So Much to Learn

—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

CALIFORNIA’S GOLD
After “Find California’s Gold”, a quilt by Linda George

all summer long we
watched sun burn the fields golden—
fringe of live-oak shade

canyon breeze lifted,
twirled the leaf slender on its
stem—sunset flaming

sun turning landscape
flammable as old papers,
the veins in our hands

veins that filigree
as brittling leaves from the tree—
gold brilliant in fall

leaves brief as haiku
falling in whispers

REMEMBERING SUMMER STORM

Air-quality alerts, smoke from fires not-so-far
and closer. But this morning the sky is new.
Lovely cool exciting feel of rain. Scattered
showers over the foothills, the TV says. No rain
here, yet, but the air smells of dusty trail
pocked with raindrops. Upcountry.
        It feels like setting off with dog
and daypack alone—the rest of the trail-crew
gone with their red-cards; fire is their business.
My dog and I volunteer. Today we’ll just
check trails, pick up litter; have the high country
to ourselves. Just for today.
                From above the cow camp,
storm clouds deepen their gray
over Round Top and the Sisters. The tingle
doesn’t fade like photos. Even now, years later
here in the foothills, it’s in the air, a chance
like lightning. One of these days, rain.

SEMINAL

The pleasure boat is grottoed in fog,
a Seminole-unconquered fog that asserts
itself over landscape at one with water.

No paperclip could fasten this day
to schedules for violin practice or toning
at the gym. All metaphor.

Atmosphere’s stuck at mid-summer,
appropriate for a pilgrim making his way
through this world inwardly.

Fog’s better than smoke, you say,
and a good rain
would wash all the inertia away.

LEARNING MY PLACE

My shadow on the lawn
backlit:
      Heiligenschein by half-
moon bright
in its own high sky
till
BOOM

mushroom-blossom-cloud
eerily self-lit stares
from beyond/above our roof
halo-flare       snake-blitz
lightning—
    there!—
louder/closer

still ridges and canyons away
north above the river but
right here
sudden summer downpour
    my night-
shirt drenched in so much
distant glory.

ELEGY FOR A DIRT ROAD

Each rut eroding into County pavement
witnesses all those winter ravages—remember
the storms of ’09, and ’17 engraved
in washout, boulders surfacing like stony
icebergs from underground. So much rain all
at once—in summer it’s hard to believe those
January maelstroms of plugged culvert, a year’s
creek-sweep of broken limbs, dead leaves,
a tether-ball, a decoy (blue-wing teal).
The asphalt man’s amazed to hear our little
Honda Fit can navigate the rocky toeholds
that once were drivable dirt road. The bottom
line of a paving job is more than a wild-
wood neighborhood can afford. Sign here,
he says, and it’s clear sailing, our tires
no longer touching ground.

LEARNING BEFORE CLASSES

It’s summer, school hasn’t started yet. But
the trees are still here; native and exotic (alien)
at easeful attention in sunlight of a blue sky,
sky swept clean today of smoke. The school is
as it was. Not vandalized, no teacher or pupil
gunned down, and the trees still standing.
Not so far away, school-ground trees cut down
and cleared in the interest of I’m not sure what.
Progress. A grand old sycamore, friend above
all others, that graced the playground of my
childhood, years and miles away; tree with all
its secrets and room at its root for mine.
Just across the road, here, a tree of heaven
has taken root of its own accord; blackberries
just ripe for picking through the thorns,
and sunburned annual grasses that escaped
a barbwire fence. So much to learn here.

Today’s MediumNip:

SUMMER RAIN HAIKU
—Taylor Graham

polka-dot raindrops
on dust of an old dirt road’s
winter-wrinkled face

August rain can’t green
sunburnt field with its soil full
of seed promises

scent of summer rain
before it falls—don’t close
windows, let it come

distant thunder, and
a quick sprinkle of rain drops
tickles puppy’s ears

this rain briefer than summer
love but the oak trees rejoice

__________________

Thank you, Taylor Graham, for some poetic thinking (and wishful thinking!) about our recent Seed of the Week: Summer Rain. Don’t forget that our new Seed of the Week is Parched. Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from.

Tonight, Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe will meet at 8 pm in Sacramento, with featured readers and open mic. Last Thursday night was Frank Andrick’s final night of hosting, after a long-running monthly stint down there (more than 18 years!), and our area is grateful to him for his fine service to our community! Thank you, Frank!

