POET PLACE
OCTOBER EDITION 2022
Boo. October is here! And so are we. At least some of us are. We seem to be losing a lot of our our friends and family members lately. I guess that’s life hitting us in the reality face. Do you sometimes feel like you have been long dead and buried in another town? With the ashes of residual guilt? Caught in the eruption of a Vesuvius like storm? That’s how my head feels. Icing helps. Drugs can sometimes mask the pain. For a minute. Finding solace and contentment is often a reach. But with the knowledge that we are all doing what we can to survive, hopefully we find peace within our own surroundings.
Here are the October offerings from our lovely village of poets and writers from all over the universe!!
Headspace
By Linda Kaye
The road downhill is fraught with mysteries
jammie packed with new discoveries many unwanted juiced with new frailties
peppered with disabling disabilities doused and flamed from inflammations
sucker punched in the gut pockmarked and puking
gobsmacked at the mere thought of the loss of physicality lurking like a rapist in the future packed with a bag filled of horrifying cancers
arterial pressure rising inside the brain frying out the memories of the past
hold your breath count to 10
Am I still alive? Is it a good thing? I’ll ask Siri- they say “organisms have a survival instinct
they want to be here
they only want to be here if they thought it was good to be here”
Hmmmm
THE FIFTH GLASS
By Jon G. Jackson
This afternoon, my ex-wife came to visit
with her new wife. And we all
set up a table on the back porch.
We were having wine and cheese
purchased on our long trip,
a big loop locally. And we all, somehow,
thought we were one wine glass short.
When we talked about it later,
we all agreed: Yes, they had told me
to bring the glass out, and, yes, I did.
Like we were one glass short.
And, yet, there were only four of us.
In attentive silence, we examined
that fifth glass — the one that
all of us said was missing.
Then we clinked our glasses, and we
shared that wine amongst ourselves —
a good one, from a Calistoga winery.
And we all said,
“Well, she’s not here, anyway. . .
Jon G. Jackson is a retired psychiatrist and depth psychotherapist, and an award-winning poet. He facilitates an ongoing Rainer Maria Rilke reading group sponsored by the Friends of the San Francisco Jung Institute. He has taught two ten-lecture courses: “Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet” and “A Psychological Approach to the Old Testament.” He currently teaches a shorter course on Rilke for the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at Sonoma State University. He is the author of a book of poems Practicing Silence.
Saying Goodbye
By Sherrie Lovler
It took our whole lives
to see each other.
To see beyond the stuff
that fathers and daughters hold.
For a second I saw you.
I saw you
as you always wanted to be seen.
And in that moment love flowed between us like never before.
It was more than knowing it was goodbye.
It was, in fact, hello.
And though it seemed late in our lives
it was perfect — because
I saw you.
I saw you with my soul. And though words
cannot express that feeling
I know you took it with you as much as I know anything.
©Sherrie Lovler
Originally published in On Softer Ground: Paintings, Poems and Calligraphy by Sherrie Lovler
Sherrie Lovler is a painter and poet from Santa Rosa. She teaches classes in calligraphic abstract painting and bookmaking online and nationally. Sherrie’s paintings and poems inspire each other, and are paired in her award-winning book On Softer Ground: Paintings, Poems and Calligraphy. www.artandpoetry.com
think or stink
By Daniel Schack
think or stink. I say I do not know what to think. I also say I do not like those who do think they know what to think. they are often do do. this is true.
The poet ,daniel schack can be seen on poetrysoup.com and his art on tumblr adanthemanworld.daniel schack is 57 and is a high school grad. With 3.5 years of college.peace.
FLOW
(Dance is Life Series)
6-25-20
9:04 a.m
Artwork and Poem by Mary Cheung
Energy moving, atoms flow.
Fluid Like water, I'm like nothing you know.
Freely and wild,
Can't be contained.
Falling, moving,
touching you like the rain.
Can't hold me back.
I adapt with change,
Chameleon of my environment
Let me show you my range,
I am shapeless,
flexing and fluid,
I cannot break.
warm and soft,
hard and cold,
becoming whatever it takes.
I am shapeless
Let me seep into ur skin
Soak up my essence,
See where I'm going,
not where I have been.
never stopping, see my ideas take flight,
watch them unfold,
let them inspire,
let them delight.
I am water, watch me flow.
Jump into my river,
let me take hold.
Energy that can't be contained.
Creation that can't be restrained.
Im a force, like that,
of a
Gentle,
falling rain.
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”.
