Tag Archives: Poetry

The Witness Protection Program Poets Chapbook Launch

You’re invited! The Witness Protection Program Poets request the pleasure of your company at the LAUNCH PARTY for our new Chapbooks on Tuesday, May 18th at 3:00 PM. Zoom Link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/85937283823?pwd=TW1Kc005aVh1dS8rU1J0Y2ljZzZtdz09 FUN Please keep your microphone muted upon entry.

The Witness Protection Poets Chapbook Collective Presents

Lies and lockdowns

     elections and insurrections

uprisings and upheavals

     fires and floods—it’s been a world of dread

and extinction     hard pressed to find distinction.

     Yet

with changes and challenges 

inspiration    often perspiration

     always motivation—

 this group of poets has grabbed

     the bad

 turned lemons into sweet, sweet      pies.

                                                                                                                                                           

On Mayday, the Witness Protection Program Poets exchanged their first ever collection of chapbooks. Seventeen  writers dug deep into their hearts and souls to make sense of the world around us—for the happier or sadder, the bolder or the fearful, in awe or anger. 

Take founder Nick Triglia‘s 21 Reasons to Slit One’s Wrists— “2.                    ”  ( you fill in the blank!) in The Backroom of the Believe It or Not Museum of Prose and Poetry,   or  Betsy Roman’s, A Chronicle Through Chaos: A poetic preservation of unhinged history sifted from the debris of Election 2020— “Black lives    white lies    orange skiesperfectly sums it up.  

Antonia’ Allegra’s ConverSAYtions offers clever word play and solid advice: “Considering conflicting news/rushing at us like/water from a fire hose,/take U and E from FAUCETS/to reveal the FACTS.”  Valli Ferrell’s Lens, tells us How To Be Cheerful,  “Do appreciate/ do say it/ out loud to no one/ to the bird trill in the brittle cold air.” And  Dina Corcoran’s Christmas Cards reminds us: “My life is richer for [our] continued contact. . .[they] are treasures.”

The poems  take us on journeys of discovery, of contemplation, joy and song.  Marianne Lyon Travels with Aruba, her Love-Dog— “Come   love-dog let us take a meander. . . ” Cathy Carsell‘s Of Earth and Sky filled with poetic lyrics and refrains transport us away: “There’s music in the wind/in New Orleans late at night/as it moves through the treetops/on a warm spring night. . .Music in the wind/Listen in. . . .” 

These chapbooks offer us reflections on nature. Marilyn Dykstra writes in Full Circle ReflectionsSycamore Grove Park Haiku #3—”Black ashen earth/Soaked with recent autumn rains,/A green carpet sprouts“.  Nathaniel Winters advises us, “Without the birds and bees no flowers appear/food becomes scarce/animals and man become endangered/love can’t bloom” in Art of Living from his collection, Seeking SunshineAnd from Yvonne Henry’s poems and art work, 6:57 AM “The sun rose slightly/ askew/ causing/ for a moment/ the dove and I to tilt our heads.”

Diego on My Mind, Frida Kahlo

“Ekphrastic fantastic” poet James McDonald reflects on art in Visual Language, “Diego the last thought, always Diego/ my essence reaches out/ for rebirth in the rich soil/ fertile in death/ barren in life/ from Diego On My Mind. 

These writings cause us to consider our losses and our longings—from  “Tangential” by Sarah Miller in Off on a Tangent:  “Like the time my hand brushed her hair/ from her dying forehead/ like you wished you had” or, “Give me back that summer/ even the tattling sister/ once a waterskiing champion, destined/ for deep, slow rotting in her bones.” from “Deep, Slow” in Little Palace of Illness by Ana Manwaring, and from Things I’m Wrestling With , “Miscarriage” by Noel Robinson, “Pregnancy loss does not define a woman. It is merely the involuntary actions of the uterus that brings death to the fetus. If the life inside the mother perishes, she survives along with her dreams and hopes. I know, I am part of the woodwork containing the sorrow of the past. . . .” 

Finally, many of the poems, essays, and memoir written in these chapbooks make us look at our lives and into our hearts to know the truth of our own humanity. Through the eyes and words of others we come to complete ourselves. In the words of Arthur T. Robinson in his introduction to Riding the Goat: An Anti-memoir,  “. . .writers of all cultures , genders, and ages have wrestled with the tricky stance of writing. . . one’s past real, seeking out . . .  patterns, and  deducing vital lessons.”   

Join the conversation—come for the FUN!

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/85937283823?pwd=TW1Kc005aVh1dS8rU1J0Y2ljZzZtdz09

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Filed under Announcements, Events, Poetry, Reviews, Witness Protection Program Poets Chapbook Collective, WPPP Chapbook Collective

The Virus and US by Russell Hvolbek

Miasma—www.stufftoblowyourmind.com

The Virus and US

So, now, a miasma here.

