POETS PLACE
SEPTEMBER 2023
Hello fellow readers! Our journey here on earth is constantly blessed with our surroundings of love and excitement. If we pay attention and smell the air around us, we can experience its splendor. On a scientific note, I have always been in awe of Oliver Sacks and his contributions to the science of the mind. Here is a timely quip that I can resoundingly resonate with… “I have been increasingly conscious, for the last 10 years or so, of deaths among my contemporaries. My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself. There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death. I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers. Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.”—Oliver Sacks.
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart and sentient being, for all the supports and delicious contributions to this column. I am forever grateful.
Love, Linda :0)
Is This Poem An Allegory? You Bet Your Sweet Ass It Is
By, Anna C Broome
2023
I was thinking of your baby
and the private dances and beatings and how the carpet suffocated her and the violin lessons and the refusals to hear her sing.
wondering to myself about the trajectory of frisbee and how a tap dancer could get on your nerves and the wonderful strokes of luck flying with ducks just inches off the ground.
a day is a place, a time is past, your hand
is clay, this self is mind this tongue encased.
I am deliberate and this mother is a shadow, says Plato.
And she can’t stop your drums from being stolen when they are in walking distance -- and the ducks are flying again.
My hands are cold. Maybe I should postpone this:
The soil and climate, and language and laws, movement and action values in Aristotle's Ruler of Gold, not to be confused with Neil Young’s Heart of Gold, and why explains all this? What doesn’t exist can never be known. Mother. I see what you mean about the prisoners in the cave: How can one thing in general never be many things in particular?
Where are my wings? are they just plastered down somewhere in ideology?
Like the understanding of culture and home and greed and abundance? And the emptiness inside peace. This is epistemology.
reconsider in a flash that you are the philosopher and see all this in a different way. teach me to fly before you crash, and we burn.
Anna Broome is a Los Angeles poet and producer of performance art. She earned her bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing, Poetry and English Literature and Language from the University of North Carolina at Wilmington. Her first book, Orthodox Bats, was published in 2019.
CRUISING THE AISLES OF THE WHOLE FOODS DREAM
By Giulio Magrini
We elude the pirouettes of dead patricians
Waltz through shopping aisles
Of corporate supermarket aristocracy
To meet the dewy eyes of the
Scheming incarcerated crew
Replenishing their supply of truffles and wagyu
They grin and beckon somberly
To my inquiring phalanges
“Do not squeeze the startling militaristic
Symmetry of our linear fruit”
The realization of no loftier desire
Beyond organized frisée
Seductive and discreet sausages
Arranged with care and last imagined
In the adult toy area
In another section of town
Where these patrons would not be found
Without the benefit of shadow
Our whimsy fades from this opulent grindhouse
And pans to the softness of privilege
No recrimination breathes in these aisles
The assurance of organic freedom
And the thankfulness of being rational abides
We are baptized from the womb
Through the cervix of checkout
We are the elite newborns
Sucking on the upmarket teat of the Amazon provider
We aspire not for the best potato or pristine hamburger
But the assurance that our patronage is wholesome and morally sanctioned
Not unlike the Lebensborn from the good old days
And without the original sin we recollect
From the pipedreams of coddled religion
And in our restless saffron somnambulation
We are the ravenous and greedy
Pigsty reality
Unmindful of grunts squeals and profit margins
Deafening our present and turning continuously in hallucination
As the manipulators continue our enthusiastic aspiration
For the best pork chop made from the loins of our ancestors
Giulio Magrini is a writer from Pittsburgh PA and is the author of The Color of Dirt, which is an anthology of his poetry and flash fiction over fifty (50) years. He enjoys performing his written work and states, “We have put our hands in the dirt, and sanctified each other”
MY FORCE FIELD
By Mary Cheung
8-23-23
I noticed recently that when I am healthy and well,
like a second nature I have a force field up around me 24/7.
And now I realize the necessity of it. It’s so that I don’t feel as intensely.
All of it, life…. in its all of its richness, in all of its drama and tragedy.
Feelings that would be too much to handle.
And just the clarity of it all…It’s all too sharp, too focused.
It's all too much, too overwhelming and too much for my senses to handle.
Enough to stop me in my tracks. Too much to let me focus on the day-to-day things of living.
I only noticed this fact because I was sick and down with a covid.
And as I languished in a limbo. Day and night blended into one.
My energy was low, and my force field was down…
My time was distorted, my sense was distorted.