LOVE
By:IE Carlo
30 December 2021
It’s the commonality of mind and spirit
That gives it meaning
The significance of the heart
Is its shape and color, its brilliance
Brings awareness of its
Meaning
I’m I from somewhere else
Where love is never at a lost
Regardless of all things
Being out of line
Travels with intensity
Of mind heart and spirit and
Reaches its place in an others
heart and mind and spirit
It’s not a rhetorical manifestation
But an awareness
Of the self
Ismael (East) Carlo, poet, actor begins on the streets of East Harlem, el barrio whose monica of “East” happened due to others not being able to pronounce the name, Is-Ma-El…
East, considers himself more a storyteller than a poet, although at times he gets lucky and poetry emerges from his stories...
For more about East, visit IMDB. Paz en Vida
Solace of Self
By Victoria Ester Orantes
Oh how saddening, oh how exciting,
To be my friend, and my adversary.
Refreshment dealt, heaven’s spout.
Dilute blight of mind and mouth.
One side wilts, the other waters,
The aid to rise when one falters.
May there be strength to never tire.
This is living, stubborn survivor.
The seasons of self, healed then heartbroke.
Choice of sedulity is my yoke.
Victoria was born and raised in Los Angeles, California. She is the owner and operator of the first 1966 Volkswagen Beetle boutique, V.E.O. Visions, where she sells her original art, original jewelry, hand-painted clothing, and curated $5 thrifts. Victoria’s art has been featured in local NELA establishments, art-walks, and recently Shoutout LA magazine.
RED DIAPER BABIES
By Jeff Chayette 21 September 2022
sexy ladies fertile babies
screaming hot rocks
get your jaw breaker
belly ache full straight
winning hand
the glam band slam band
hard hitting face spitting
mini skirts under oversized shirts
hey there bernie bros
we’ll top you sock you
take you to the battle of the baby rattle
Katie Rule and Lydia Jewel
drove the spike into the heart
of the death metal Neo punk junk
they brought retro soul blistering beats
played street fairs
teen queens on a pick up truck
winning battle of the bands in
Chicago Grand Rapids Saginaw
Flint Gross Point Detroit
Wyandot Ann Arbor Toledo
Gary back home to Chicago
and a recording session
at Chess Records studios
commercial success in hot red dress
the red diaper babies
Mixed the little caesars
piece of pizza piece of pizza
into a multi genre soul punk
speed metal rhythm and blues
head spinning ear splitting viral sensation
everybody wanted a piece of that pie
honey pie you are making me crazy
Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr
invited them on tour
crazy pressure
peer pressure
under pressure
nineteen exploding dreams
hearts bursting at the seams
too much too soon
men descending like baboons
they cracked up broke up choked up
5150ed in Chelsea Alabama
that Muscle Shoals recording session never started
Lydia froze up
Katie wracked up assault charges
that pervert who grabbed her skirt
in the mosh pit had his face split with her Les Paul
doc martins to his balls she spit and raged
they wrapped her in a straight jacket
shot her up with Thorazine
locked her up in Chelsea Hall
the hell of Alabama
Crazy sick adman looking
to revive a sinking ship
tired brand was YouTubing eighties hits
and found his golden ticket
tall skinny teen chicks
mini skirts doc martins oversized shirts
piece of pizza piece of pizza
was a piece of pizza pie
what a funky chicken tail
tap dance lap dance
male gaze rat trap
this crazy act
can take us back
red diaper babies attack
Lydia was a buddhist monk
had saved her head
took a vow of silence
was the monastery gardener
Katie was a retooled dominatrix
working as a dental hygienist
it was the perfect job
every day she got to say
it’s going to hurt and it’s good for you
Jeff Chayette has lived and loved for 4 decades in Los Angeles.
A multi-faceted artist who attended Art Center College of Design In Pasadena, Jeff has worked on stage, television and films.
His design work has been peer recognized with National and local Emmys, CBS Eye on Excellence and Promax BDA awards.
His current poems are reflections on past and present life in Los Angeles through the eyes of the pandemic. Recent Emmy winner for Best Short promo!!