—Medusa

 Frank’s Cake

—Anonymous Photo

Celebrate Poetry—and those who bring it to us!

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa. 

 

Ginko

Ginko (Haiku Walk, San Andreas Canyon 

in India Canyons of Paom Springs)

—Photo by Deborah P Kolodji, Pasadena, CA

—Poems by Deborah P Kolodji


white marble


I am small at the feet


of Lincoln



(first pub. in The Heron’s Nest, 2003)



* * *


floating purple—


my daydreams follow


the water hyacinth


(first pub. in The Yuki Teikei Haiku Society Anthology, 2007)



* * *


highway


of sleeping towns


the milky way 



(first published in Rattle, 2015)
    


* * *


thistles in bloom


grandmother’s needle


threaded with purple



(first pub. in World Haiku Review, 2002)


* * *



his oxygen tube

stretches the length of the house


winter seclusion

(first published in GEPPO, 2011)


* * *

          


we promise each other


nothing will change

slack tide



(first pub. in Modern Haiku, 2011)
 


 * * *


rust in the cedars


the quiet interrupted


by heron cry



(first published in Lighting a Candle, Two Autumns Chapbook 2010, 

Haiku Poets of Northern California) 


* * *


cold summer


one suitcase circling


baggage claim



(first pub. in The Heron’s Nest, 2014



* * *


moon bridge


a woman broken


by spring ripples



(first pub. in Mariposa, 2009)


* * *


moving day


the clatter of marbles


in a shoe box



(first pub. in bottle rockets, 2013



* * *


in spite of your silence the birth of stars


first pub. in Intercontinental Astro-Ecologic Verse, SARM (Romanian Society 

of Meteors and Astronomy, 2008)


* * *



gray morning


the whole world

a foghorn



(first pub. in Daily Haiku, 2010)


* * *



the square root


of negative one


clouds



(first pub. in frogpond, 2014)


* * *
         

Euler’s number


your litany


of unrepeatable excuses



(first pub. in Bones, 2015)


* * *



lingerie drawer


after the divorce


skimpier



(first pub. in  “Go-Shichi-Go” column, Daily Yomiuri (Japan), 2004)


* * *



morning tidepools


a hermit crab tries on


the bottle cap



(first pub. in World Haiku Review, 2002)


* * *



summer quiet


the stars dare me


to count them 



(first pub. in Daily Haiku, 2010)


* * *



moonflower


a love letter


to Captain Kirk

(

first pub. in The Heron’s Nest, 2012)


* * *



silent cannon


at Gettysburg


bird song



(first pub. in dandelion breeze, 2013 SCHSG Anthology)

 Deborah P Kolodji
Storrier Stearns Japanese Garden, Pasadena, CA
—Photo by Naia



Deborah P Kolodji [note: no period after the P] has been writing poetry as long as she was able to hold a pencil. She has long enjoyed Japanese art and fell in love with haiku in the late 1990’s when she started attending workshops of the Southern California Haiku Study Group (www.facebook.com/SoCalHaiku). At the time, Walnut Creek poet Jerry Ball was living in Southern California and moderated the monthly workshops. As a result of the group’s mentorship, Deborah began to publish haiku in the early 2000’s.   



When Jerry Ball moved back to Northern California in 2006, Deborah wanted to ensure that the haiku study group continued, so she began moderating the group workshops. Haiku study group activities remain a priority for her, whether the monthly workshops or the occasional ginko (haiku walk). Deborah currently serves as the California Regional Coordinator for the Haiku Society of America (www.hsa-haiku.org), and is on the Board of Directors for Haiku North America, a haiku conference which occurs every two years (www.haikunorthamerica.com).


After the publication of a few chapbooks, Deborah’s first full-length book of haiku and senryu was highway of sleeping towns, published by Shabda Press in 2016 (www.shabdapress.com/deborah-p-kolodji.html), which won a Touchstone Distinguished Book Award by the Haiku Foundation and an Honorable Mention in the Haiku Society of America Merit Book Awards. The above haiku are selections from that book. 


Although Deborah enjoys teaching haiku and generally conducts about 20 haiku workshops a year, her background is in mathematics and information technology. She received a bachelor’s degree in Mathematics from the University of Southern California and currently works as a senior technical consultant for a business software company. Some of her poems reflect her interests in mathematics, technology, and science.



