Annis Cassells

Ancient memories thrust
beckon, tease
cast themselves forth
determined to intrude
eloquent entreaties
force entry
grip and gain footholds
hack into the present
ignore everything is different now
justice lost its purchase, had the wind
knocked out of it with punches and blows
lead by the enforcers
masterminded by the spinners
no lawful recourse for
opening the system, no
peace
queries go unanswered
raised concerns
stomped down
traction of the idea of justice skids
uncontrollably what is
vital to restoration, to healing?
watch and wake
eXamine and act
you and I must change the course
zero in make old ways new again

—Annis Cassells

Annis Cassells is a writer, poet, life coach, and teacher. She divides her time between Bakersfield, California and Coos Bay, Oregon. She has been a member of Writers of Kern for more than a dozen years.

Dressed in red and black

Anita Hill took the stage

Humble amid the thunder

Of full-house applause.

“We are not bystanders anymore,”

She said,

Urging us to act

Like we are brave

And smart

And know a thing or two

About crushing

Inequality

Injustice

Urging us to use our voices

“Break the culture of silence.”

Insist

Act

Use our votes

Stand up

Speak up

Reimagine equality.

—Annis Cassells

Annis Cassells is a writer, poet, life coach, and teacher.  She divides her time between Bakersfield, California and Coos Bay, Oregon. She has been a member of Writers of Kern for more than a dozen years.

The Cassells home-place cellar,
A real cellar—earthen-floored,
must-scented, raven-aired.

Grandma Annie Casssells
and ten-year-old me,
heave worn wooden doors,

throw daylight underground,
pick our way down brick slab steps,
stand still, let our eyes adjust.

She leads
Bound for thick, unpainted plank shelves
Jammed against the far wall.

She reaches
For a dusty jug
amongst canned pickles, peaches, beans.

She pours
a half-pint jelly jar one-quarter full,
announces,  “grape juice.”

She savors
A long dark liquid sip
“Ahhhhh.”

She passes
the almost-empty jar
to me.

She cautions
“Just a little now.
It makes you feel all warm inside.”

She stretches
her eager knobby fingers for the rest
as the jar leaves my lips.

We ascend
Hugging peaches and pickles,
like nothing else ever happened down there.

—Annis Cassells

Annis Cassells is a teacher, poet, and writer who added “life coach” and “speaker” to her resume after retiring from teaching middle school. She is a long-time member of Writers of Kern whose poems have been published in several online ‘zines and print anthologies. “First Taste” was published in Scarlet Leaf Review, March 2016.

(A finger rhyme to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star; Actions in italics)

Wiggle, wiggle, little worms,
Wiggle fingers.

Down the sidewalk, slide and squirm.
Wiggle one finger in an S shape.

When the rain comes pouring down,
Hold hands up high.  Point fingers down and shake.

Earthworms crawl up from the ground.
Point fingers up.  Shake and move hands upwards.

Wiggle, wiggle, little worms,
Wiggle fingers.

Down the sidewalk, slide and squirm.
Wiggle one finger in an S shape.

Wiggle, Wiggle, Little Worm

—Rebecca Langston-George
Copyright Highlights for Children, Inc., Columbus, Ohio. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

Rebecca Langston-George is the author of several poems and ten non-fiction books for children including the upcoming The Booth Brothers: Drama, Fame and the Death of President Lincoln. She is the Assistant Regional Advisor for the Central-Coastal SCBWI and a member of Writers of Kern.