem about change (seasons, moving, or otherwise) and I'll send you Jane Blue's wonderful new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions. Or Sharyn Stever's equally-wonderful chap, Heron's Run. Or something else, if you have those two. Send your change poem to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662 by midnight next Tuesday, November 14. Or send it in a bunch with your submission for Rattlesnake Review (deadline is next Wednesday!); just mark which is which. All "change" poems you send will be posted on Medusa.

_______________________

The year will be over soon,
But I'm still here in my little hut.
Cold autumn rain falls sadly,
And leaves pile up on the temple steps.
I pass time absent-mindedly reading sutras
And chanting some old poems.
Suddenly a child appears and says,
"Come, let's go to the village together."

—Ryokan

________________________

At dusk
I often climb
To the peak of Kugami.
Deer bellow,
Their voices
Soaked up by
Piles of maple leaves
Lying undisturbed at
The foot of the mountain.

—Ryokan

______________________

A VISIT TO MR. FUJI'S VILLA
—Ryokan

It's several miles outside the town
And I walked there together with a woodsman
Along a meandering footpath through rows of verdant pines.
In the valley around us, sweet-smelling wild plum blossoms.
Every time I visit, I gain something new,
And there I feel truly at ease.
The fish in his pond are big as dragons,
And the surrounding forest is still the day long.
The inside of his home is full of treasures:
Volumes of books scattered about!
Inspired, I loosen my robe, browse through the books
And then compose my own verse.
At twilight I walk along the eastern corridor
Where I'm greeted again by a little flock of spring birds.

(Today's poems by Ryokan were translated from the Japanese by John Stevens.)

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)

A Cloud of Flame and Crimson

ANOMALY
—David Humphreys, Stockton

Feeling caught up in an irresistible process,
stick in a river torrent of substractions,
leaves surrender to a blast of wind.
Your descriptions, somewhere off beyond
the intentional place where you are most content
to fold your furrowed letter, feeling along the edge
of unanswerable questions, finding the middle
of illusory pages, shifting invisible paper held under
a pressuring palm, running a calloused finger down
crease and fold, one more time in half then into
the envelope, licking the glue and slamming it shut,
Gauguin, quite distant, tranquil and grinning on
the opposite shore as toothy combers roll over the
outer reef, Van Gogh's feverish brush strokes
cloaking a heart of swirling change.

_______________________

Thanks, David. Send me a poem about change (seasons, moving, or otherwise) and I'll send you Jane's wonderful new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions. Or Sharyn Stever's equally-wonderful chap, Heron's Run. Or something else, if you have those two. Send your change poem to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662 by midnight next Tuesday, November 14. Or send it in a bunch with your submission for Rattlesnake Review (deadline is next Wednesday!); just mark which is which. All "change" poems you send will be posted on Medusa.


Manzanita correx:

The original publicity for the Manzanita reading today [see yesterday's post] said 4 PM; actually, it's 2 PM. That's quite a difference; take note.


For those of you who are following the Moving Saga:

Yesterday, we had an offer accepted on a house in Pollock Pines. 3151 Darby Lane, to be exact. A cedar "cabin" in the woods on the south side of Hwy. 50. We'll be moving sometime around Christmas; Medusa will probably shut down for a couple of weeks. Or not. We'll see.

And no, Sam the Snake Man and I are NOT getting a divorce. He's coming too, and has even found a new studio space up there. No commuting required. More space, more sunshine, less money. Yippee!

And no, Rattlesnake Pressssss is NOT going out of business; the Snake will have his very own nest away from the rest of the house. Most of our communication is done through e-mail, anyway. And I do intend to come down to Sac at least once a week. Business as usual.

_______________________

Green little gardens,
bright little squares,
verdigris fountain,
where water dreams,
where mute water
slips over stone!...

Leaves of faded
green, almost black,
of the acacias—the wind
of September has
stripped their flowers
and carried a few,
yellow and dry,
to play there in the white
dust of the earth.