Fueled by interests in science and technology, Deborah also enjoys writing speculative poetry. [Scifaiku ("science fiction haiku") is a form of science fiction poetry first announced by Tom Brinck with his 1995 Scifaiku Manifesto. It is inspired by Japanese haiku, but explores science, science fiction (SF), and other speculative fiction themes, such as fantasy and horror.] Before embracing haiku, most of Deborah’s poetry publications were in places like Star*Line, the journal of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association, Strange Horizons, Mythic Delirium, and Dreams and Nightmares. She served as the president of the Science Fiction Poetry Association from 2006-2010 (www.sfpoetry.com). 


Now Deborah often writes poetry inspired by both of these passions for haiku and science fiction & fantasy. In 2012, a speculative haiku sequence, “Bashō After Cinderella”, was published by Rattle (#38) in its Tribute to Speculative Poetry (Winter 2012). “Haiku #3 (autumn)” in this sequence was awarded a Dwarf Stars Award by the Science Fiction & Fantasy Poetry Association in 2013, which lead to the “pumpkin vine” haiku’s inclusion in the 2015 Nebula Awards Showcase by the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writer’s Association (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nebula_Awards_Showcase_2015). It may be heard at www.rattle.com/basho-after-cinderella-by-deborah-p-kolodji/.

Basho After Cinderella

(i)

a glass slipper


in the middle of the road


spring rain



(ii)



thistles in bloom


village gossip


after the ball



(iii)



pumpkin vine


a mouse remembers

how to neigh



(iv)

fairy dust snow


perfectly-sized boots


for her bare feet



Bolsa China Ecological Reserve in Huntington Beach, CA   



—Photo by Deborah P Kolodji

Some other samples of speculative haiku:



drooping tulips


the outstretched arm


of a rusted robot



(first pub. in Grievous Angel, 2016)
   

         
* * *



unexpected delay


opening the airlock


butterflies



first published in Star*Line, 2016)
 

* * *


not what you seem


under the surface


water on Mars



(first pub. in Star*Line, 2017)
  

          
* * *


nuclear winter


a new orbit


for the half moon



(first pub. in Dreams & Nightmares, 2018)
  

  

______________________
      

Today's LittleNip:


quicksand


under the lander


your goodbye static



(first pub. in Grievous Angel, 2017)
   

 
_____________________

—Medusa, with many thanks to Deborah P Kolodji for joining us in today’s Kitchen! Don’t be a stranger, Deborah!

Deborah reminds us that the Haiku Poets of Northern California’s annual Two Autumns Reading will take place this coming Sunday, 1-5pm, at Fort Mason in San Francisco. Info: www.hpnc.org/schedule/. She also notes that there is some interest in forming a haiku group up in our area. Interested?

 Southern California Haiku Study Group, July 2018 meeting 
—Photo by Lynn Allgood.
Standing: Kathabela Wilson, Debbie Kolodji, Wakako Rollinger, 

Bonnie Santos, Vibiana Aparicio-Chamberlin, Sharon Yee, 

Toni Steele, Scott Galasso
Sitting: Janis Lukstein, Greg Longenecker, Lynn, Beki Reese, 

Kim Esser, James Won

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa. 

The Golden Eyes of the Summer Lion

Dirge

—Poems and Photos by Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA

AUGUST BLUES

dead house blues
in the dead of summer
a wail in the distance    smell of fire

façade of love in the linger of a face
no place to sing or dance
but the mirror

you smile at that   
and open the house
to whatever breeze might want to enter

and you listen
for any sound that threatens
and the night birds sing delirium

__________________

THOUGHTS FROM THE SEVENTH
DAY OF AUGUST

This I have done:
stared at the sun too long.

Thought the wind in my hair
was mine.

Ached
to be bird.

Welcomed and given the pain
of love.

Looked through the golden eyes
of the summer lion.

Turned into leaves
soon after.

Belonged to nature
as no human should.

Walked through the souls
of the dead.

Worshipped
weeds and flowers.

Practiced the sorcery
of thought.

Knocked
wood.

Destroyed myself
with seven sins.

Danced in the arms
of a shadow.

