Not The Bright Banners by David Michael Nixon

David Michael Nixon 

Not The Bright Banners

Not the march, not even

the vigil, though it be

long, never the fast that

starves to save, but the long,

slow, steady walk, day by

day:  cooking, washing the

dishes, the clothes, working,

shopping, holding dying

hands, speaking in pain as

both lives go, one before

the other.  Not the bright

banners, but the plain flag

of the thinning hair bent

over the sick cat in

the grey hours before

clouded dawn.  The same tasks

done so many times, though

you know death has undone

so many.  Sometimes a

mild complaint, but mostly

the steady lifting of

lead straws, as though, by a

calm persistence, the long,

unwieldy weight of death

and suffering could be

lifted, as though one more,

one more small task could make

love out of a round of

endless duties, as though

fire would break loose from

one last glass of water

and free us all.

    ---David Michael Nixon

First appeared in The Comstock Review 

Steve Tills, from LIFE SENTENCES 2018

Steve Tills, from LIFE SENTENCES 2018

LS 05-07-2018

Logan represented the new formalist

conservative genre, perhaps The New

Agrarian, that came to be known

in contemporary times (pick a decade)

as “Reality TV Criticism and Poe.”

The lone wolf hardly perplexed anyone.

Dimestore heirs come and go throughout

industrial literary ages. The standard

deduction 24,000 in 2018. More than

half a year’s income for most folks

filing joint income returns. “Wasted”

on two Yeungling Black and Tans

not acceptable language for poetry

written by alcoholics of better station

and the University ensconced. For this

condition, his was the rose of France

or the pose of facs or the prose of mucks.

He made a living in advance of dying

to live some days.  He stopped for nine

deer on the way to the nursing home

to see his dear father who was not

inebriated on just two beers or any.

The hospital lobby on the first floor

a fantasy of quiet shy of solitude

on the way down the contagious elevator.

Not quite right in the head seeing

in real time the several empty wheelchairs

awaiting father time and other time

in another fantasy of another day. The

first night to remember the man’s lovely

father lying fetal under Yankee blanket.

Cloudburst Poems by Scott Williams

The Kings Garden

Once there was a king whose daughter was beautiful.

He loved her very deeply and he wished to have more.

So he cut her into pieces, and each was an astonishing daughter.

Still he wished more and he cut those pieces into pieces,

and again each was a stunning girl.

He loved these so, that he cut the pieces of the pieces into pieces

and he loved each of the pieces of the pieces of the pieces so he induced.

When he was all done, with love he threw all the scattered remains

into the air so very high that when they fell to earth,

 rainbowed flowers bloomed and cantored at his feet.

Appeared in Peach Mag (2016) under a different title

      

                  Continuation Senryu for Basho

Meditation gong –

I can hear its ring for hours.

Against physics? Good!

“Continuation” appeared in Bonvibre Haiku (CWP Press 2017)

poems by Scott Williams

Or, at the Gell Center, before west-facing hill, La Resolana, poem by John Roche

La Resolana

—John Roche

The sun shining on everything and everybody is seeing everything as it is at the same time.

— O’odham elder quoted by Tomás Atencio in Resolana: Emerging Chicano Dialogues

on Community and Globalization (2009)

Resolute

or reconciled to our folly

we seek

year after year

La Resolana

the place where the sun shines

the south-facing wall

where, in northern New Mexico

(El Norteño)

villagers gather to talk out issues

Or, at the Gell Center, before west-facing hill

usually bathed by spring rains

or walking streams full of frogspawn

hoping something will jell besides tadpoles and mosquitoes

our poems so much flotsam and jetsam

but what else is there to speak

send forth on the pollen-laden breeze

The only way we pay our rent (resolutus) on this planet, dissolve

the impediments blocking acequias’ lifewater, keeping

each man or woman hidden from the other, the secrets

poisoning the polis

must be voiced, somehow antidote found

uranium tailings and sacred objects reburied

the fracking stopped

No poem stopped at the Border

PROGRAM CLOUDBURST 2018

PROGRAM CLOUDBURST 2018  

Fri. May 18, 2018

noon-2:00     Early Bird Registration (enjoy the site)

2:00-2:10      Opening Ceremony (meet at entrance to lodge): John Berry

2:15-3:00      Nature Walk: haiku moments: Michael Czarnecki

                       (an outdoor ramble of roadside, fields and woods at Gell Center)

3:00-6:00       Registration ongoing in Main Lodge

3:30-4:30       Beginning Poetry Circle (one poem from each poet)

4:30-4:40       Poetry reading: Alan Casline

4:40-4:50       Poetry reading:  Stephen Lewandowski

4:50-5:00       Poetry Reading: John Roche

5:00-6:30       Light Dinner Served

6:30-6:40       Poetry reading: Therese Broderick

6:40-6:50       Poetry reading: Charlie Rossiter

6:50-7:00       Poetry reading: Martha Treicher

7:00-7:10       Poetry reading: ryki zuckerman

7:10-7:20       Poetry reading: Nick Eckerson

7:20-8:20       Panel: Retracing Our Steps (John Roche, Scott Williams, Celeste Lawson)           

8:20-8:35      Cloudburst thoughts and evening wrap-up: Martha Deed and ryki zuckerman

8:35-8:45       Friday Night Closing Ceremony: Marge Merrill

8:45               Party 

 Sat. May 19, 2018

 8:30 Breakfast Served 

         Breakfast will be continuously served.