Pretty girl,
filling your pitcher
with transparent water,
when you catch sight of me you don't
lift your brown hand
and arrange the black curls
of your hair
and admire yourself
in the limpid crystal...

You gaze into the air
of the beautiful evening
while the clear water
fills your pitcher.

—Antonio Machado

(translated from the Spanish by Richard Lewis)

________________________

FIGURES IN THE FIELD AGAINST THE SKY!
—Antonio Machado

Figures in the field against the sky!
Two slow oxen plowing
a knoll in early autumn:
between the black heads
bent below the heavy yoke
hangs a basket made of broom and reed—
a child's cradle.
Behind the team
a man plods, leaning toward the earth;
a woman
throws seed in open furrows.
Under a cloud of flame and crimson
in the green fluid gold of sunset,
these shadows grow gigantic.

(translated from the Spanish by Richard Lewis)

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)

Like a Distillate of Minutes

LOOKING THROUGH GLASS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset

A landscape with a dozen crows
outside the window where he’ll wait
for breakfast – it’s just one of those
old changeless Mondays. Soon or late

the cook will come, unlatch the gate.
A landscape with a dozen crows
will rise up, settle. There’s a crate
of tubers and a shriveled rose

set down beside a garden hose,
one rock dove mourning for its mate.
The landscape with a dozen crows
has changed by just a feather’s weight,

as change comes like a distillate
of minutes unobserved. Suppose
his window view looks out on fate,
this landscape with a dozen crows.

_______________________

Thanks, TG, for the "change" poem. (I'm a sucker for poems about crows.) Taylor Graham is first out of the box to respond to the current give-away, and a copy of Jane Blue's new rattlechap is winging its way toward her. Send me a poem about change (seasons, moving, or otherwise) and I'll send you Jane's wonderful new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions. Or Sharyn Stever's equally-wonderful chap, Heron's Run. Or something else, if you have those two. Send your change poem to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662 by midnight next Tuesday, November 14. Or send it in a bunch with your submission for Rattlesnake Review (deadline is next Wednesday!); just mark which is which. All "change" poems you send will be posted on Medusa.


Ginsberg photo exhibit:

Rattlechapper Victoria Dalkey, Art Reviewer for The Sacramento Bee, has a review in today's Ticket section of the current exhibit of Allen Ginsberg's photographs at the Crocker Art Museum. Check it out—both the review and the exhibit: Allen Ginsberg: Beat Generation Photographer. That's at the Crocker, 216 O St., Sac., 10 AM-5 PM Tues.-Sun, open Thursday evenings 'til 9 PM. Exhibit goes through Jan. 7 (closed Thanksgiving, Christmas Day, New Year's Day). Tickets $3-$6. Info: 916-264-5423 or www.crockerartmuseum.org.


Warm up yer flivver; it's a busy weekend!

•••Sat. (11/11), 4 PM: Manzanita writers and friends of Manzanita writers (all editions) are invited to read their work at Hein & Co. book store in Jackson, located off of Hwy 49 in downtown Jackson on Main Street. (It's across from the cooking store.) Hein & Co. is one of the treasures of the Mother Lode. A great bookstore! Manzanita Editor Monika Rose says: bring your books and maybe Wolf will sell them for you on consignment. Info: 209-754-0577 (Monika) or 209-223-9076 (Wolf Hein).

•••Sacramento Poet and Rattlechapper Susan Kelly-DeWitt and her son, Michael Kelly-DeWitt, will have their art in a one-night show coming up this Saturday, November 11. The show will be held at Acacia Hall, 2354 Forrest, Sac. (at the corner of Forrest and Del Paso Boulevard) from 5-8 PM.

•••Also Saturday (11/11), 3-5 PM: Patricity's In Spirit & Truth Series features Big Eazi E (Born 2 B Poet) and poetess-singer Mouthpiece, plus open mic. Note new location: 61 Yuence Smoked BBQ & Grill, 9657 Folsom Blvd., Sac. (off Bradshaw). Free. Info: 916-361-2014.

