Saturday, January 31, 2009

Steven R. Kutcher

ALTADENA BALLERINA

Pink twirls and pirouette pearls
Tutus turn while arms unfurl
Satin shoes flying while bodies whirl

The red velvet curtain falls and rises
To the sound of folk music surprises
The audience anticipate dancers of all sizes

But the 9 year old 's feet are in a pickle
Her body is a statue, a frozen popsicle
Stuck like pine pitch on each golden curl

Her young face frightened, completely hidden
She starts to dart behind curtains unrisen
“I cannot dance,” are words quietly spoken

Then a soft voice appeared in her youthful head
This is what her ballet teacher pridefully said,
“You are an Altadena ballerina,
Fly from your cage like a bird instead”

With a burst of energy rarely engaged,
She floated and twirled across mid-stage
Dancing like a bird just out of its cage

The audiences shouted with magnanimous glee
Bouquets of roses were tossed, one, two, three
She danced like a faun and jumped so merrily

But the very best happened
When all the dancing was done,
When the crowds left the theater,
When the orchestra had unstrung,
When the ballerina had danced her best
And had so much fun

There appeared on a silver platter,
For everyone to see
A golden ballerina award, a glass of milk
And, of course, pink cookies, three

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Don Kingfisher Campbell

JOSHUA TREE SERVICE

sun in the sky
filtered through bands
of blue and white

land all a round
mountains frame (surround)
rock strewn plain

worshippers gather
citizens of earth
stand with branches

outstretched take
in periodic warmth
between collected tears

even rocks seem
to enjoy the hours
of light reflection

(effortlessly provide
shadows for respite
from constant brilliance)

through the unseen
companion who fills
space around us

we grow up and die
reseed the soil keep
the ceremony going

Monday, January 19, 2009

Barbara Cogswell

LISTEN KIDS

There once were bees, wild
with bodies that glistened
in the sun, and every spring
they would dance the “waggle”
to the sound of their buzzing
wings, the “round” , and
the “tremble” too, tell each
other where the sweetest
nectar could be sipped
when the pollen was best
peach blossoms, cherry or
pear, a carpet of
clover.
only the Queen
(she had no crown)
laid the eggs ate nothing
but royal jelly
the rest worked all their short
lives, feeding the babies
(in the larval stage) bee bread
and honey till they emerged
from their octagonal tubes
full grown, flew off to pollinate
another season.

Where are they now, you say?
Good question!

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Terry McCarty

I WISH I COULD BE THE OSTRICH ON TAMPA AVENUE

Once or twice a week I drive past
the petting zoo on Tampa in Northridge
and I see the large bird
not being angry
not putting his head in the sand
but staying still
and looking over the fence
at parents and children,
proud of his role
at being one of the first non dog/cat
creatures a young child will see.

Sometimes, I can see the ostrich’s face
and he reminds me of the cartoon version
with the cute eyes and savior-faire
in Disney’s FANTASIA.

When I feel too much bitterness and discontent,
I think of the ostrich
and how he could merely look for a hole in the ground—
but instead greets the children-in-strollers and their parents,
happy that he’s found a place and a calling in this world.

Friday, January 9, 2009

Sharmagne Leland-St.John

HAIKU RULES

Someone
Foolishly decreed
And then some other one
Complacently agreed
With a gesture, oh so grand
And a sweep of
His dismissive hand
The word ”cicada
Should be
Forever banned
From modern Haiku
And poetry.

Sirs, I ever so strongly
Disagree with you.
3 & 4 syllable words
Like “cicada
And “stacatto
And “chrysanthemum
Should be sprinkled
Liberally
Like wild flower seeds
Wherever and whenever
The poets please!

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Don Kingfisher Campbell

NATURAL

I like to watch clouds drift by
I like to smell wet grass breathing
I like to see the sky turn dark
and feel cold air on my skin

I walk inside, close the drapes
sit on a sofa, switch on the
fireplace--I mean--TV
hunker down for the night

drift to drowse like a cloud
smell a small fart escape
lids fall like a night sky
I feel light as a sofa cushion

but there is a fireplace inside me
which is more like a TV really
changing dreams all night long
of clouds drifting over wet grass

and more skies with people below them