 Disparity

HOT SUMMER VS. YOUNG MAPLE

What do I see of the red-leafed tree
but curling leaves as it grieves and grieves
in the summer sun—turning every leaf
to a tiny fist that cannot resist—

so they hang there dead,
red and red and red,
while the base of the tree

struggles on 
with a tiny clutch
of soft red leaves
I can barely see.

_________________

THE AUGUST TREES
After The Trees by André Derain, 1906

The trees seem to dance in summer glade
as though wishing to end
the season of leaves.

The trees and the shadows
conspire to make motion:
Motion and stillness.  Shadow and light.

An every-which-way of trees—
dancing with their branches,
with their shadows,

while hanging into the ground
that hangs onto them—
these trees that are painted for their dance.

I see them thusly—flung and graceful—
in winds I cannot see—in contortions of my
imagination, because I want the trees to dance.

 Choral

THE AUGUST CALENDAR
(from the photosynthesis photography
of Jerry Uelsmann)

here in the room of gray water—
those sea-shadows,

wall shadows,
here where the boat rocks

gently on the floor
and the clouds float softly

on the ceiling
and someone you love

is walking away—
or maybe it is yourself

and you look to see
and the sky turns to night

and the walls move closer
and the boat with its one oar

is unseaworthy and abandoned
and you must swim for your life

before the room fills
with the tide of morning

 Choral

BETWEEN  

Tag-end of summer, with its wilt and drag.
Then rain.  Soft.  Brief.  With its relief to see
the sky fill with clouds, a few inland gulls—
sense the renewal of energy—sweet.
Then back to summer, with its wilt and drag.

___________________

I DREAM OF RAIN

There is a glass of rain
at your elbow. I have saved it
for you. All night. Under the rain.
Holding the glass out in your name.

Now you lie under such a
great weeping your face drowns
and your eyes cannot stop.
What is the matter with you?

Now you lie quiet. You are
your own dream at last. The glass
of rain knows you will reach for it.
You are its thirst.

I lie beside you on a small, narrow bed.
We are far away from each other.
As if in different times. I sleep.
You lie awake. I dream of rain.

 Dulcet

A ROOM FILLED WITH RAIN

In a room filled with rain the windows are bleared
where the wind can’t follow. The curtains make no
movement. The bed is smoothed and the mirror is
dark, without a reflection. The room is filled with
rain and it is not a weeping, it is a soft warm rain.
The walls stream with rain-light and are pulled
back to a feeling of lost dimension. The floor be-
comes a soft mud. In an old wet picture on a wall,
two staring people are looking back into the room,
for the room is filled with such an archaic perfection
they long to return to it.

 Evensong

RAIN-SWELL           

I may be the dream.  In this light
I think I am inside of curtains, lost.
I feel as flimsy as the breeze
caught in white threads.

All my effort grieves to be remembered.
If I try I might be pulled
through windows full of night.

I have thought of rain in times like this,
soft-falling, warm from summer,
streaming upon my shadow, which is old,
which is frail and broken, which is long
as any longest hour held to life.


(first pub. in Voices International, l989)

______________________

Today’s LittleNip:
 
RAIN LIMERICK
—Joyce Odam

when the force of the rain fills the night
and the streets turn to rivers of light
and the path of the cars
makes a splash through the stars
and the moon turns to shards, over-bright

______________________

Many thanks to Joyce Odam today for her thoughts about summer and rain and summer rain, our Seed of the Week. Our new Seed of the Week is the opposite of summer rain: Parched. Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from.

For more about the photosynthesis photography of Jerry Uelsmann, see www.uelsmann.net/.

—Medusa

The Trees 

—Painting by André Derain
www.wikiart.org/en/andre-derain/the-trees

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.  

Hemlock, Anyone?

—Photo by Ann Privateer, Davis, CA

WORKING ON THE OLD SHACK ON THE PIER
—Michael H. Brownstein, Chicago, IL

We are fine with water,
sun sweat,
solar scars,
the angst of brick against knee,
wood splinters into shins,
sun heat,
solar bruise,
but here there is water.

 —Photo by Ann Privateer

NOTORIOUS
—Ann Privateer

Infamy slow walks
Unhurried, with promise
To life's classic song.

It knows no boundaries
No compliment or dig
It finds you unexpectedly

While you're out, washing the car
Snoozing in the hammock
Or anomalously undressing.