9:20-9:30          Saturday Opening Ceremony: Alan Casline

9:30-10:30        Remembering Friends, Heroes, Legends (Poetry Round-Robin)

                          Sharing poems written by departed friends, admired and historic poets.

                          Bring some poems of beforementioned to share.

10:30-10:40       Poetry Reading: Bob McDonough

10:40-10:50       Poetry Reading: Michael Czarnecki

10:50-11:00       Poetry Reading:  Jane Sadowsky

11:00-11:10       Poetry Reading:  Gwen Zimmerman

11:10-11:20       Poetry Reading:  Martha Deed

11:20-11:30       Poetry Reading:  John Berry

11:30-11:40       Break

11:40-11:50       Break

11:50-12:50       Panel: Migration, Immigration and Language (Tamar Samuel-Siegel, Therese Broderick,

                                                                                                           Judith Kerman, Steve Tills)

12:50 -1:00        Poetry Reading: Mark O’Brien

1:00-1:10           Poetry Reading: Judith Kerman

 1:15 Lunch Served

 Open Time 1:15 – 4:00

Tour in Finger Lakes Watershed with Steve Lewandowski (optional)

Steven Lewandowski will lead an expedition to Site of Seneca Emergence or a place closer depending on weather

Workshop: For those not on exploration in the same time slot workshop in the main lodge (optional)

                    A Simple Handmade Poetry Mini-Booklet led by ryki zimmerman (sign-up with ryki)

Keeping Still: Find a spot and stop. Sit still for at least 15 min. but do not check the time (optional)

4:00-4:40        Panel: Ecstatic Poets with Martin Willitts, Jr. and Linda Griggs 

4:40-4:50        Poetry Reading: Tom Nicotera

4:50-5:00        Poetry Reading: Leah Zazulyer

5:00-5:10        Poetry Reading: Celeste Lawson

5:10-5:20        Poetry Reading: Marge Merrill

5:20-5:30        Poetry Reading:  David Landrey

5:30-5:40:       Poetry Reading:  Helen Ruggieri

5:40-5:50:       Poetry Reading:  Patrica Tansey

5:50-6:00        Poetry Reading:  Dwain Wilder

6:00-7:00        Dinner        

7:00-7:10           Poetry Reading: Scott Williams

7:10-7:20           Poetry Reading: Steve Tills

7:20-7:30            Poetry Reading: Michele Brown

7:30-7:40            Poetry Reading: David Michael Nixon

7:40-7:50            Poetry Reading:  Leslie Gerber

7:50-8:00            Poetry Reading:  Maril Nowak

8:00-8:10            Poetry Reading   Tamar Samuel-Siegel

 8:30-10:00         Open Mic hosted by John Roche (by sign-up)

                           

10-10:10             Wrap-up John Roche

10:15                   Saturday Closing Ceremony: Charlie Rossiter and Tom Nicotera

10:20- 12:00       Party

12:00-?                 Midnight open mic until we run out of poems

 Sunday May 20, 2018

9:30-11:00          Brunch (like Saturday Breakfast )

10:20-10:30        Sunday Opening Ceremony: Therese Broderick       

9:30-ongoing      Trade Fair

10:30-10:40        Poetry Reading:  Stephen Baraban 

10:40-10:50        Poetry Reading: Martin Willitts, Jr.

10:50-11:00        Poetry Reading: Linda Griggs

11:00-11:10        Break

11:10-12:10        Looking Outward  (Michael Czarnecki, David Landrey, Gwen Zimmerman, Helen Ruggieri)

12:10–1:00         Further: Round-Robin of Poetry.  (Might be time for second poem)

1:00-10:10          Closing Ceremony: Jane Sadowsky

cloudburst poem by Martin Willitts, Jr.

Tender Moments

There is much to love in this world,

and much I’ve never seen, but can guess

easily has to be spectacular —

between two large stones and nowhere else,

opening green mouths like fledglings

these tongues of blue-purple violets.

The news occupies itself with danger

and terrible weather and leaders lying

straight-faced. You can have all of that.

A robin touches down, hopping across

the grass, not afraid of me.