•••Also Saturday, 8 PM: Poems-For-All Second Saturday Series presents Stephen Kessler at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Stephen Kessler is a poet, prose writer, translator and editor whose most recent books include Written in Water: The Prose Poems of Luis Cernuda (translation, City Lights), winner of 2004 Lambda Literary Award; Tell It to the Rabbis and After Modigliani (poems, Creative Arts); Save Twilight: Selected Poems of Julio Cortazar (translation, City Lights); Aphorisms by César Vallejo (translation, Green Integer); and major contributions to The Essential Neruda (City Lights) and the Selected Poems of Jorge Luis Borges (Penguin). His essays, criticism and journalism have appeared widely in the independent and alternative press of Northern California, especially Poetry Flash, where he is a contributing editor. He is also the editor of The Redwood Coast Review. Free. Info: 916-442-9295.

•••Also Saturday, 10 AM-4 PM: Writers’ Forum is proud to present the 3rd Annual Northern California Authors Fair, “A Salute to Veterans”, at the Mount Shasta Mall in Redding. Published authors in Northern California and the public are invited to this free event. Meet authors. Talk about writing. Books will be available for sale and author-signings. Enter the free Opening Sentence Writing Contest (four age categories, children to seniors; prizes for 1st Place Winners). Last year, over 50 authors participated in the Fair, covering many genres. Info: 530-241-1045 or visit online at www.writers-forum.net

•••Also Saturday, 2 PM: Reading from the poetry quarterly, Song of the San Joaquin, in the McHenry Museum, 1402 "I" Street, Modesto. Poets will read their own work. Light refreshments will be served. Song of the San Joaquin is published by the Poets of the San Joaquin, a Modesto-based chapter of the California Federation of Chaparral Poets, Inc. Info: Cleo Griffith, 209-543-1776, cleor36@yahoo.com.

•••Sunday (11/12), 4-6 PM: Donald Sydney-Fryer will be performing from Clark Ashton Smith's Four Fables. The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Free.

•••Also Sunday (11/12), 3 PM: Cleo Fellers Kocol will be the featured reader the Lincoln Poets reading at McBean Perk, a coffee house in Lincoln at McBean Park Drive and A Street (427 A Street with a parking lot off A Street). Open mic to follow. Cleo is the poet featured in the current littlesnake broadside, Connections. Pick one up free at The Book Collector—or go to the reading; I'll betcha can get one from her—or SASE me and I'll send you one.

•••Also Sunday, 2:30-4:30 PM: Poets on the Ridge in Paradise, CA will hold their monthly open mic at Juice & Java, 7067 Skyway, Paradise. Info: 530-872-9633. Free; all ages are welcome to come read their poems.

•••Also Sunday, 7 PM: Poet's Corner in Stockton presents devin davis at Barnes & Noble in Weberstown Mall, Pacific Avenue and March Lane, Stockton.

•••And next Monday (11/13), Sacramento Poetry Center Board Members will be reading their own poetry; go to the monthly Board meeting with them at 5:45 PM at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac, and then stay for the reading at its special time, 7 PM. Bring your own poems to read, too. Oh, and word on the street is to bring along some wine and chocolate, just in case...

_______________________

Some more change poems:

ECLIPSE OF THE SUN
—Archilochus

Nothing will surprise me any more, nor be too wonderful
for belief, now that the lord upon Olympus, father Zeus,
dimmed the daylight and made darkness come upon us in the noon
and the sunshine. So limp terror has descended on mankind.
After this, men can believe in anything. They can expect
anything. Be not astonished any more, although you see
beasts of the dry land exchange with dolphins, and assume their place
in the watery pastures of the sea, and beasts who loved the hills
find the ocean's crashing waters sweeter than the bulk of land.

_______________________

SYMPTOM RECITAL
—Dorothy Parker

I do not like my state of mind;
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I'd be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men...
I'm due to fall in love again.

_______________________

EVERYTHING CHANGES
—Bertold Brecht

Everything changes. You can make
A fresh start with your final breath.
But what has happened has happened. And the water
You once poured into the wine cannot be
Drained off again.