 —Photo by Ann Privateer

HOW TO DESTROY A SIX-DECADE ALLIANCE
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento, CA
 
Our Tweeter-in-Chief likes to prod and poke
    Now, Turkey’s turn, but they’re wrong to provoke

NATO, or not-o, you say tomato, we say what—Oh!
    Turkey, second largest military force, of the 29 NATO

We want them to be strong, because they fight ISIS
    Yet, this latest tariff tantrum, risks our military bases

Turkey loves our jets, they’ve got a couple of F-35s
    The President forgets—there, we have military lives

Give us Pastor Brunson, you say, the American detainee—
    Ha, of course!  Just a few months away from Midterms, you see

Human rights, you say, we cannot allow this violation
    However, leveraging economic power is a risky proposition

    Now the pattern has been put into motion:
    The U.S. is not a trustworthy business nation.

Turkey’s economy and lira were failing to begin with
    So, what you are saying, the weak are best to punish?

Turkey is just one country that borders the Black Sea.
    Yet, it bridges dictator zeal and free-world democracy
     
    Russia makes rings-around-the-rosie, about the Black Sea     
    Putin, again, holds hands with Trump, the devotee

Keep up the political dispute, Trump and Erdogan of Turkey
    Poof.  All gone via tweets, hopes of diplomacy.

  —Photo by Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

BECAUSE MARS IS TOO COLD
—Caschwa

The only obstacles still in my path
being reasonable doubt and
preponderance of the evidence,
I can still sing in the bath
about the indisputable certainty
that someone will win the Lottery!

Of course the first choice to make
will be the location of my palatial
estate, warm and soothing, perfect
outdoor grilling for my daily steak
plenty of women for my harem
if the dress code doesn’t scare ‘em

The Arctic Circle will be the location,
expected to be ice free by the year 2040
now is the time to place low bids
for the site of my ideal vacation
home, if there’s still life in my body then,
there’s really no telling what will happen…

  —Photo by Caschwa
 

ON THE STAND
—Caschwa

Called as a percipient witness
in a criminal trial to corroborate
the testimony of other people
who swear on a stack of bibles
as tall as a church steeple
then go tell lies and elaborate

Counsel presents me as if I am a savant
genius, substandard in almost every regard
except spitting out just those facts that one
side of a dispute wants to have heard;
I saw the car license glimmering in the sun,
reading it usually easy, that time too hard

Wasn’t in court to be judged, but damn
if I’m not most zealously compared
to that rare element of perfection
as if I’m a digital, high megapixel camera
and nothing should miss my detection,
not even tattoos on arms that aren’t bared.

  —Photo by Caschwa

MARCHING ORDERS
—Caschwa

Summer rain falls upwards
piercing clouds that shield the truth,
words of elders copied from bards
stay hushed at the kissing booth

keep it simple, make stupid rules
no one will know any better,
be stingy with land, hand out money to fools
fancy capitalize each letter

gather in your inside pocket
bulging boulders of hard evidence,
it’s the heartfelt inscription on a locket
that sets apart true gents

  —Photo by Caschwa

NO EMOTION
—Caschwa

The palace guard is known for
taking the ultimate verbal abuse
and not letting it shorten their fuse

under a monarch of only
the purest noble blood
we peons are just mud

our master’s whims are laws
they throw dirt like a tractor
humane is not a factor

but wasn’t our big revolution
supposed to correct all of that,
give citizens a fair shake at the drop of a hat?

Somehow most of our major decisions
are still left to a minority of great land barons,
snowy egret wannabes, gray feathers of herons.

 —Photo by Caschwa

SQZ OVR & OVR
—Caschwa

Mk rm 4 a ffth vrse
evry lttr csts me $
cmmn ¢s prevls
B gd, a cup of hny

_______________________

Today’s LittleNip:

CLIMBING
—Ann Privateer

It's everything
Or methodically
Nothing, so
Make up your mind.

_____________________

Our thanks to this morning’s fine roundtable of poets & photogs, reminding us of this ’n that, including our Seed of the Week: Summer Rain.

Poetry readings in our area begin tonight at 7:30pm at Sac. Poetry Center with Tim Kahl, Buddydigital and open mic, plus Stuart Canton will read from his new chapbook from little m press, A Field Guide for the Coming Extinction.

Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe meets in Sacramento on Thursday at 8pm, with featured readers and open mic.

