POETS PLACE
SEPTEMBER 2021
September is here and we are still trying to figure out how to cope with the hoards of anti anti’s in all arenas. Trying to deal with the belligerent denials for the abuses that contribute to climate change, infectious diseases, racial inequality and why many people are not nice to the human race, well frankly, seems almost futile. And it does feel like a human race to understand how people can actually deny what’s going on in front of our faces!! I cannot wrap my head around all this. Can you?? What keeps you going? When I feel down and depressed I turn on music!!! There is an immediate change in mood and atmosphere that can twist and turn around the despair that haunts the soul. Listening to music is much better than taking drugs (well) most times. Ha! So what gets your groove going? And, better yet, how can we get back into the groove of sharing the love and respecting others’ differences? Well… Poetry can help because it unleashes the inner angst, the negative disturbing thoughts that paralyze our ability to function in a positive mode. Writing helps us to literally let go and confront those demons. Throwing them up onto the paper! Swoosh!! Writing ‘unsent’ letters to people or corporations that anger us helps us to let go of those feelings that contribute to our depressions from the helplessness to change them or their behaviors. IT DOES WORK! Try it sometime. As a retired social worker and behaviorist, I have learned the tools to combat those feelings as I’ve mentioned above. We all need help sometimes to help us get out of the funk. Use your words! Get out of your head! The constant rumination of negative thoughts in the mind can distort reality to the point that we begin to believe the distortions!!! So, let’s keep on writing!! Send in those powerful words so we can share them and help boost others who may be hanging on the precipice. We/they need you!!
Enjoy this month’s offerings from a splendid cast of amazing writers!!!!
LK :0)
When it happens to you
By Linda Kaye
When it happens to you that's when you pay attention to the festering wound, the bleeding sore that was burned by that opened door when the orange haired freak came crashing through
Don’t you remember?
When it happens to you, your heart beats faster, the walls come smashing down and that once protected denial cracks revealing that the worlds are colliding and the drought doesn't subside so all your plants are dying, and the wood is rotting, the intense heat fuels the paint to peel off revealing years of neglect like your face did that time which no cream could heal once the last facial peel came off with the dead skin of masterful repression
Good lord
When it happens to you do you feel obliged to respond that you knew all along about the deaths in Cambodia, and Syria, and South-central LA?
What happened to you all those years before when Disney was King?
Coca-Cola reigned supreme; and movies guided our choices as the TV hosted specials deliciously delivering reality on a plate, a guiding light, the bold and the beautiful decadent delight? That’s right.
When it happens to you and so close to home that your guard was let down and your words spoke the truth that your hatred was real towards the sins of your kind and the rug was pulled out and you fell down the hole that unlocked all the pain that you suffered in life from the marriage that was planned by the culture that was wronged with no clues from the dead
So, when it happened to you, you were left all alone to decipher what's just without forethought or might
You just left it to rot with all the others that night
GHOSTED
By Richard Russeth
Salt falls from the sky,
the wounded feel its sting.
When I was wounded, I was
the age of that Vietnamese girl
made famous by the picture of her
running nude and screaming
down a dirt road in the countryside
after we napalmed everything and her.
Not that she wanted it,
but the entire world was hers,
and she might have wanted it
if someone had told her it was hers,
but we left and left them all behind.
We leave. Each and all of us.
We have ghosted whole nations
and lovers alike, and left them bleeding into
the sea or desert or each other.
We learn early that it is easier to move on
than fix what we have broken
even when what is broken is us.
The Night Of Fires
By Brad Stubbs
Someone said
“Go west, young man.”
And we inspired by cliches,
With nothing better to do
Went to tame the savage land.
We traveled on roads paved in gold,
Blinded by a reflection
Of sunny days to come.
We made our homes in the valleys
And on top of the hills.
We turned out deserts green,
Installed cable and computers,
Purchased jewelry and perfume.
Talked about politics and sports cars.
We hired “illegal” immigrants
To care for the land.
And they did -
And it was good.
Suddenly
Without a whisper of a thought,
The night of fires began.
Ignited by the curious and confused,
But snatched from their tiny incapable hands
Like a parent scolding a child screaming
“I'll show you, young man!”
And it took less than 24 hours
To speak her peace,
While the landscape
Was left sucker punched
By a right hook to a bruised and broken
(But not unconscious) body.
For the mourning sun revealed
It's black and blue eyes
Swollen shut from the pain.
And through mine I see Jesus on the cross
Surrounded by flames,
Hear newsman and helicopters
Tap dancing on my brain.
I smell the barbecued remains of
Nothing's what it seems
As I sleep in the streets
Of fireman's dreams.
Brad Stubbs is a songwriter, a musician and a photographer with deep roots in the L.A. Arts & Music scene. He dabbles in free verse poetry as a respite from the restraints of traditional songwriting. He creates what he calls “docu-poems” which refer to real life events.
Rattling in My Head
By Mary Cheung
June 2021
4:56 a.m.
Floating on 4:56 a.m. in the limbo of b4 waking and dawn.
Shrouded in the darkness of my bedroom, silence all around.
My thoughts break the silence, begging to be heard.
So I must take pen to paper, or rather in this case, text to phone.