Life as I knew it was distorted and I felt it all.
Every single little moment in my world and beyond.
And I felt so insignificant, so small, so unimportant.
Life felt really strange, and I felt lost and meaningless.
It seemed too pointless, the hours we occupy and what we do.
What do we do? Did it have any impact or bearing in life or the world?
And why do we bother then?
When our lives are such a tiny blimp in the universe?
These thoughts and feelings bombarded me when I wasn’t feeling well.
When my body was under attack by tiny little viruses. And they attack my mind as well.
I need a force field just to protect my sanity.
I don't like this feeling and it's so unlike me to question the meaning of life and to not just revel in it and enjoy the ride.
When I’m healthy and this force field of mine is engaged.
I can compartmentalize and function without being dragged down by doubts and questions.
Now, I wonder, does this force field of mine protect and defend myself against physical and nonphysical bombardment? Or does it just regulate the amount of truth and perception so that I can handle it in smaller doses so that it's manageable?
Hmmm, I’ll have to tinker with adjusting the strength of this force field so I can access this further.
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”.
getty #1
By Joshua Dresser
south pavilion
what do they see, what
do they feel when they walk
through these rooms?
I don’t ask, I just quietly judge
it’s a nepenthe, this place
something pulling me
by the strings, off the suffocating stage
to breathe away from the exhaust,
the sirens, the dog shit bank balance
no, they want to capture
the moment, not be in it
walk briskly by
proud to have seen such
a rare collection
rather than be
moved by history’s life
Joshua Dresser howled into this world in the year of Halloween. He went to university, wrote plays and short stories, and eventually allowed life to alter his plans indefinitely. He lives on the Autism spectrum, works as a technical writer, and enjoys logomachy. He resides in Los Angeles.
Deal With It
by Cathi Milligan
They’re not the boobs she wanted.
Deal with it.
It’s not the hair she wanted.
Deal with it.
Aren’t her boobies cute? No, They’re not.
Deal with it.
Will we take control?
Yes. Then, they’ll deal with it.
Cathi Milligan- Helping you find your creative space is what motivates Cathi in all of her pursuits, which include glass art, real estate, publishing, jewelry making, and assisting people to learn more about all of these things. She started with graphic design, but because of a life long love of jewelry making, and a discovery of glass bead making, she shifted over to the artist life.
Bead making lead to fusing glass, and then blowing glass. Along the way, the bead making opened up opportunities to appear on craft TV, and write how-articles, and even a book on macrame. A brick and mortar location soon followed in Highland Park. Within her Highland Park community Cathi got involved in the neighborhood council, and then the local monthly art walk. This participation in the community lead to public art opportunities, including mosaic work for the first parklet in Los Angeles. After leaving the council, Cathi started publishing a print publication, first NELAart News, then changed to LA Art News. It was a nice 6 1/2 year print run, and now LAartnews.com is how you get your art news.
Cathi has her studio in Little Tokyo, at The Los Angeles Makery, and splits her time between helping to run The Makery, making, real estate, teaching, publishing her various websites, and creating how-to videos for her YouTube channel, @thecreativespacezone. Follow her @cathicreatesspaces on the Gram.
LUCIDIOCY
By Olga Volozova
When I stop complaining and stop hoping,
and see things clearly in their outlines,
those in front of me and those in memory,
then, the cloud comes from a point in the sky,
and wraps around me, with tenderness
that tinkles my body cells;
this is called lucidiocy.
The reward of the timid and soft-minded,
the gift of the demi-gods living in the grass and in old socks,
the sense of the supreme debunking.
I watch myself moving in the silver screen film
which soaks into my brain, with the taste of poignant arsenic,
the special nostalgic tint which tastes so splendid,
when I feel a quiet delight in being a fool, a good-for-nothing,
a gal watching a movie, an empty bell clinking on a hat...
then, a subtle, fine lucidiocy comes upon me, enveloping me
with its mighty cloak, between my true and my false.
I look at the pattern of dust over the car window
and see in it my CATscan;
there's not much left of my brain;
I recognize the grains of my thoughts, vanishing.
I love them all, I say bye to them,
until a broad Cheshire Cat smile which I'm wearing as a perfume,
for people and animals to like me,
tears off my face and hangs in the air;
this is called lucidiocy.
The state of a nail in the heel;
the area of low bliss and high amnesia;
the precious air inside of the soap bubble;
the touch of a petal under the bleeding teeth;
the ashes of the burnt home on my palm;
the fingers coiling around the rattle snake in the sand.
