Cloud Nine, Group Poem at MAH Poetry & Book Arts

Cloud Nine

I come from a drop of water whipped from the San Francisco Bay.

I was whipped out of a drop of ink from a Crayola Washable Marker.

I was born in Israel, but grew up in London, my art and my writing grateful.

In San Francisco, I saw a sea lion in a drop of ink floating on a cloud on its way to London.

I shouted from my mother’s womb, let me out, swivel summer New Jersey fall, not to return there and wait.

I come from the whisper of a ghost’s wings and to that I shall return.

In between I’ll write and love and move my body from Toronto to San Francisco, Why not?

I come from the Michigan dunes, on the fence of a gluttony vacation. I’m going to wood ash with a Manchester tan, a jungle thief on an oceanic journey of pain.

I come from the tip of a mountain and entered the lens of your telescope – Now I am you or a part of you and I’m with you and go everywhere you go! We are inseparable.

I come from Wonder to visit Mystery.

I came from a child’s imagination. I’m on the way to make those visions come true.

Another year lies ahead of us. A blank canvas for you to behold, all for us to mold.

I walk from a winter desert into an opening and healing.
I was the innermost figure in a Russian nesting doll set and have grown to embrace the world.

Prayer, by Frank Benavidez, Community Poetry Circle

Prayer

As i watched myself through anothers eyes I contemplated, shall i bow or kneel today?

He would not tell me

The candle wick burning in its splendor, Elation gripping me, bumble bees buzzing around me.

I hear his voice, i see his face

Yet i don't know where to begin

Crushed yet not defeated, i speak,

Only inside my head, racing thoughts,

I stop them like a roulette, focus

on one thought alone

Like a flaming arrow pointed at my heart I have no time to ponder, frozen in time My prayer is sent, forget me not.

Stay calm, hear myself breathing.

Move swiftly and deflect my worrisome thought.

Waiting for an answer. A chuckle or a sigh, Anything to break this moment

Days go by. Prayer forgotten yet never lost.

Hope knocking as loud as the woodpecker

at his work. Prayer is answered

Gratitude without question.

Prayer becomes praise

The pleasant sound of cheer ringing

in my head.

Cant explain it all, i can only move ahead and remember the best times of my life were when all time seemed to stop And his focus was on me

--Frank Benavidez

What I Want, by Joe Mahay at Capitola Book Cafe

What I Want

 

What I Want can’t really be written because
I wouldn’t want to admit it even to myself.
Part of it is dark; part of it is risque;
Part of it no one can know.

What I might SAY I Want
Would be said only to please others -
Love, caring, comfort, freedom from
Pain and death

I MIGHT even want world peace;
Certainly want to stop brutality,
Human trafficking, squalor, needless disease.

I Want my children to be happy
I Want my mother to die before indignity
I’d love to be able to freely share and communicate
with my siblings without prejudice

I’d like to be open to change and growth
to die with dignity myself
to age with grace and equanimity

I’d like to choose easily to wear outlandish hats
and garish colors that please only myself

I’d love to have waves break over me
without fear of the undertow;
feel the strength of a whale,
warmth of the Sun.

I Want to take my youngest granddaughters on a trip
to the other side of the world.
Watch them wonder at the different ways people live.
To carry them on my shoulders
and have them laugh!

I’d love to watch the leaves turn pink and purple and back to pink,
fade to translucent blush, waft on to the stream,
float out of sight.

I Want to stop writing right here, but not before
tasting the lips and touching the skin of Naomi.

But, since I can’t stop, I’ll Want some more:

Good coffee, down quilts, warm fireplace, a nice pinot
(a little on the fruity side), dreamless sleep, time
reminiscing about old friends and old times
with smiles returning on people from long ago.

Passionate politics, dreams of perfection,
visiting with Michelangelo or Da Vinci -
even Jefferson or Franklin would do.

I’ve really got to bail on this project.

I can start again -

I want to be free from ringing in my ears,
from wanting my mind to be numbed.
To be able to tolerate more
discord, disjunction, dismay, disappointment.
Let the buzz reverberate before trying to turn it off.

It would be great to just “go for it” without
worrying about what happens to the rest of the world or to others.
Just serve myself.

Bob Dylan said, “You’ve gotta serve somebody”.
I say “Why not serve yourself”.
Now I’m getting too close to the first part of my song.
Need to stop now - too dark.
Don’t want to know.

Nice Catch, by Alicia Wright

 Nice Catch

The shopper stalks her prey in the retail jungle.
She eyes an evergreen cashmere sweater
from across the room.
The flourescent lights bare down,
causing her to sweat;just barely.
She makes a half circle,rearing back
And taking long strides towards her catch.
Arms upward,reaching outward for the
stretch towards the hopeful gain.
Clutching the warm,soft and fuzzy sweater closely
with both hands.
The hunt is over.
Until,just out of the corner of her eye,the shopper
spots a plaid wool skirt.
For a true shopper,the hunt for fashion is neverending.

Shopping, by Anne-Louise Vernon

Shopping (1) 

Shopping.
Poor creatures.
Searching…..
Magpie glitter, a hollow longing,
all too attractive, cajoling, and fine.
Threads of what we hope will hold us together.
Promise, intoxication, a giddy hunter’s thrill.
Indulgence, regret, then back to square one.

Shopping (2)

The fridge was full, but all was unrelentingly wholesome, bare of the faintest motif of indulgence.  Listless perusal of its contents gave rise to rebellion. I went out and bought that damn whipping cream.

Shopping (3)

Coastal plain. Nothing to buy. No shops. Sights to drink in, salt air to chew, and sun to wear. Not one way to spend a penny, but richer by far than when I’d first arrived.