Everything Writers Need | Writers of Kern
by Jennette Green
Jennette Green writes sweet romance with a touch of spice. She fell in love with writing when she was seven. As a teen, while traveling on a sailboat with her family in Central America, she filled notebooks with stories. Her books have received “Reader’s Favorite Hero,” “Reviewer’s Choice Award” and more. ‘Snowstorm’ was an international bestseller.
by Carla Joy Martin
Driving around Haggin Oaks, Wide boulevards with clearly painted lanes Control smoothly flowing traffic Of SUVs and BMWs with custom vanity plates, Past palatial homes with white columned porticos, Manicured lawns, sculpted trees, Flower beds and five car garages, Quiet parks. Living seems good For those who have risen above the deplorables. Traffic obeys the stop signs. Cars signal before turning. Seldom are sirens heard Of police cars chasing criminals. Yet sometimes there is the wail of ambulances For pain and death still make social calls Behind the lovely facades. The roads are smooth and commodious As substantial bank accounts, Voluminous investments. Monumental mortgages. Life seems ordered and privileged-- Like these streets. Driving around downtown, Asphalt is pitted and pot-holed. Traffic moves in jerks and bursts Like angry rats trapped in a maze Of poverty they can't escape. Pick ups and gardening trucks With peeling paint jobs and Expired tags on license plates Cough and roar through stop signs. Why obey authority When the system is rigged? Black clothed riders on bicycles Careen in and out of traffic Like crazed grim reapers Illuminated by headlights at the last moment. Police car and ambulance sirens Add their unholy howl to the enraged river of noise. Billboards advertising bail bonds and malt liquor Loom above tired, worn-out homes With old appliances lurking in the yards. Homeless push their shopping carts Holding all their worldly possessions Bound up in bulging black plastic bags. They collapse on corners, Hoping for charity. Skeletal dogs whine and feral cats screech. The streets are explosive and needy-- Can't make it to pay day, Minimum wage, Evicted. Life is cruel, hard and unjust-- Like these streets.
Carla Joy Martin is a poet, pastel artist and piano instructor. After living in New York, Scotland and Pasadena, she has now resided in Bakersfield for thirty-five years. Carla enjoys promoting the arts in Bakersfield. She hosts the Dukes Memorial Concerts as well as co-hosts the First Friday Open Mic Nights with Portia Choi.
by Shelley Evans
DEPRESSION Depression hits, the past is haunting; but life goes on, albeit daunting. Depressed Stressed Pressed Still blessed DEPRESSION LIFTED Sunday’s message from the pastor in the ears, straight to the heart, lifting the depression, allowed a clean, fresh start. A new day to pray and say He is The Way
Named after poet Percy Shelley, nature inspires Shelley’s poetry. Several of her poems appear in chapbooks and anthologies, and her debut book was published in 2020. Shelley is a wife, mother of 3 grown girls, dog mom, legal secretary, member of WOK and Parkside Church. Rhyming is breathing to Shelley.
by Portia Choi
My head nestled on Mama's arm, and she told me about the war. Mama whispered, “Your face, just to see your face again, kept me walking. I was being pushed up a hill with other Christians. My wrists were tied in a rope. All I could do was pray. I remembered the verse in Romans: In all things look to God. And I witnessed to the soldier, that Jesus died for us, all of us, him too. Jesus had forgiven us, just believe in Him and His goodness. The soldier told me to be quiet. I just kept praying then humming, humming sweet hymns: Lord lead me onto higher grounds. The soldier became angry. We were at the tail-end of the group. At the top of the hill, the soldier told me to go down the hill quietly, and to run away fast. I heard later that some of the others were beaten and killed-- that soldier let me go”. I remember that time. Mama showed up after a long while. I remember her smile, tears, how she moved so slowly.
Portia Choi published a chapbook of her poems Sungsook, Korean War Poems. At Writers of Kern (WOK) meetings, Portia met other writers who became friends and mentors. She hosts First Friday Open Mic and publicizes National Poetry Month in April. She administers www.kernpoetry.com. Contact Portia at ssportia@aol.com.
by Anna Marco
Aunt Eleanor had a lemon tree In her backyard Standing…for a million years A genus Ponderosa Citrus Birthing fruit the size of Texas We compare our heads To those fat orbs Rub our noses on the rind Get heady with the scent Grab those pseudo soccer balls And pack ‘em into bags Race home, race home To squeeze the Sun For lemonade without sugar Those lemons Her personality Were the perfect match Both bigger than life Exceptional, Sheltering Nourishing, Rooted Fun, Tangy Made you smile I loved her Eleanor is that tree Tart yet sweet She was lemonade that didn’t need sugar © 2014 Anna Marco Winner LAVC Poetry Award 2014
Anna Marco was born into theatrical heritage, gifted in creative writing and majored in Media. Her professional writing career spans 30 years. She is an internationally published author to 6 books and 800 magazine articles. She won the Los Angeles Valley College Poetry Contest for “The Lemon Tree.”