What has happened has happened. The water
You once poured into the wine cannot be
Drained off again, but
Everything changes. You can make
A fresh start with your final breath.

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)

Change

LAST BEFORE WINTER
—Wayne Robinson, Lodi

The huge harvest moon rises orange over dead grass
The tangy smell of tar weed in the morning wetness.
Dove hunting the first week of September, wasting shot
On helpless flyers. Missing many more than I got.

Winter is coming, I can smell it, feel the mornings changing
Waking to the grape harvesters outside, too early in the morning.
Hoping to get in more bicycle miles before the rains fall
And the wife puts the horses away in their stall.

Now the leaves are just turning, still some green
The birds are flocking but they will not sing.
The weather is between a cooler and a heater
Maybe the power bill will drop at the meter.

Wouldn't that be nice? Save a few cents for now.
I missed summer, worked right through it anyhow.
I only remember a few hot days and smelly tee shirts
From sweat falling off me while I shoveled the dirt.

This fall will come and go too, but I will remember Christmas
Kids laughing, complaining because this year they got less.
But now the dusty sunset is as pretty as in a romantic movie
Mom and kids on horseback, me on the bike, everyone is happy.

_______________________

Thanks, Wayne! Wayne Robinson says he's putting together his poems to send to Rattlesnake Review; he promises to make the November 15 (that's next Wednesday!) deadline. Send 3-5 poems (no cover letter/bio/simultaneous submissions or previously-published poems) to P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662 or kathykieth@hotmail.com. Send photos, art, droodles too (remember droodles?). Feasts for the eye and ear. And hey—a couple of requests: please include a snail address somewhere on your submission, and please don't send just one poem unless that's REALLY REALLY REALLY all you have. Editors like choices.


Also new from Rattlesnake Press:

•••Turf Daisies and Dandelions, a rattlechap from Jane Blue;

•••Connections, the latest littlesnake broadside, from Cleo Fellers Kocol;

•••The latest Snakelets, a journal of poetry from kids 0-12.

All of these new publications are available today at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Or contact me and I'll arrange for you to get them into your hot little hands one way or another.


Time for another give-away:

Every place I look right now I see change: the season is changing, the political climate is changing, and as I've tediously mentioned over and over in the past, the Kieths are moving—which is mucho change. Send me a poem about change (seasons, moving, or otherwise) and I'll send you Jane Blue's wonderful new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions. Or Sharyn Stever's equally-wonderful chap, Heron's Run. Or something else, if you have those two. Send your change poem to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662 by midnight next Tuesday, November 14. Or send it in a bunch with your submission for Rattlesnake Review; just mark which is which. All "change" poems you send will be posted on Medusa.


Tonight:

•••Thursday (11/9), 8 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd., Sac. (next to Colonial Theater). Hosted by Flo Real, $5.

•••Also tonight, 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged presents Andy Jones and special guests. Open mic before/after. Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. Free. Info: 916-441-3931.

_______________________

THE DOUBLE IMAGE
—Anne Sexton

I am thirty this November.
You are still small, in your fourth year.
We stand watching the yellow leaves go queer,
flapping in the winter rain,
falling flat and washed. And I remember
mostly the three autumns you did not live here.
They said I'd never get you back again.
I tell you what you'll never really know:
all the medical hypothesis
that explained my brain will never be as true as these
struck leaves letting go.

I, who chose two times
to kill myself, had said your nickname
the mewling mouths when you first came;
until a fever rattled
in your throat and I moved like a pantomime
above your head. Ugly angels spoke to me. The blame,
I heard them say, was mine. They tattled
like green witches in my head, letting doom
leak like a broken faucet;
as if doom had flooded my belly and filled your bassinet,
an old debt I must assume...

_______________________

Anne Sexton would've been 78 years old today.

2. THE DY-DEE DOLL
—Anne Sexton

My Dy-dee doll
died twice.
Once when I snapped
her head off
and let it float in the toilet
and once under the sun lamp
trying to get warm
she melted.
She was a gloom,
her face embracing
her little bent arms.
She died in all her rubber wisdom.

________________________

HER KIND
—Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)