This is a tender moment.

If you care to look for these moments,

sense a blush of sunrise; lilacs odors;

rain falling just enough, not more,

not less; a crow cocking its head

suspicious of the silence; or

violets returning every year.

                        --- Martin Willitts, Jr 

Celeste Lawson On Being Certain

On Being Certain

When traveling the uncertain path

of being absolutely certain

of just about everything 

It is certainly likely that you will encounter

a moment of uncertainty

that is certainly a moment un-reconciled

Certain to create doubt on all

that you were certain about

before

You will stand at the threshold

of all your uncertainties

that are certainly known now

and try to be resolute in your life of resolutions

Yet to be resolved

            Celeste Lawson

2001 ©

Poem of Resoluteness by Mark O'Brien

"His quiet nature was blown about enough for silence."

~

Meanwhile, in the Outback of Beyond:

Slowly salvaging the daylight hours

as the night acquires October

you battle this unexpected censure

struggle to come once more out of the anyhow

throwing punches at the wind.

With no recent measure of a quiet cautionary tale

you begin to worry the bones and throw the teeth.

Perhaps you didn't notice this when you first stepped in.

Maybe you thought, it will surely come back

for all the silent reasons after only a quiet and hallowed time.

Maybe, you didn't want to know

didn't care to see across the deep of idleness

where sorrows resolve in the wide eternity

of the present on your hands.

But bleak hearts and devious fools of idleness

can become soldiers of the dark

bolder and bleaker

tendering no information

taking no messages.

It is not for want of banging your head

against the windy and the ragged after all.

Not for want of leering and looming

buffeted by the beyond.

But slowly, slowly, without your knowing

idleness savages the daylight hours

as the Prince of Night gathers October.

In the end finally, you must always remember

there is the Bean-Sìdhe after all.

Graced and serene, pale and contrasting in the night

her eyes red from centuries of crying

and wringing her hands, mourning at your idleness.

She was ever washing your poetry bones, stroking them lovingly

cleansing their limbs 'till they were shriven.

Then, nightly she paced the hills of your dreams and sorrows with unearthly care

Weeping, wailing, clasping her hands, and beating her breasts.

Piercing the night, her notes rise and fall with the years

begging you to resolve your writers block!

begging you to come back to the anyhow once more

to the wide eternity of the present on your hands

before your bleak heart becomes a soldier

a soldier to the Dark of October.

                             ---Mark O'Brien

Stephen Lewandowski Poems Before CLOUDBURST 2018

BEHIND MCDONALDS

Over ten billion House sparrows served

At noon, around the cars in the back parking lot

flutters a flock of evolved sparrows.

They use a small fleet of parked grocery carts

and dumpsters as their clubhouse.

After all, why hunt when you can served?

The sparrows are industriously picking

flying bugs off the grills of the parked cars,

venturing as far under the hood as the radiator

where the bugs are not only thick but toasted.

In such an ecological niche, their exposure

to predators like rough-legged hawk hovering overhead

is minimal, and with new cars arriving

the lunch is served fast and hot.

                                    --Stephen Lewandowski

Y’KNOW

It may be that all intelligence

like all cognition

like all creation

gets fuzzy out

towards its edges

y’know like Albert Einstein

before conditioning rinses.


                      --Stephen Lewandowski

WHERE WE CAME OUT OF THE GROUND

Hopping from stone to stone

clinging to crumbling shale banks,

washed in cool air draining from the crevice,

big hemlocks skinned and polished

in their tumbling descent through gravel,

exposing whorl and gnarl.

Hepatica, trillium (still shut), bloodroot,

Dutchman’s breeches and a fern new

to me, with elongated leaves bearing

root tips seeking a hold in shale wall niche.

Bluets and arbutus, we scramble

on all fours nearly straight up,

don’t look down, on a final burst

of nervous energy.

Walking back from the top

on roads, the long way around,

through woods’ understory

white with toothwort retracing

a difficult birth struggling up

out of the womb, walking

away in sun.

                       ---Stephen Lewandowski

Poem: her insignificance in the great scheme of things was only matched by his inflated presumption of his own greatness for CLOUDBURST COUNCIL 2018 ryki zuckerman

her insignificance in the great scheme of things

was only matched by his inflated presumption of his own greatness

his favorite four letter words are gold

and golf and fake

while mine are give and find and love.

his preferred three letter words are oil 

and gas and gun

while mine are all and sky and fun.

his only pronoun is me, and sometimes he

while i lean towards we and she.

too often monosyllabic or incoherent,

he has difficulty chewing his words

and spits them out

in little chunks of vitriol

and streams of vileness.

it's getting late.

before we get beyond

to where we can't turn back,

let's go for it.

ready for a duel –

my thesaurus is packed.

                  --ryki zuckerman