Toti O’Brien

November

No we didn’t all come

with the same load
for some it was
heavier.
 
For some war never
stopped. Some
never stopped
running.
 
Always I’ve been
in arms brother I
struggled I left
behind
 
myself burning
ruins hardly
escaping the
chasms
 
‘n their jaws wide
open. Always
I felt the
enemy
 
close the iron
fist bound to
smother me
at once.
 
I’ve been scared
I confess although
I wore my mask
‘n my armor.
 
‘N the behaved
poise of the hero
that alas
I wasn’t.

Rosalee Thompson

Rite Aid, Whittier

I watched you walk by her round as sun baby belly

her 2 dirty crying children
You made her
invisible
She didn't speak American
Her rapid gestation of human life
reminds you of bus ads
Pray for Rosemary's baby
Seeing chemical red
you say you are pro life
Pray for Rosemary's baby
Is humankind dead
what is art
who are your neighbors
 
Without wings
a homeless bird still walks home from war

Gary Imperial

At His Desk

The air is thick with fate, a culmination yet to be.

Wadded paper in the fire scents the air.
Fingers tapping on the desk, a rolling beat of four.
He stares into the corners of his mind.
 
Cognac warms his tongue, still there are no words.
The quill is light in hand, it's freshly dipped.
Whisper from the dark, moves his hand to write.
Once upon a midnight dreary...

Denise Walsh (read by Julie Larson)

Meditation II. 

Mist surrounded mountains

at creation’s dawn,
what lies concealed beneath your veil?
The mystery of the making
before the eyes of awareness open,
before the moment the word is made light 
Teeming primordial soup
stirred in primeval calderas
What strange organic brew awaits
the unwary world? 
What life stirs beneath this gauze
poised to crawl upon terra firma
for the first time?
Silence, soon to be broken by
the choiring of multitudes

Thelma Reyna

 
Coming To Empty
 
It’s purpling time, the sun low above mountain ridges. My hand trembles with the front door key: for the first time in 19 years, silence awaits on the other side. My dog lay limp on linoleum at the vet’s, her feathered tail curled as it did in pain, amber eyes wide, marbles glinting back the ceiling lights, fear and surprise at how rapidly she died. 

I asked forgiveness as I stroked her fur, forgiveness for not letting go the month before, when she limped and fell and wheezed through midnight hours on the wooden floor. I held my Mica, cupped her head and praised her strength, her will, her loyalty, hanging on, holding on, though her body whimpered resignation.

I asked my Mica for forgiveness, swaddled her in the quilt she loved, carried her belated to my van like precious luggage. She panted on the floor, swollen tumors pressing, rippling up and down her back like stony paths. I asked my Mica for forgiveness as I knelt to hold her head while the needle pierced her hip.

At home, the stillness stabs. I gather Mica’s things: her leash, and hang it on the closet hook, not ready yet to let it go. The pink child’s brush with plastic tips I used to stroke her shoulders till her lids drooped shut. The heart-shaped ID tag she wore like a charm since just a pup. Her blue and white ceramic bowl on a rubber placemat by the sink. Just inside the kitchen door, a plastic bin filled to the brim with kibbles and organic treats for “senior vim and vigor.” Mica’s things.

I weep for Mica as I weep for me. We hang on to things like we hang on to life: afraid to see the end of purpose, afraid to phase out shards and broken bits, afraid to see how giving up is also love.

Lisa Marie Sandoval

Solomon’s Fly

I watch a fly fall into a flower,

a flaming crimson rose,
so slender and tall. She curtsies
with a flirtatious blossom bow.
Her lush fair face, her gathered siren skirt,
framing soft-pink folds open to
the fly. His deep black eyes see all
supple petals tittering at once.
He plunges pupils first into their center
with bottomless buzzing shudders,
bathed in the fragrant state of her
and spends his strength
in frenzied search of Babylon.

Lori Wall-Holloway

 

The Invader Returns

My home is nice despite a kid who comes
at times who bothered me as a kitten.
But I have no concerns because she fixates
on a computer whatsit or small phone
that sends a text thing and I am ignored.

Life is good
until the day a bad
dream becomes reality -

Meow! What do I do?

He is back! The Invader has returned!
He can almost touch the top of my cat
tree. He runs faster than I remember.
I play dead under a table and pray
something will divert him far away -

Horrors of horrors!
A little face with blond
curly hair comes!

Yeow! Don’t touch my tail!

She crawls after me here. She hunts me there.
Her little fingers poke instead of pet
and she disappears only to come back.
There is no way to evade her and hide
since bedroom doors are either shut or blocked!

Cornered, I caterwaul
with hopes my owner allows
me to escape

Help! Finally, I take cover

Out of sight
from Invader’s cohort they call
his little sister

42 poets being published in SGVPQ 55

MARIA A. ARANA
DAVID BORTIN
JACK G. BOWMAN
LYNNE BRONSTEIN
CALOKIE
DON KINGFISHER CAMPBELL
MICHAEL J. CLUFF
BARBARA COGSWELL
MARVIN DORSEY
IVAN DRYER
JOSEPH GARDNER
THOM GARZONE
CHARLES HARMON
EMILY HILL
LINDA MARIE HILTON
ALEXANDRA HOHMANN
ANITA HOLZBERG
GARY IMPERIAL
SANDRA IRWIN
JEFFREY JENSEN
BETH KARP
LALO KIKIRIKI
MINA KIRBY
MARIE LECRIVAIN
ELLARAINE LOCKIE
RADOMIR VOJTECH LUZA
KARINEH MAHDESSIAN
KATHERINE NORLAND
TOTI O'BRIEN
JONATHAN VOS POST
RAQUEL REYES-LOPEZ
THELMA REYNA
RYFKAH
LISA MARIE SANDOVAL
WANDA VANHOY SMITH
ROSALEE THOMPSON
TIM TIPTON
MAJA TROCHIMCZYK
LORI WALL-HOLLOWAY
DENISE WALSH
DOROTHY WIEBER
ROBERT WILSON

10 poets who read from SGVPQ 54

Charles Harmon

Political Haiku

ANGEL OR DEVIL

Right wing or Left wing?
Which shoulder arms will prevail?
The one that gets Fed….
 
