Monday, August 23, 2004
The Sacramento Poetry Center presented
Hosted by Susan Bonta, open mic following
Sacramento Ballet Building, 1631 K Street, Sacramento (at the corner of 17th and K Streets) Map It. For more information call 441-7395.
Publisher poet David Humphreys founded the Poet’s Corner as a radio broadcast, poetry reading series, audio/text website. He publishes chapbooks and books of poetry at Poet’s Corner Press. Three of his own books have been published and he has collected over 55 publishing credits since having been inspired by the 300+ credits of Dennis Schmitz. He has appeared in literary journals and publications such as ZamBomba, Tule Review, Perihelion: Web Del Sol, Manzanita, The Montserrat Review, Cæsura, Poetry Depth Quarterly, Rattlesnake Review, Poems For All, the Sacramento News and Review etc. and he has won several poetry competitions. During the summer of 2004 David enjoyed participating and organizing poetry readings on Comcast television on John Moearty’s program “Talking It Through,” featuring Stockton poets Richard Rios, Julie Holzer, Caroline Henry, Melanie Bishop Sievers. “Poetry is everything, he says, meaning and music cutting the linguistic edge of cultural evolution. Responding to an old question from the Economist on the significance of poetry he feels that poetry can carry all the significance to sway the world from abundance and beauty to disaster and devastation.”
What Have You
got to say for yourself, now that you have
time to sit in the afternoon sun
reflected off the surface of your daydream?
Winter strips walnuts gray, scrapes ice
and carries firewood through fog.
Nothing moves. Firelight warms the late night.
Turning in under our soft down quilt
you put your ice-cube toes into the furnace
of my stomach and we shiver for the phoenix of spring
to curl the dragon’s tail around your desire.
Now, I am in that odd administrative position
similar to that of a praying-mantis male after mating,
headless beneath my monk’s hood,
locked to this rigidity of fulfillment,
this inexplicable appendage,
counting mumbled beatitudes,
drunk on a vineyard’s love.
Spider In My Eye
The laser blows a hole through the lens coating,
post cataract surgery cutting through fog.
Having only seen the widow’s red hour glass
on the belly of shiny black twice before
now it’s always in there
like it’s been let out of its cage
in the darkness at the back of the cave.
It flies around the periphery on wires
just out of reach, coming to a doorway of light
suddenly jumping like a ghost.
They call them floaters, debris like seaweed
drifting around one’s field of vision. Well,
yesterday’s slow deliberate angular gaze at it
from the occupied corner ringside seat
caught it for a moment suspended
out of central focus but clear enough in outline,
just a piece of lint from a pocket
spinning a silky web.
Light from Light
In the beginning movement
her rosined bow cello strings
hum hallows framing mourning doves
nesting in June walnut, daughter
between fields west and a quiet
town north listens to her sister
reed a deep clarinet heat wave
contrasting cool delta breeze deep river
running cold to overcast ocean
as this “which came first?”
question falls like floating feather
cottonwood seeds spilling into the
afternoon dog chasing its tail to no avail
in background noise of swings and children,
elegance coming from similar momentum,
“very god from very god”,
simple expression itself significant enough
since none of it would ever have been
if it wasn’t meant to be.
The protein unfolds modular,
sacrificial bonds opening
to reform when the load lifts,
five times stronger than steel,
lustrous, flexible toughness,
web ratlines & rigging
above the careening hull
of-blue hypothesis foam white bow
125 million years of gene wizard dragline silk woven into buzz
cut body armor for the rough sawn leatherneck’s flak jacket
standing at the frontier
between one set of intractable assumptions and another.
Lydia previous appearance Poetry Depth Quarterly
What can you say if it’s so much more than edges
and corners, two dimensions front & back, pulp & rags
pressed out for images, ideas and feelings brushed onto
unframed canvas, oil giving shape to page, skeletal ink acrylic,
muscles of charcoal, epidermal tissue lead graphite?
Where to begin if just one thing is all things, descriptive
details minute to immense? Perhaps, start with her eyes,
candle souls, wick and flicker, thread of spirit green and amber,
flecked gold treasure with the way her wrist or ankle or shape
of eyelid, curve of eyelash gestures an offering praise ballet,
and you see once again the love of your wandering life.