Then on Saturday, Writers on the Air meets at SPC from 9:30am-1pm, presenting TJ (aka Brother Hypnotic) and Elaine Fine plus open mic. On Saturday afternoon from 2-4pm, Poetic License poetry read-around meets at Placerville Sr. Center. The suggesting topic for this month is “cupid”, but other subjects are also welcome. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa

 Celebrate poetry—and questions!

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.

Torches Against the Wall

Summer Rain
—Painting by Maria Magdalena Oostheuzen
(www.houseofmaria.co.za)
 

SUMMER RAIN
—Amy Lowell (1874-1925)
 
All night our room was outer-walled with rain.


Drops fell and flattened on the tin roof,


And rang like little disks of metal.


Ping!—Ping!—and there was not a pin-point of silence between

      them.


The rain rattled and clashed,


And the slats of the shutters danced and glittered.

But to me the darkness was red-gold and crocus-colored


With your brightness,


nd the words you whispered to me


Sprang up and flamed—orange torches against the rain.


Torches against the wall of cool, silver rain!

___________________

—Medusa, reminding you that this afternoon, Poetry in Placerville will host William O’Daly and Ray Keifetz (plus open mic) at Love Birds Coffee & Tea Co. on Broadway in Placerville, 1pm. Or head over to Davis to hear Mary Zeppa and Barbara West at Davis Arts Center, 2pm.

For more about Amy Lowell, go to www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/amy-lowell/.

That Bell That Keeps Tolling

Train Tracks, Davis, CA, Looking North
—Poems and Photos by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA

Angels rise from a river of fire, their eyes are blazing.

A man standing over a grave, argues with the bones

Of the dead. The bones do not, however, argue back.

A wild, mongrel dog that doesn't care what you want.

The bell, the damned bell, it just keeps tolling.

I don't remember why I came here,

And I don't remember the way back.

Nightmare.

My dreams are all dark, very dark,

And I don't really know if I can ever wake up again.

Water Fountain, Davis, CA

 

Perhaps you had been alone in a desert for a very long time.

Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into years. Decades

Grew like tall saguaro cactus; they were your only shade

From the blinding sun of time. Your life was endless sand.

And perhaps you had walked at night, and during the day

You hid yourself away. The moon and stars cooled your eyes

With a light like ice, a light like sweet dreams. The heat

Of the day pulled you into the oven, into the empty void

Of sleep. Eventually you forgot how to dream. You lost

All desire. Perhaps you moved through life this way, silent

And alone. Your truth was never spoken, and you harmed

No one, and no one harmed you. Yet you were empty.

Perhaps you never touched another soul. Not really.

Later, the wind blew white sand over your bones,

And it was just as if you had never existed at all.

 Poet has morning coffee with Pico, the conure

It was titled, THE BOOK OF JOBE.

I turned the page and read. It said that I died

Deep down, in the center of the world, in rock

And lava. I closed the book and returned it

To the crowded shelf. "How strange this life is,"

I thought, as I sat and waited for the earthquake

That would swallow me down. "Still,

I just don't believe in fate," I said loudly

To all of the books staring down at me.

 Poet's Bedside Reading Material

Our house is a planet orbiting a sun that loves us.

This room is a small treasure that we keep for ourselves.

Here. Lie down next to me. We will hold each other again

And speak quietly of those things that we love.

Meals together. The children that are now adults.

Years that were moments and moments that were years.

Our faces are now maps of the lives that became one life.

Together, we buried the generation that came before us

And we taught what we could to the generation that came after.

One child we buried together.

That’s a marriage, that's a family. We did that.

Our house is a planet orbiting a sun that loves us.

Even now the golden rays light up our room.

 Poet Eating Korean Dessert, Bingsoo

Gracing the trees, the sky, and the children.

Time has graced the trees with sound and color.

Their bark, once silent, is marked with beauty and thought.

Time has formed the clouds into letters

And has now spelled out words across the message board of the sky.

"Faith."

"Random."

"Coincidence."

 
Time did all of this, and there is beauty in that also.

Below, on the green earth, children write these words in spiral-bound notebooks

And carry them to their teachers.

In turn, the teachers share the magic and blessing of meaning.

Time has taught us that the teachers are themselves blessed,

And they, in turn bless and grace the children.

They take the children outside, into the sunlight,

And see that there is one more word written with clouds in the thick blue of the sky.

"Kindness."

 
One child smiles, and then they all smile.