GORDIAN KNOT
What tangled webs we weave.
Governmental gridlock…
How cut loose our noose?
 
QUIS CUSTODIET IPSOS QUISLING?
Our keepers proclaim
Vegetarianism;
Practice vampirism.
 
SI VIS PACEM PARABELLUM
When the gloves come off,
Hands untied from behind backs,
Curtains pulled aside….
 
FIVE MILLION LAWS
From Ten Commandments
To five million lawyers
Made us all criminals….
 
THE YOKE IS ON YOU
Thought you were born free?
Lower your head, bend over,
Submit to harness.
 
PARASITISM
The more the starving victim
Works and eats, the more
Tapeworm engorges….
 
PRIVILEGE
Created equal
The high and mighty
More equal than I and Thou.

Thelma Reyna

Early Morning

 
She wasn’t supposed to die across the
sunbeams, flowered night-
gown twisted around crumpled knees, eyes
widely unaware and questioning.
 
She wasn’t supposed to die while
her coffeepot called, and toast rose
with a gentle click as she
cajoled and roused sleeping children.
 
She wasn’t supposed to die while
she sang to the tiny terrier licking her ankles,
and her husband ambled to her for their
morning kiss, white coffee mug ready for his brew.
 
She wasn’t supposed to die like this,
arms around his neck, lips pressed to his ear,
warm breath gearing up for morning talk,
her head tilting back to tell him something monumental.
 
But she died a lightning death, her
big heart failing, her body falling in an instant to
the sunlit floor, her mouth a circle of pain, her hands
clutching her breast as her children walked in.
 
No guarantees. There are no guarantees in life, we’ve
been told and retold. Grab love, fight loss, find
joy, hang on, believe, and tell yourself again and again
and again that this day, this day, is irretrievable.

Lalo Kikiriki

O city birds! (a toast)

yesterday I saw a woodpecker
stick his bill into
a perforated metal
signpost...
what was he expecting
to extract? (I wonder)

hummingbirds are fooled
by glassy chambers of
scarlet sugar water
and yellow plastic blossoms
thinking they're
contemplating nectar (I suppose)

the mockingbird on my chimney
deludes himself
imagining he's working
the graveyard shift at KJAZZ
up all night
improvising (I can dig it!)
and English sparrows
those sly emigres
have learned to invade any eaves
with ease
feasting on crumbs of scones
and madeleines
under the tables at Starbuck's

pink finches at feeders
phoebes zigging
after termites in the lower air
hawks and crows at war
up in the cedars
seagulls bobbing
upon the reservoir –
here's to you all!
all you city birds!
nesting rent-free
in Paradise

Joe Gardner

Troubadour
 
I like the feel of night time grass
brushing beneath my feet
sneaking between my toes…
            We reminded each other of Hollywood 1989
At the Troubadour
underage
I swung on the lead singer
            I was lucky to get out alive
I never had felt so alive
as I did on the ride back
in the back
of Pat’s pickup
                        You snuggled close to me
                        I spread my leather like a blanket
                        over us
As we hurtled back to Lakewood

Lori Wall-Holloway

Zoe’s Dance

When Papa plays his music

on a long black stick
he calls his clarinet,
I want to move.
I grab a soft red and green
scarf with flowers
on it and begin to spin.
 
When Papa’s music goes fast,
I run.
When Papa’s music gets loud,
I leap.
When Papa’s music is happy,
I skip around the room.
 
I like it when the scarf
flies behind my back.
It makes me think I am with angels
who fly to the tops of the trees
and dance on mountaintops.
 
When Papa’s music goes slow, 
I twirl.
When Papa’s music gets soft,
I dip the scarf.
When Papa’s music is beautiful,
I hold the scarf high to the sky.
 
I like it when the scarf
falls around my arm.
It makes me think I am a ballerina
who performs a pretty show for a king.
 
My steps go along with the song,
and I don’t want Papa to stop.
I feel God looking down
on me and likes what I’m doing.
So I will twirl and dance
beautifully for Him.

Gerda Govine Ituarte

Storm

Mother nature in pain throws new red shiny stiletto heels across the sky.

Smacks Santa Ana’s face--eyes blackened, mouth swells, sneezes, coughs.
Upchucks frosty fast-moving wind. Howl loud and long. Cause sleepless nights.
Uprooted age old trees drop like matchsticks. Electric lines snap, spin spread
darkness. Red-eyed candle light welcome morning. Santa Ana whistles spot
mother waiting, arms folded. She beckons whispers enough!

Barbara Cogswell
 
At A Time Like This
 
let me make it clear;
my preference is silence
 
stifle the surreptitious hisses
the subliminal throb of machines
 
tap out no machine gun drum roll
or lock step cadence
 
clank no bayonets
let no rifle rip the air
 
for God’s sake
still the pipes pitched wheeze
 
and please;
no speeches