Olga Volozova I wrote only three poems in English language after my husband David passed in 2008...
Also, after he passed, I switched in my activities to doing more painting, especially oil painting.
And I started exhibiting around, in L.A. and on other continents, and joined LAAA. Before painting, I used to be involved in animation( after getting my M.F.A. in animation from UCLA)
and in making graphic novels and picture books, and though I am not doing much animation
now, I still try to go on with making books. My stories are on the fantasy/fairy-talish side of the brain
Tea with a Goddess
By Lisa Chow
Understanding, I thought,
Can build a bridge
To connect us across the chasm of different beliefs.
I struggled to accept her way of life,
As she struggled to live in a world that could not accept her,
For the ways of the Goddess are threatening to mere mortals.
And so, we sat over tea,
And traded our truths.
Mine – absolute, indelible, respectable.
She offered the wisdom of perspective in exchange.
She admitted readily she could embrace the legitimacy
Of a life lived in traditional faith,
When actions mirror the doctrine.
I was prepared to defend and deflect and offer platitudes
To challenges I had heard before…
But unprepared for a gentle question,
Had I ever wondered, why, she mused,
So many genuine and good people,
Certain in the veracity of their truth,
Have beliefs so different from mine?
She told me of a goddess who once held an orb of truth,
And as the other divine beings struggled to wrest it from her,
In the chaos, the orb was dropped, and shattered into tiny slivers,
And each deity scrambled to collect a piece, that they called Their Truth.
Even if it was a legend, she mused,
Is it possible that there can be more than one right way?
When I opened the exchange,
I did not know that understanding is a bridge
With an unknown destination.
But as I took my last sip of tea,
I knew that I was transformed,
I held fast to my faith,
But realized it was not a zero-sum game-
Like that orb of truth,
My prejudice had shattered.
Lisa Chow, from the moment she learned to connect letters into words, and words into ideas, Lisa Broadway-Chow has been compelled to commit her thoughts to paper. Her craft includes both technical writing professionally and creative writing for self-expression. She loves the challenge of finding the precise word to convey a complex idea or emotion, and has written short plays, short stories, art critiques and has assisted many fellow artists with their artist statements and bios. Most often, however, she finds her voice in narrative poetry. Her poems are introspective and deeply personal, exploring topics of faith, acceptance, personal aspirations, and worldview. Her poetry has been immortalized in concrete as one of 10 winning submissions for the City of Santa Clarita 2022 Sidewalk Poetry Project. When she is not at her computer, she can be found in nature, making the Los Angeles art scene, or on some new adventure with her husband and son.
Rehab
By Ronald G. Carrillo
All government leaders
Those evil seats of power
All you terrible decision makers
False advocates of the people
Fakers not shakers of justice and humanity
Are you deaf to the apocalyptic winds of change
The planet is sending you signs of an intervention
Do you not see forests, river systems, our oceans, endangered species All fragile and in harm’s way, in man’s way
Open politically infected eyes encrusted with dollar signs
Mother Earth sending out red flags
Her people not reading the room
Heeding her calls for help
Your priorities speak volumes
We as a global village are headed in the wrong direction
There is time to change course
We must take hold of the wheel to avoid a crash
A smash and grab of our planet
There aren’t enough prison cells for all the Earth’s criminals
Nature’s engineers
Bees, whales, birds, trees
Keeping Mother Earth in balance
But her people are killing nature’s engineers
Dolphins, elephants, salmon, butterflies, coral reefs
Grief and pain will be suffered for the generations coming of age
Such a plague of hedonistic stupidity
Short gains with lasting impacts
These are the facts climate change
Warring tribes, the inequality gap ever widening
The inhumane treatment of fringe humanity especially women
We are working from an old play book
The results unchanged a group at the top
Holding hostage the backbone workers of their greed
One group wealthy and privileged but they bleed their humanity
Lose their souls for more that can not feed their spirit life
World religions a populous placebo no longer potent
National governments rule with selfish ambition
Reap the good harvest of righteousness and purity
Peace makers of this world unite to prosper the good seed
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.
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 This video was accepted into the Ontario Museum of History & Art show “We the People” Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow. February 2- April 16, 2023. So honored!!
And… 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
http://voyagela.com/interview/daily-inspiration-meet-linda-kaye/https://
shoutoutla.com/meet-linda-kaye-poet-poetry-and-theatrical-producer-filmmaker/