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I will be hauling down to Pacific Grove to do a short reading on May 26. Since it’s my late brother Ricky’s birthday, I am compelled to read some poems inspired by him. Get ready for some dark shit, folks…sorry! But my, how I loved him and still do.
Hope to see you there!
Thursday, May 26
6:30 p.m.
Juice & Java
599 Lighthouse Ave
Pacific Grove, CA 93950
Richard Dixon Killough 1950-1990
grandmother rain
you finally came
not your soft arms patting earth’s skin
but your persistent palm
running life through stone
oh, mother
your mixed time percussion taps open my roof
quells my pains
song of the season
you licked your lips and put down your fist
upon the dry cracked blue, after blue
and my heart greets you.
mother rain
flood your lifeblood
into pools where we view our reflections in your watery glass
drum me into hypnotic daydream
tap me STILL so i can listen to you
soak my desert sponge with your aqua spirit.
mother mayacamas*
your trickle will river, and stream to ocean
and on its way, bless waiting lives
quench the thirst
bring green back into our eyes
bring color back into our lives.
grandmother rain
after so many dry tears
we welcome you again
IntoDeep by Robin Uton
*Mayacamas is an indigenous word (possibly Miwok) that means “water runs through it”
seasonings
spice that transforms the darkest night
is served at this ancient Table
as we follow some version of this long-held tradition
spiraling frenetic workloads to the side
resisting the gravity of the advertising blizzard
or not
but most of us trying, trying to collect ourselves into our clans
to share the
Good food
Good drink
Good company
reminding each other: you are important
you are important to me. i feel important to you.
We are important to Everything.
the Spice that lights our solstice
and brings us through this winter season
is the hopeful discovery
of our connections to each other
some recollections from my trip to Ireland last summer with the Happy Traveler
spinning through the island of Destiny
rainbow sheep block the road
renaissance ceilings are in full bloom
spiral staircases etched in stone
echo centuries of footsteps
sharpened by pointy turrets
fairy forts and fairy trees
remain in place like lost puzzle pieces
never to be recovered
we frolick Lissadell, a winter green
so far from a summer dream
prehistoric proof lies in the bogs
revealing hard histories and red hair burning spite
magic groves and stony castles in the mist tell
honeymoon legends and the mead they kissed
celtic crosses spring up from the landscape
as rain drops bless our faces
craggy bridges arc
near grand castle serene streams
and all around endless greens
the sun breaks in the cloudy rain
Irish pubs greet with Guinness pie and Irish whiskey
giving respite to weather splinter
thatched roof neighbor and a ruined abbey
follow Galway village and Cliffs of Moher
fish & chips as light as clouds and the taste of mollusk, cold and creamy
the faeries of innisfail
flag us down, hide in shadows
st. brigid presides
while st. patrick picks clovers
it’s the magic of this island
that calls trickery in a leprechaun voice
destiny for some
a journey for all
as we discover the stories
buried in the bogs
…plus a little music! Daniel and I have been invited to do a little poetic musical showcase at this event. We will be joined by Mr. Tom Poole on trumpet.
Tom Poole on Trumpet, Daniel Swetlik on Bass
Come Celebrate Pacifica’s Birthday November 21, 2 to 4 p.m. at the Shelldance Orchid Gardens…FREE!
Orchids, violets and poetry will grace the stage for the 20th annual Pacifica Poetry and Music Festival at 2 p.m., Saturday, November 21, at the Shelldance Orchid Gardens in Pacifica.
“The beautiful orchid gardens overlooking the Pacific Ocean, are the stars of our show,” said Anna Boothe, Festival Director “and we will also have performances from our poets and musicians to help us celebrate.”
Ian Butler, fresh from being emcee at Fog Fest, will be our emcee and perform some of his new songs for us. We will also have music from the New Life Singers from the New Life Fellowship in Pacifica; poetry and music with Maurine Killough & Daniel Swetlik of San Mateo with world-class trumpet, Tom Poole, and poetry with Bill Mercer of San Francisco and Pacifica poets David Hirzel and Anna Boothe.
If You Go–The nursery is on the first road past the Police Station on Highway 1 North, marked by a sign that says, “Stop for Flowers.” Go up to the top of the hill (also an entrance to Sweeney Ridge), for parking and the nursery building. The program is free but we ask you to bring a light refreshment or beverage for our reception and book signing. For more information, call (650) 557-9097.