_______________________

Today’s LittleNip:

That hope might cover everything, working like snow works, covering the land, covering all.

—James Lee Jobe

_______________________

Many thanks to James Lee Jobe for today’s fine poems and photos! This Sunday, James will be hosting the Davis Arts Center Poetry Series, featuring Barbara West and Mary Zeppa. That’s 1919 F St. in Davis, 2pm. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa

 —Anonymous
Celebrate the lack of control that is poetry!

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa. 

Status Report & Spirit Juice

What I Saw
—Poems and Visuals by Smith, Cleveland, OH

OM ON THE RANGE

My om is train wail,
children playing,
rooster crow, wind in trees,
wind by window,
water falling, water rushing,
water sighing,
distant bark of dog,
faint propeller drone,
far-off tractor growl,
whish of windmill,
sound of silence rising,
bubbling in my brain.

 Laser

STATUS REPORT 266

Read once somewhere
in one of the alternate realities
I keep stumbling through
that certain Texas rabbits
develop a nervous disorder
when they get too many per square unit
and start dying off to make room
for future rabbits
to become stress dead

thought about that today
reading the news.

 Blue Muse

SPIRIT JUICE & BONE MEAL

To my left potatoes brushed in oil
and wrapped in foil
sizzle in the fire

On my right
the steady plop drop
of rain on leaves and wooden roof

My soothed soul
satisfied
between

 Dark Angel

FIRE FRUIT

Word is it's Eve's apple that's the fruit
on the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil
well I got my own Eve
and I'd eat her apple anytime
but it wasn't fruit in the Garden
the snake offered as exit
it was fire
a small ball
apple red
hot as sin
burn the house down again
build it up and burn
again again again
since soul in sin burns tempered
hot sword in water thrust
purge lust in dust of dim till sum

fire reduces everything to fact:
ash or gas
and act

 Interstellar Overdrive

BREAKING BREAD

1.

Amsterdam
we buy cheese and bread
meats and cookies
and fruit
for not very much
take it out to the stone steps
facing the plaza
sit in the sun
feast.

Homeless man comes by
points at the cookie bag
I reach into my pocket for money
and he says,
"No, no, cookies."

I open the bag
hand him 3 cookies.

20 minutes later we see him walking
across the plaza
he turns to us
raises his arm in a big thumbs up
and laughs delightedly.

2.

Bezier
we get two slices of quiche
and a sesame baguette
sit in the sun
on the old stone steps
of the massive church on the plaza
munching away
a couple walks by
smiles at us with a cheery
"Bon appetit."

3.

Zagreb
big academic dinner
with Holbrook and Salinger
and their American School clients
at an old place in the woods
Lady orders wild boar
for symbolism I go for blood sausage
ground-up dead flesh cooked in its own blood
Lady's boar is excellent
my blood beast is soft
mushy
I spend the rest of the night
trying not to vomit.

4.

Marrakech
our Berber guide in walled city
picks small fruit off stand
hands it to me
says okay to eat
it is delicious
next day I take another one
wash it off
eat it
spend next two days
vomiting one end
excreting the other
lose 18 pounds.

5.

Puerto Escondido
on the Pacific beach
feral cats crowding our feet
we eat fresh fish grilled outdoors
most delicious meal I've had.

Knowing it can't be replicated
next night I order a second fish
just as good.

6.

Essaouira
Magda orders pigeon
gives me a bite
now when we walk the streets
I stop and tell the pigeons
"I know your taste."

7.

Oaxaca
in inner city
man across the street
gives me avocado from 40-foot tree
I stand in my kitchen window
stare at tree as I eat
and say "Thank you."

Later I try roasted grasshoppers
because they say
once you eat, you never leave.

Insides undercooked
soft, squishy,
make me uneasy
We leave 15 months later.

8.

Krakow
every crack in the street's facade
contains a French fry stand
I gain 20 pounds.

9.

Amsterdam
order legal grams of hashish
from coffee shop—
red, golden, green, brown, black,
and 2 laced with opium—
eat the opiated hash
get in bubble bath
put on headfones
drift.

 Rent 201808

BACK IN THE DAY

Used to drink mongoose monkey ball tea
when I worked the topics.
Nothing important,
but did manage the comma division for awhile,
and once italicized an entire sentence,
on . . . my . . . own . . .
so am used to regulating my regime.