Friendly Racists
By Ronald G. Carrillo
That man of perdition preaching his lies and narcissistic vomit
Surrounding himself with friendly racists wearing masks
Assigned various tasks to complete presidential goals
A rebel rouser of the highest order
Spewing his low-grade divisiveness
To his mostly fearful malcontents
Wanting to keep the white social economic mainstream order
Guarding their lion’s share of the kill
Unwilling to see a more diverse and equitable future
A changing of the American guard that friendly racists cannot abide
Fear and a seeming loss of their power and status
Making these once friendly racists sharpen their tongues
Take up their guns and show their true colors
Veritable wolves baring their teeth beneath sheepskin
A peaceful protest in D.C. and that ungodly man uses it as a photo op
Holding a bible upside down in front of a church
Jews and Palestinians hurling rocks
That give way to missile attacks
Sunni and Shia Muslims kill each other in holy wars so unholy
White Americans and their fellow citizens of color
Becoming a pecking order battle for inclusion
Dominance defended to the death
By fringe fanatics and white nationalists
Suddenly struck by amnesia forgetting their immigrant origins
Closed borders and walls to keep dreamers
Of the red, white and blue out
No more “White Only” signs but their ghosts remain
Behind closed doors the skeleton bones of segregation still live
A once silent dialect of racism again returning to a Dixieland
Spreading its venomous cancer of white superiority
A false supremacy uprooting the foundations of liberty
The cracks now beginning to show more deeply
Like weeds obstructing the constitutional ideals
Of Jefferson and Adams’ seeds of our founding fathers
Friendly racists no longer wearing long white robes and hoods
Burning crosses and only coming out at night
A new yet still lethal breed of haters
And flag wavers to remake America
Thinking great again but doing the exact opposite
Destroying freedom for all so only they can benefit
A land of manifest destiny stolen in a global cycle of empire
Now spiraling out of control
The planet growing hotter
And government grabbing hands getting greedier
Friendly racists becoming bolder
Not willing to shoulder any responsibility for criminal actions
Seeking presidential pardons
From a trumpster still blowing his horn
Tweeting like an insane parrot
Not willing to tolerate justice but seeking white privilege
Friendly racists thinking they are above the law
But acting like outlaws nonetheless
The planet spinning in climate change
Antisemitic leanings once again rearing its ugly head
Conspiracies abounding confounding enlightened consciousness
Democratic platforms collapsing
The country relapsing into antebellum
Liberty held hostage by false patriots
No republican regrets only political dispensations
Common sense hard to be found in our congressional halls
D.C. a squatters’ paradise for friendly racists
The yin and yang of justice
Her scales swinging wildly out of balance
Will the fury for equality neutralize the insanity
America clean house
Fortify the peoples’ democracy
Time to exterminate friendly racists
Set the traps
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.
Skeeter Hunting Way Down South
by Lee Boek
Layin’ in bed
A skeeter in my head
Skeeters in my mouth
Skeeter Hunting way down south,
Turn on da light
Jump on da floor
Grab that swatter
Near to the door
Catch ‘em in flight
Or up on the wall
Standin’ on the bed
Make ya real tall
Catch ‘em with yer swatter
Catch ‘em with yer mouth
Skeeter huntin’ way down south.
Long come black Dart
Fastest Skeeter alive
A welt raiser
A Buzzin’ Blazer
Try every nite
Just to see him in flight
All I got was a bite
But never a site
Puts me up tight
Jump back in bed
That buzzin’s in my head
He’s back in my mouth
Skeeter huntin’ Way Down South.
Lee Boek: Artistic Director/poet
An integral part of Public Works Improvisational Theater Company since the 1970s, Lee took over as Artistic Director of the company in 2001 after founding member Marlene Rasnick’s passing. The California native, born in 1941, has had successful careers as a Fundamentalist Evangelist preacher, radio host, actor, writer, producer, union organizer, husband, father, grandfather to many & champion for the under-served & wronged. A staple of the Silverlake arts community, Lee continues to be on the forefront of accessible, socially-relevant performing arts productions
Papoulis
By Michael Meloan
After completing his BA in history at UCSB, and a teaching credential, George Papoulis began to believe that he was the Son of God. Then he became convinced that a secret Nazi cabal was out to get him, due to his Greek roots. After a shouting match with his family, men in white coats wrestled him into a straightjacket and he was carted off to a state facility for seven weeks.
With a new lease on life, via daily doses of powerful anti-psychotics and mood elevators, he began teaching at Locke High in South LA. It was a stressful job, with high levels of classroom chaos.
After a particularly bad week, he decided to cut loose at the Red Onion disco in Redondo Beach. It was a notorious party spot.
George set an intention to find a woman. He approached the crowded bar and drank one Cadillac Margarita after another, until he lost count. With an explosive head of sugar and alcohol, he walked up to a woman with a teased-up beehive hairdo and a voluptuous figure.
“Hey, wanna dance?” he asked.
She glanced up at him, “Yeah, Ok.”
George didn’t really know how to dance. But the alcohol made that irrelevant. After gyrating wildly through one song, they went back to the bar.
“My name is Charlene,” she said.
“I’m George. Hard to hear. So loud!”
“I know!” Charlene replied.
“Do you want to go somewhere?” George asked.
She paused. “Well, we could go to my place.”
“Where is that?”
“Downey,” she replied.
“Downey! I don’t even know where that is. It sounds far.”
“It’s not that far at night. The traffic is light.”
“I’m part Greek. Is that Ok?”