Thank you to Susan Munroe for the photos!
four fingers hiding, clinging stuck
peanut butter in your pocket
comfortable paste staid in their own quiet dark
stubborn fingers moaning, why must it be, why?
and what could pull you out of this butternut thicket
primordial ooze evolved to
trap your limp fist jammed in the jar
but the impulse to finger past the walls of manufactured candy cups, salted sugar imagination
covered and fooled into the sneaky center
of this candy bar life
encapsulated in a shell smoothed by words, ruling words
held tight by thoughts, entangled by the jingle in your head when half asleep.
take your hand from your pocket to tinker with the jewels, the soft songs and soaring dreams
past the squares, empty of the wonder of a fleeting moment
lighting on the tear drop of a mood, paintbrush of a tree
laughing daffodils and wild animal call…
take your hand from your pocket
show the world your treasure
the peanut butter is not your enemy, show it some sunlight
oil your skin with it, shine your bronze beauty with it and use what was hidden deep
where sunlight diamonds catch the glint of presence…
join your world
dance with your only World, this only One
eager elements wait to celebrate
what you held from view
that quality of aliveness unique to you
what you were afraid to draw out
the roots even gravity can’t hold down
that little thing inside of you that is so dazzling delight
the kernel of you, that’s been canned for so long, sealed tight
stuck
like peanut butter
in your pocket
Tree of Gold, courtesy of Ray Lobato see more of Ray’s art at raylobato.com
youtube video from the October 10, 2015 Annual Beat Museum Poetry Festival. Thank you to Terry Adams and Fred Dodsworth for being such gracious hosts. And to the multi-talented poet extradordinaire Evan Karp of Quiet Lightening for working as videographer to capture us all.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mza_BtvQ3Cg
Come on out to the Beat Museum this weekend to be mesmerized and energized by a day of listening to transcendent poets read their dreams and plot stars…
Happening on Saturday and Sunday, October 10-11, 1 to 6 p.m. at the Beat Museum, North Beach, San Francisco.
I’ll be reading Saturday around 3:30 p.m.
Dorsetta Hale, Pacifica’s Poet Laureate has introduced poetry to City Transit!
The Devil’s Slide Ride Shuttle will now feature poems by local poets. My poem, mendocino in an eggshell, debuted July 25th and will run for a month.
See full article here: http://www.mercurynews.com/pacifica-entertainment/ci_28518643/poetry-now-displayed-devils-slide-ride-shuttle
mendocino in an eggshell
the sky is a solid eggshell
no cracks
to permit sun rays to shine in
salt vapors christen my nose, drench my paper walls
dissolving the mood that was trailing me
mother sea baptizes the shore over and over
and over
until the shore also releases whatever it’s been holding onto
leaving a blank beach of sand
curving hellos beneath me
the stillness in the air stills my spirit
but then the chilly fog, vertigo cliffs and hatcheting waves
strike me so close i can embrace
the terror and loneliness
reflected in the raw, metallic water
and colorless sky
i am afraid but mesmerized
in love, yet i shrivel in the face
of this gigantic beauty and power
that pounds and cleanses
and forces me
out of the eggshell limits
of my own little world
i wouldn’t trade you
for a pursed smile behind a locked heart
that looks so good in leotard suburbia
i wouldn’t trade
your spit and blue lips, punch in the throat
for all the gabled lawns in the hamptons
pretending tidy and wrapped in comfort
wouldn’t trade it even though everybody can see through
your thin white skin, you can feel it tear
seeking the purple birth of spring
i wouldn’t trade you for the ring around a fairy
money in the bank
or the symmetry of stable chemistry
it wouldn’t be real
i want you to feel, motherless chimpanzee
your acute appendicitis is as real as your eyes
drilling holes in the falsehood
driving down to the truth that hurts so real
i wouldn’t trade your feelings, thick and red like lava
that stops everything and burns
wouldn’t trade your pearl magic living side by side with fear
wouldn’t even trade the stricken hole in your mouth coughing up roles
like chicklets
staking your place until the earth rots and you pull up your roots
then set again
i wouldn’t trade what’s real
like the trying on of sizes
chewing the gum of bitterness
wouldn’t trade your shadow for the sky scraping transcendence
because it’s down here, down below where the portal is
i know you’ll find it because
you Are a sky-embracer Already.
i wouldn’t trade you for the world.
