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Sierra dawn,
crystals whirl, wispy– white gentle on pine branches.

Awakened children run to this surprise,
form a footpath from the cabin,
flapping arms and legs, becoming angels—

Children and parents—together—push and roll snowballs into
white belly, chest and head:
Brown branches for arms,
black briquettes for eyes,
yellow banana peel for a smile,
sliced carrots for buttons;

This snowman stands on a lawn overlooking a lake.

By end of the day, it melts bowing to the departing sun.

—Portia Choi

Portia Choi hosts the monthly First Friday Open Mic and publicizes events during National Poetry Month in April. She administers www.kernpoetry.com. She published a chapbook of her poems Sungsook, Korean War Poems. Her poems are published in multiple journals. She can be contacted at portia@kernpoetry.com

shadows soften the glare of assertive colors
and give pause for the lens
to notice shades of reality
missed in overexposure.

shadows caress the mind’s eye
and swim through her veins.
imagination, fantasy, memory and yearning
paint in light and shadow
a step apart from black/white.
shadows bring mystery and depth
to the game called developing.

—Terry Redman

My card says, “Mystery Fan, Bibliophile, Writer, Raconteur.” I have published in non-fiction, fiction and poetry. Reading or viewing TV have always been a part of my life, tending toward suspense, character-driven fiction, biographies, mysteries and biographical non-fiction. Add seasonal NFL games and the Warriors to complete the menu. Currently I enjoy writing creative blank verse poetry.

In a Boss-pleasing culture, no one wants to see or talk about the possible pitfalls in a self-promoting passion. Especially when the momentum is in one direction… then there are a lot of people whose goal is to jump in into the momentum, hoping to be a part of the winning glory.

Boss and Bill, went up the hill
To fetch a pail of big fat Bonus
Bill said what pleased the Boss
Boss heard nothing but what Bill said

Boss heard nothing else either
Blinded to the spots and pitfalls
Bill fell down and broke his crown
Boss and All came tumbling after

All were left to mend their crowns
While Bill went on to a higher post
Boss moved on to a new corporate
Repeat,
Boss and Bob went up the hill
To fetch a pail of big fat bonus

—Sudha Reddy

Sudha Reddy is board certified in obstetrics and gynecology. She is a life-long seeker and learner whose parents taught her true happiness is in helping and sharing. Her life purpose is to decrease suffering in the world, in every possible way. Writing is one of her many activities for staying healthy.

My eye catches them sitting at a corner table.
A young man is wearing a lime green helmet
And a red t-shirt.
His pale face is pinched
And his chin slips away
Resting on his chest
As he slumbers.
Does the helmet protect his brain
From excessive banging during seizures?
Does it bolster the weak bones of his cranium?

His caretaker sits across from him,
A distinguished African American
With white hair and trim beard
A thick gold wedding band on his large left hand.
He flips the pages of his magazine
Quietly reading
Patiently guarding
While his charge sleeps.

They look like an unlikely pair
A combination of robust and afflicted
Healthy and sick
Black and White.
Yet they fit together like two worn hymnals
In a pew rack.

The helmet man awakes.
His caretaker talks to him.
The sound of murmuring voices
From customers conversing
Surrounds them.
Time slips away.

What a way to spend a late Wednesday afternoon
Out of the house
Out on the town
Enjoying quiet companionship
The Good Shepherd and his sheep.

—Carla Martin

I was born in New York City and grew up in St. Andrews, Scotland and Pasadena, California. I have lived in Bakersfield for thirty years now, having raised my two sons here. I have taught piano, art and English. In these “Golden Years” of life, I am a substitute teacher and aspiring poet and children’s book author.

The roar of oceans filled with tears,
The thunder of the silent dead,
Together cry for once for all,
NO WAR, NO MORE

The babies in their mother’s arms
Are held with desperate, urgent prayer
That G-d will grant them in their world
NO WAR, NO MORE.

No more the waste, and No more the shambles,
The human suffering,
No more, No more.

How long must it go on and on
“Till all the world shall be as one
And see the time when there will be
NO WAR, NO MORE..

The promise must be made again,
All war will end, all war will end.
So all the world, may live in peace
NO WAR, NO MORE

No more the waste, and No more the shambles,
The human suffering,
No more, No more.
The promise must be made again,
All war will end, all war will end Then shout with everlasting joy,
NO WAR, NO MORE!

So brothers, sisters all join hands
And sing with all your hearts a song Of peace for all the earth, Amen!
NO WAR, NO MORE.

—Nelson Varon

A musician and a writer of song lyrics & poems, Nelson Varon was also a NYC school teacher, the founder of Nelson Varon Organ Studios in NYC, a published songwriter & author of PlayNow Method For All Organs. He wrote feature articles for The Music Trades magazine, and How to Open a Piano & Organ Store (a chapter in the industry publication, How To Open A Music Store) and the short story, Fixing Things. He was also the founder, publisher & editor of The Music & Computer Educator magazine, and the founder of Kern Piano Mall, in Bakersfield.