Not only over there, somewhere

backward, but here too in our towns,

gleaning away the soft jostling of

American life; a little money

made and spent, children maturing,

mothers and fathers dying of old age, normal

as it should be, has been, is

normal no more.

The virus roils, exposes our naivety:

Humans have no more purchase of earth

than a virus.

 

 

 

Meet Russell Hvolbek:

Russell Hvolbek is an intellectual historian with a PhD from The University of Chicago. He has written three books, the most recent, Humans: What We Are and Why We Exist, argues that language and the historical fields they produce, brought humans beyond the grooves of nature. Humans came into existence when they became able to name themselves. Humans are a language-historical creation. He is concerned that the utilitarian realm of facts and data have so overwhelmed us, we can no longer ponder what we are.

Russell now finds that people opposed to having to think through difficult ideas are more likely to engage them if they are presented as poetry. He now writes more poetry than prose.
Contact: Russell Hvolbek 818-746-0757 rhhone@hotmail.com

 

On Amazon

On GoodReads

 

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Filed under COVID19, Guest Bloggers, Poetry

Young Again

 

 

Please welcome talented artist and writer

Elizabeth Stokkebye

 

YOUNG AGAIN

Young again

with a past

that

 was my future

I daydream

and I do

as I please

I flirt

and I dance

and have sex

I dress

in layers

and in colors

I write

with seams

and stratum

I look back

by looking

forward

Time

Is

timeless

Elizabeth Stokkebye is a writer and a painter of Scandinavian descent. She lives north of San Francisco. She holds a BA from the University of California at Berkeley in Scandinavian Studies and an MA from the University of Washington in Scandinavian Languages and Literature.

Elizabeth likes to tell stories, whether in words or with paint. She draws from fairytales and literature when writing and painting her figures. Her family, ancestry, and history are the foundation from which Elizabeth’s creativity and imagination spring. She combines her love for art and words on her website.

www.elizabethstokkebye.blog

 

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Filed under Aging, Inspiration, Poetry, Students

Just a Little Sky

Poet Donald Turner Joins us today with a little sky ditty.

 

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Ana Manwaring 7/2012

Drifting sky of white on blue

Painted sky in Autumn hue

Sculpted sky in shades of gray

Twinkling sky at end of day

 

photo credits: giphy.com, freepik and David K. Prothero

 

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Filed under Poetry, Students

Firestorm

We’ve seen her brilliant and horrifying photo, now here is Cathy’s experience of the terror of the October fires. Please welcome guest blogger, Cathy Carsell.

Cathy Carsell writes from the heart, taking inspiration from natural beauty and emotional essence. A songwriter, poet and editor, she graduated from San Francisco State, becoming an audio engineer in the burgeoning music industry of the Bay Area. An avid sports fan, Cathy breathes and thrives in the captivating community of the Napa Valley.

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Photo by Cathy Carsell

Firestorm

Mid October night
Especially long hot summer
Red flag warning, trees falling
Alarm bells ring in my head

Wild wind whipping
Power lines snap
sparking dried tinder
from years of drought
Look out, look out there
ridge of flames rises
as we stand on my deck

Alarm bells ring in your head
Alarm bells ring in your head
Send up a prayer for the dead
You know you’re going to find some dead

 

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Fire don’t discriminate
You’re in it’s way you’re done
Faster than a man can run
Run everybody run

Grab your kids and grab your dog
No time to hesitate
No warning it’s too late
Like a tsunami wave
Only your life to save

Alarm bells ring in your head
Alarm bells ring in your head
Send up a prayer for the dead
You know you’re going to find some dead

Five fires in one night
How we going to fight this fight
Wind whips a firestorm
Racing over miles and miles
Taking homes, taking lives

 

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cnn.com

Check on Grandma
Roll her down
Load the horses, get the sheep
Pray for all our souls to keep
Through hot blazing nights

Alarm bells ring in our heads
Alarm bells ring in our heads
Sending up prayers for the dead
Know we’re going to find some dead

Check with friends and family
tell them I’m OK
I know I’ll never be the same
after these October days

Alarm bells ring in my head
Alarm bells ring in my head
Sending up a prayer for the dead
Glad I’m not among the dead

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Filed under Fire Season, Poetry, Students

Forgiveness

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Please welcome guest blogger, Dina Corcoran, whose poem, Forgiveness, offers a surprising glance into the subject. Dina is a memoirist, poet and survivor of the 2017 Tubbs Fire. She has won awards two years running in the Jessamyn West Literary contest.

Forgiveness

 

In friends I like a cheerful nature
And honesty enriches the deal.

 

I’d sooner sit with realness
Than suffer the pretentious.

 

Wanda, with her southern accent and fake genteel manner,
 Asks “Why is it you don’t like me?”

 

Gently I caress her hand.
It’s not her nature to understand.