“Sure. I’m part Mexican. Who cares?”
George felt relieved.
“I’m with a friend. I’ll go tell her that I’m leaving,” she said.
After what seemed an interminable drive, from freeway-to-freeway in George’s 1964 VW Beetle, they arrived at a tiny stucco house with a chain link fence around the front yard.
As soon as they were inside the front door, they began ravenously making out, then she led him to a side bedroom where they tore each other’s clothes off and made frantic love.
When it was over, they both lay in the twisted covers heaving for breath. Then George was out. He was quite drunk.
When he awoke, it was pitch black. He squinted at the tiny glowing markers on the hands of his watch. About 4:05.
He unsteadily got out of bed and started looking for his clothes. When he was almost dressed, she awoke. She jumped out of bed in the nude and turned on the light.
“Are you trying to sneak out?!”
“Umm, I need to go. I’m a long way from home.”
“We need to go see a priest! I think I love you!”
“I hardly know you. I don’t even know your last name!”
“I need some help from a man. A good man.”
“This is too much. I’m a new teacher. And I’m a schizophrenic!”
“And I have three children! This is my father’s house. We live with him. He took the kids overnight to Disneyland, so I could have a little break.”
She began to cry. Running mascara. “I just needed…a little break.”
They both stood in silence, bathed in the harsh glare of the overhead light. Then George approached her and kissed her on the lips.
“You are a beautiful woman,” he said. “Any man would be lucky to have you. But I’m treading water as fast as I can, just to keep my head above the waves.”
“So am I,” she said.
“I have to go,” he said, as he headed toward the door.
On the way home, as the sun was coming up, he cried.
Michael Meloan's fiction has appeared in Wired, Huffington Post, Buzz, LA Weekly and in many anthologies. He was an interview subject in the documentaries Bukowski: Born Into This and Joe Frank: Somewhere Out There. With Joe Frank, he co-wrote a number of radio shows that aired across the NPR syndicate. His Wired short story "The Cutting Edge" was optioned for film. And he co-authored the novel The Shroud with his brother Steven. This fall, RUP press in Germany will release his memoir/novella PINBALL WIZARD.
Good Person
By Ed Burgess
9/25/22
I’m not a bad person.
That’s what my friends say
I am not a mensch
No more than I am a Good Fellow
I am not a Bon Vivant
Nor am I your Tio
Or your Cuz’
How could I possibly be
Your homie
Your boy
Or brother and confidant
We are not from another mother
We were not switched at birth
Or abandoned among the reeds
Down by the river
I am a good person
Ask my friends
The ones I have left
The ones who know
I am not a bad person
They know when my push comes
And then the shove
We are on the other side
Blue skies
Smooth sailing
Red sunsets
Good or bad
Is not the question
We just are
And We are the good person
And you are there with me.
Ed Burgess is a very creative person who has lived in Los Angeles now for over 20 years. He is an artist, an occasional poet, a troublemaker and a good person.
Sacrilege
By Lauren Orozco
Art Fair
Curly Hair
Green Glass
Holy Mass
White Wine
Stout Stine
Flawless Face
Saving Grace
Faith Kept
Eden Wept
Lauren Orozco is a poet who doesn’t have a hometown. She’s a proud MexiCuban Californian, and honorary Montanan. Born in Long Beach, California, lived in various cities across Northern Orange County and currently resides in Corona, CA. Lauren spent her twenties in Missoula, Montana and studied archaeology and philosophy at the University of Montana.
She devours any poetry she can lay her eyes on, queer memoirs, war novels, Wittgenstein, Baldwin, and Steinbeck. She is not a fan of labels or being defined by others. A self-proclaimed Cowboy Surfer, Lauren has narrowly escaped with her life after being bucked off horses, hospitalized due to surfing and skating accidents, stung by stingrays, and getting thrown off a raft in class 4 rapids. But she lives to tell her tale.
Thanks for joining us! We will continue to host writers and poets of all genres.
Please submit your written work to: lindakayepoetry@icloud.com and include a short bio.
Linda Kaye writes poetry, curates poetry, produces films, 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, Zweet Café in Eagle Rock, The Makery in Little Tokyo. 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 rap music video project in collaboration with Mary Cheung, “ERACE-ISM” can also be seen on youtube. https://youtu.be/NfrbveNUBgg
Most recently, February 19, 2022, she debuted her staged poetry production of “20 Years Left” at the historic Ebell Club in Highland Park! Two sold out shows with 2 standing ovations!! Check out the links to reviews and the video!
https://thehollywoodtimes.today/20-years-left-new-show-performance-poetry-music/
20 Years Left youtube live stream 2/19/22
Linda Kaye is a native Angeleno 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 from medical social work, 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