I don't piss on flowers,
but do write a fine thank-you note
when the proper angles combine
and light skipslips over paper like slick ice
with no breaks.

Which returns me to tea,
man that monkey ball grew hair on your orbs
ever morn before storm
every night after light
so much you couldn't sleep
would creep deep into dark
seeking spark to arc life's march.
and of course for the more morose
more mongoose monkey ball tea
before heading out to sea
to see what we could be.

 

Dark Daze

BAD BOY SMITH

At a reading at the ex-dive bar
The Millard Fillmore Presidential Library,
Ray McNiece and his band Tongue-in-Groove
played Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues
to bring me up with the announcement
I was "Cleveland's bad boy,"
had "done time."

So I confessed.

Served 9 days in Juvenile Detention
in 1960 when I was 14 for stealing 13 cars.

Spent 1 night in jail in 1968
on false charges after an argument
over thermostat settings in the hall,
case dismissed,
arguing neighbor moved out.

Locked up overnight twice
for drunken lurchedness—

first in early ’80's
after cops in civilian clothes
beat me bloody for talking back,

second: 1990
for being too drunk to even walk
and driving through a fire hydrant,
water spraying everywhere;
I was lying shirtless on the jail cell floor
when a guard asked if I wanted a lawyer,
I replied, "No, you're going to let me out
in the morning anyway."

I'm ashamed I knew that.

Did have to spend 3 days in a hospital
after I got out
attending a You-Are-an-Alcoholic seminar
in place of being jailed for 6 more months.

But the big one was in the little house...
10.5 months in York County Jail 1970
for my second armed robbery;
after being caught,
my bulging pockets of stolen money
somehow reduced itself to $140
once counted by the head detective.

I am a bad boy.
But I've learned to pretend to be good,
seem to be getting better at it.

At least I'm not some cop
pocketing money another stole.

As for the alcohol?
Sober 27 years.

Down to strong coffee,
occasional grass,
driving too fast,
not respecting the government,
and jaywalking.

But I'm still one bad bone.

 Moon Over Miasma

TO BE

I can't kill myself
mainly because I can't kill myself
but also because my baby brother
blew his brains out with a borrowed bullet
thirty-one years ago
(one year longer than he lived)
and I don't do second acts

so I live
weary and wondering

of course that was before
Lady K stormed into my life
ignoring my GO AWAY unwelcome mat
which act six months later
found me homeless, married
and wandering around Europe
then Africa and Mexico
with a 40-pound pack on my back
for three years

somewhere along the way
I promised her I'd live to 101
minimum
with an option to glide

Mother Dwarf kept me alive
when I drank myself to death 27 years ago
because as I was dying
and tried to pass this line for next
a voice said, "What about Mom?"

Now Lady K needs me
feeds me
as apparently does the cat
so I Sisyphus on
71% of my 101 done
wondering what will be left
since I'm one metal hip
two metal shoulders
and two metal bolts in the neck now

then there's the political grab and greed
the cultural cruelty, the social malfeasance
the climate change, slavery
the blatant hate-speech and lying
of the child-abuser in office
in utter waste of human
which whisper
"go, it ain't getting better"

I've lived large and fast
six full decades
plus part of an earlier
and most of this later
and lately been weighting
the warp and weave of this weary wise

but know for sure
she's the prize
ain't no lie
wife is worth my staying alive

 Line Drawing

Today’s LittleNip:

SAVED BY FACE
—Smith

That pebble before sculpting by sea,
you'd have passed by.

The grain of sand inside the pearl,
pretty poor predictor.

Life wears away,
shows true face.

The deeper the lines,
the greater the grace.

_____________________

Our thanks to Smith (Steven B. Smith) for today’s interstellar poetry and artwork!

Drive over the Causeway to Davis this evening, 7:30pm, to hear Carlena Wike and Allegra Silberstein (plus open mic) at The Other Voice Poetry Series, Unitarian Universalist Church of Davis on Patwin Road. And Luna’s Cafe will be presenting the SacUnified Poetry Slam tonight, 7:30pm, 1414 16th St., Sac. Hosts: Jenny Lynn & five others. Info: www.evensi.us/sacunified-poetry-slam-1414-16th-st-sacramento-california-95814/265567586/. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa

 Just Ducky

—Photo by Smith
Celebrate poetry!

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.