Unknown

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Filed under Poetry, Students

The Pain That Dogs my Heels

harrietbeecherstowe1Forgiveness isn’t for the perpetrator of our hurt, it’s for our own peace and happiness. Not letting go of hurt, pain, resentment, or anger harms us far more than it harms your sister, boyfriend, mother, boss, wife, friend. It frees us to live in the present without anger, contempt or seeking revenge. In fact, it doesn’t only free us from negative feelings and actions, it reduces depression and stress, allowing us to embrace peace, hope and self confidence. Forgiveness is a balm of healing for hurt, grievance and guilt; it is not acceptance of wrongs done to you or wrongs you have done to others. And it isn’t quick and easy—it’s a practice.

In the coming posts, writers will express what forgiveness means to them.

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Forgiveness  by Ana Manwaring

Time, that yoke, that feckless lover,
a raptor flying ever forward
into the mythical land of yet to be;
might time bring forgiveness?
Perhaps with time comes peace.
 
Maybe peace is here now
            and now
                        and now
                                    and—walking our paths with us.
 
Maybe now I can forgive.
Maybe this is the lesson in letting go
I learn anew each moment.
 
This, the pain that dogs my heels,
a village cur, a half-wolf, half-dog,
lapping up scraps from my middens.
            He nips at my ankles,
            my outstretched fingers.
            He growls and jealously guards his prize.
 
How his tiny sharp teeth gleam
in the dull morning light.
 
I lay open my heart;
my blessings release
to whirl the clouds.
 
The pack howls in the distance.

mayaangelou1

Stay tuned! And thanks to BrainyQuote.com for these excellent memes.

 

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Filed under Inspiration, Poetry

THE WHOLE WORLD IS A TELEPHONE BOOTH

 

This week, poet, Dominic “Nick” Triglia, shares his unique experience of the October firestorm.

Nick says this about himself:

I was born a “blue baby” in 1950 at the old hospital on Spring St. in Calistoga.  The owners of the hospital always told me I was the last baby born there.  When I found out they were wrong, I changed it to: I was the last good lookin baby born in the hospital.

I wore the blue uniform of the Postal Service for 34 years. I love blue skies, the deep blue sea, blue movies, listening to the blues, and drinking red wine.

Nick is also a producer of poetry events in the Upper Napa Valley

 

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atlasobscura.com

The Whole World Is a Telephone Booth

15 items or less

express lane

in heavy traffic

woman shares

answers to questions

near the

National Enquirer rack

 

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“We packed the RV

then unpacked

got another advisory

my brother in the urn

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put back in the house”

Mom takes him back

to the RV

can’t decide

to take him or not

Dad said to leave him

“he’s only ashes anyway”

Mom said, “yeah

but that’s all I’ve got

of him, he’s goin.”

 

Unknown

khan.com

 

 

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Message Machine

She left his message

of not being home

“to leave a message”

on the phone

seven years

since his passing

his voice lets you know

that he and she

are not at home.

Evacuated

she calls their number

hears his voice

calls five times a day

said  “if he answers

I know our home

is safe from the fire”

Each time she listens

to his recorded voice

she kisses the receiver.

 

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greifhealingblog.com

 

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Smoke over the Napa Valley October 2017.       Marina Torres

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Filed under Commentary, Fire Season, Poetry, Students

When Will We Ever Learn?

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Novelist Nathaniel Robert Winters shares a poem today. Find his work at Amazon.

 

 

 

Custer Died For Our Sins

Western train throws a loud whistle

but bison won’t be moved

car screeches to a whiplash halt

 

Buffalo hunters emerge

bringing down great beasts

too many to count

a hole appears

showing the endless tracks beyond

 

Locomotive belches black cloud

starts slowly, picking up speed

white way west

 

Lakota Nation weeps

 

One hundred fifty years later

it is not tracks that scar Dakota land

but a pipeline

oil way south

 

Lakota Nation still weeps

 

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Filed under Commentary, Poetry, Students

Green Grass, Yellow Mustard

27872250-Napa-Valley-Vineyards-and-Spring-Mustard-Stock-Photo

Thank you 123rf.com

 

Now and again I like to showcase the wonderful writings of my Upper Napa Valley writing workshop attendees. The following poem is by Theresa Cordova Ortez, a member of our Napa Valley College class, Autobiographical Writing, held at Rianda House, St. Helena’s Senior Center. Theresa writes Flash Memoir, scenes of her life and family. This is her first poem and it captures the beauty I’m blessed to experience every  day as I drive to work. I hope Theresa’s poem inspires you to visit the Napa Valley this spring.

The Cycle

Blue skies

Sunny days

Yellow mustard swaying in the fields

Grassy green hills

Beautiful grape vines stripped of their fruit

Standing tall in tidy rows, waiting for their time

When once again they will bear grapes

The color of deep purple and gold

the color of sun

This world-renowned jewel that sparkles like a diamond

This beautiful Napa Valley, which we are so fortunate to have

To visit, to work, and for me

To call home

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Thanks Abe K. via Flickr

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Filed under Autobiographical Writing, Poetry, Students