To write it all down, and give life to my thoughts b4 they die the early dawn.
Tomorrow I'll forget these early morning thoughts. They plague me and keep me awake.
I succumb to them and I jump up to a hot cup of tea as my companion.
But I want to tame these early morning revolts.
I want to lay down in silence and sleep.
I want to join the world in silent slumber.
Than celebrate along with the world the ringing of the day.
Sometimes I don't mind following along with the herd.
This is one of those times.
Shhh quiet now, slip back to sleep, let the warmth take over me and dream.....
Mary Cheung- she is an innovative Artist and Costume Designer. Her works contain a strong sense of story as well as a highly sensuous style. She mostly works in paint or photography and sometimes making art that is wearable and innovative. She states “I am usually more of a Visual style Artists and have only recently been open to sharing literally art/poems, often paired with visual art of my creation, birthing a new form of spoken word art as another form of expression”.
Grey Sky and Creamy Coffee
By Ed Burgess
grey sky and creamy coffee.
white thighs, white sheets.
what have we done?
what have we not done?
the fresh brush of sun and wind.
scrub our hairy hearts to a glow.
grows to an ember.
then a flame.
again and again and again.
almost eternal.
almost not.
the sweet ecstasy between.
to be or not to.
yet the swell of the sea crashes.
on the shore again and again.
the river of cars flow.
the train horn blows.
time devours all things.
but not this scene.
in between.
grey sky and creamy coffee
white thighs, white sheets.
Ed Burgess is an artist, poet and all around bon vivant. He has lived in LA for 20 years and is an active member of the art community. He has exhibited his artwork in many galleries around Los Angeles. Although he writes poetry he sometimes reads it publicly.
Where Is Love: Summer 2021
By Ronald G. Carrillo
Where is love
Abiding, keeping,
What is love
Requited, committed
Falling in love
Losing control, filling my soul
Being in love
Feeling complete, swept off my feet, totally sweet
My winning Johnny
With his wolfish smile
Reels me in like a fresh catch
Utterly charming with his eyes shining
Endearing Johnny leaves me chocolate bars and kisses
Then out the door and see you soon wishes
Fairytales that have no regard for truth
Lovely children’s stories to be eventually rebuked
Insincere Johnny but still got a hold of me Johnny
What weakness in me draws me to him
Unreliable Johnny doing me wrong
Why am I attracted to that same old song of his
Men and trouble seems to count double for me
The chase without the love
Robs my spirit to expect very little
But still I am a believer in a true Johnny
There must be love
Mature and pure
Responsible but compatible
Common ground that’s solid and sound
Reciprocal but adaptable
Garden and plant well to last many seasons
There may be floods of anger
There may be droughts of emotion
But there’ll always be harvests
Replenish your spiritual soil for the long haul
Plentiful Johnny my garden honey
Let’s get to harvesting baby
A faithful Johnny by my side
At long last my game card has turned the tide
Love depleted
Companionship deleted
But the season has changed and my fields are no longer barren
My yield no longer fallow
Union of two
Communion under blue skies
Ronald G. Carrillo is a native Lincoln Hts Angelino, living in Eagle Rock and a retired LAUSD educator and influencer. He writes of his passion and rebirth into the golden age of living. He has been writing since high school and was initially influenced from the songwriters, Keith Reid, Joni Mitchell, Laura Nyro, Neil Young.
Thanks for joining us! We will continue to host writers and poets of all genres.
With great hope for a loving and accepting future!
Love,
Linda Kaye
Please submit your written work to:lindakayepoetry@icloud.com and include a short bio.
Linda Kaye writes poetry, curates poetry, produces spoken word and art events and produces a poetry column POETS PLACE for the online publication LAARTNEWS throughout the Los Angeles area.
Linda’s poetry events have included several summer poetry salons, and shows at the Align Gallery, 50/50 Gallery, Gold Haus Gallery, Ave 50 Gallery and Rock Rose Gallery in Highland Park .The Manifesto Café in Hermon, Pilates and Arts studio in Echo Park, and Native Boutique and Zweet Café in Eagle Rock. And at the Neutra Institute Gallery and Museum in Silverlake. Her first short documentary film “BORDER POETS” was a socially and politically inspired event with poets and musicians filmed at the border wall near Tecate, Mexico on the Jacumba, Ca. side of the US. The film co-produced by MUD productions is available for viewing on her website and on youtube. https://youtu.be/5Te4-dlhxco
Her most recent project a rap music video in collaboration with Mary Cheung, “ERACE-ISM” can also be seen on youtube. https://youtu.be/NfrbveNUBgg
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Linda Kaye is a native Angelino who grew up in the San Fernando Valley. She claims to be both a first-generation Valley Girl, and The Original Hipster. Educated at Antioch University and Cal State Long Beach in psychology and social work. Linda, now retired was working for the last seven years as a psychotherapist and licensed clinical supervisor for an out patient mental health clinic. She was a licensed medical social worker for 30+ years working on the front line of healthcare, a private consultant for Physicians Aid Association and for skilled nursing facilities throughout California and Arizona. She was also an adjunct assistant professor at the USC Suzanne Dworak-Peck School of Social Work. Oh yeah.
Twitter/Instagram: @lindakayepoetry