Special thanks to our sponsors from over the years:              
     
    Maxwell's Bookmark and Bill Maxwell         C.A.Webster Foundation         David & Liz Rea      
                Bookland Stockton         Tower Records Stockton         Eric & Norma Yeoman
          J.W. Productions                                                      
                                             
                                                    
    Kinko's Stockton         University of the Pacific    

             

NPR Paradigm Fundraising





















GOODBYE, RED TRUCK   a narrative     by John Morearty

My credentials are gone! Vanished in a cloud of blue smoke, November 9, 1992.

Not my Ph.D., that's still curling on the wall, but Old Red Truck. It was my badge of honor, my certificate of authenticity, issued by Chevrolet in 1963. It was a rolling rattletrap reminder that I was who I pretended to be--an impoverished peace and justice activist, Poor But Honest John.

I cherished every dent--parking lot dings, the gouge in the driver’s door (which usually latched), the huge sheet-metal distortion suffered in hasty joy the morning my bankruptcy (honorably incurred, of course) came through. I loved its rainbow glory--white top, two shades of red fading to orange, a green smile where I hit a Cadillac while chanting my mantra, black lumber rack, homemade brown plywood camper, and remnants of rusty chrome. And I delighted in its tailgate, my rolling billboard: bumper-stickers like No Nukes, Kick the Bomb Habit, Robin Hood was Right, Solar Energy, Honor Labor, Bill Sousa, Pat Johnston, Patricia Malberg for Congress, Freeze Nuclear Weapons/Mondale Ferraro, World Instant of Cooperation, and my own Sow Justice Harvest Peace. Funkily painted in yellow, above all these, was the phrase I had spotted on a vehicle in Sausalito: Carpenters Make Better Louvers.

As I rolled this ravaged beauty from Mendocino to New Mexico; as I drove to peace demonstrations at Livermore Lab, or Norman Shumway's office, or City Hall Square; as I parked squarely in front of Burns Tower, to chair U.N. Association meetings; as I backed into customers' driveways (transmission fluid oozing) and unloaded my sawhorses; as I pulled into lumberyards next to shiny new $20,000 pickups and heard them say "Hey, here comes Thermonuclear John"--as I paraded Red Truck through the world I thought, "Voluntary poverty, that's me. John Morearty, the Mad Monk of Carpenter Road. Jesus was a carpenter, he ate organic food. Dorothy Day would be proud of me...."

Then I cut my hair, got married, and moved from the fringes to a respectable house in Old Stockton. My teenage stepdaughter took to calling Red Truck "The Sh..mobile"; my beloved bride said, "Honey, wouldn't it look really nice with a new coat of paint?" So this spring I scraped off all the bumperstickers, pulled off the chrome, laid in a little Bondo, and had it painted Porsche Red--gouges, lumber rack and all. Looked pretty good.

But in October, my mechanic Tim delivered a death sentence--collapsing rings, new brakes, $3000+.

So I sold my credentials, for eight hundred American dollars. I borrowed eight thousand from my son Mike, and bought a 1986 Dodge pickup--red, of course.

Now who am I?

Copyright John Morearty 2002



  Riding The Morgan Horse
 by Douglas M. Tedards

Pal was the Morgan horse
I rode when I was growing up.
Even after years in the saddle
he could throw me in a second--
a scrap of white paper,
a covey of quail,
or a startled rabbit
and I'd be in the air,
then on the ground...
parts of me and his tack
scattered in the field
or along some country road.

Soft landing or not
I'd climb back up
but knew in time
I'd be thrown again...
This equine whirlwind
could turn me into a horseless rider
in a flash of wings
from a flushed covey
or wind-rippled sheets
from a laundry line.
The slightest movement
always catching his eye
much quicker than mine,
and I seemed to finish the ride
purely at his own pleasure.

I learned never to take him for granted,
and until the day
he was too old for the saddle
I remained his apprentice rider.

It is oddly the same
for me now, writing these words--
a poem thrown together
for an afternoon jaunt
then written over and over, inexhaustibly,
until it turns on a dime
heading for home.

Such writing rarely comes easily,
words tossed into the air
or left stranded on the page,
watching it all come together
in a flash of images
formed purely for their own pleasure.

As a young horseman
and now a writer of poems,
until the day I am too old for words,
I will remember what I learned
from Pal and his knack for throwing me
out of his saddle at the slightest provocation:
hold on tight, prepare for the unexpected,
and enjoy the ride.






Framed             by Dan Hettsmansperger III      Fast Forward   Christ and the Buddha

It is a great source                                 previous appearances: ZamBomba
of sorrow                                                                                        Main Street Rug
when                                                                                                Lucid Moon
in my long wanderings through dark museums
I find that the frames
are often better
than the paintings.

This happens to me often.

Sometimes when watching
a film
I find the actors
more appealing
when they are quiet
like some woman I've loved
in years past.





Fast Forward                        previous appearances: Cover Magazine
                                                                                           ZamBomba
We are going.                                                                    Sidewalks
        We are getting on with it,                                          Haight Ashbury Literary Review
        We will be leaving shortly,
        Please check your individuality
at the gate and have your boarding
pass
ready
at the dawn of the 21 st century.com

Remember that we expect a lot
from our employees,
resistance is futile
and have a nice day.



Christ and the Buddha        previous appearances: ZamBomba &
                                                                                                  Dream International Quarterly
There beyond the spheres
of our timid planestood a Buddha
and a Christ.

And Jesus said,
"I am the Savior."
And Buddha said,
"There are no saviors."
And Jesus, undetered, said,
"I am the son of man..."

"...and a woman," said Buddha.

"She was a virgin," said Jesus
"Hmmm," said Buddha.

"You can't talk to e like that, I'm
the Lamb of God."
"Born of a virgin...."
"Yes!"
"And the son of man..."
"Yes! Yes!!"
"Hmmm," said Buddha.

"Alright," said Jesus, "have you
ever performed a miracle?"
"Reality is a miracle," said Buddha,
"and it performs for me."
And Jesus said, "I rose from my grave
on the third day!"
And Buddha said, I never died, for
although the body might decay, entropy
holds no power over the soul. Death is
merely change, and change is the only
constant."

With that the two gazed down upon the
blue green fascade of Terra Nova,
the place of mortals.

"Perhaps we should go back,"
said Jesus, "they have forgotten how
to trust."
"They'll fear youmore than they'll trust me."
I don't trust you,
after all, you left."
Jesus fumed and then could only say,
"You're lucky I'm the forgiving type."
"It's a pity youre followers aren't more
like you," said Buddha.

And with that the Enlightened One
returned to his eternal contemplations
while brooding Christ could only
sit and dream of the folly in an empty
Heaven,
and an over-crowded Hell.

                     























Our NPR fundraising paradigm from the beginning has gone as follows: an independent sponsor
is found to finance the projects and publications of the Poet's Corner whether for producing a radio
broadcast, bringing recognized poets such as Poet Laureate Robert Pinsky or National Book Award
Nominee Kim Addonizio to read in Stockton or publishing poetry online or in the chapbook series.
Sponsorships have come from such diverse sources as philanthropists, mentors, teachers, relatives,
the C.A. Webster Foundation, Tower Records, Stockton's Public Library, Kinko's and most recently
the El Dorado Arts Council of El Dorado County for Taylor Graham's book "Harmonics"
which was a very pleasant surprise for us.