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When food doesn’t have a taste.
My existence is a waste.
My face a fake smile I paste.
The pain won’t erase.

When shame has a face.
Contentment has no place.
My sanity I chase.
I’m losing this race.

STOP!
Breathe!
How do I stop falling?

When my mind is reeling .
This world is not appealing.
The clock keeps ticking.
The tears are dripping.

When I’m not at my best.
Dark shadows cause unrest.
My soul I detest.
They say this is a test.

STOP!
Breathe again.
How do I go on?

When my existence is frail.
My mind is a jail.
Misery is a special hell.
Will I live to tell a tale.

When I feel I’ll fade.
The devil is paid.
My bleak bed is made.
The cards are all played.

STOP!
Take a minute to breathe.
One.
Two.
Three.
Where do I go from here?

When my failings become an obsession.
My pain leads to aggression.
Life feels like oppression.
I sink deeper into my depression.

—Donnée Harris

Donnée Harris is a former reporter, novelist, blogger and a poet. She writes erotic romance novels and has published three novels including Prohibited: an erotic novel. She has a BA in Journalism from Butler University in Indianapolis, Indiana and is a member of Delta Delta Delta Sorority.

It seemed the drops would never stop falling
Clouding my vision through an already fogged window

The focus of my view had always seemed relatively clear
Except for an occasional errant thought which like a hailstorm
Would blur my vision with disturbing frequency

Perhaps when this current downpour clears,
My clarity will once again return,
Cleansed by the shower of reality

—Nelson Varon

In addition to being a musician and a writer of song lyrics & poems, Nelson Varon was a NYC school teacher, the founder of Nelson Varon Organ Studios in NYC, a published songwriter & author of PlayNow Method For All Organs, 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.

Poetry sensualizes words
Like aromatic flowers
Attract pollenating birds
Aesthetic pithy thought showers
Draw readers in to bathe
Refreshed by each perceptive phrase

From arranged bouquets of sound
Stark images of allusions bloom
And symphonies of notions abound
Allowing all the freedom to assume
Divergent tunes that deliver the chance
For unique concepts to dance

—Dan Morgan

Native son locally raised and schooled.  Retired, teacher, businessman, sailor, laborer, student and dog companion, in reverse.  Previously: Pilot, skydiver, scuba diver, parasailer, skier, hiker, footballer, basketballer, at one time or another. Married too many times, divorced one time less.  Heart attack survivor. Now: camper, traveler, writer and rhymer.

I want a radio news anchor’s voice
Booming. Precise. Certain. Strong.
A voice like God’s
Not like mine…
Shaky. Quivering. Uncertain. Faint.
Tripping over itself & uttering fragments
I want that radio news anchor voice
Who cares if it’s the voice of a 67 yr. old man
who has smoked his entire life
That’s the voice I want!
People would listen to me
I would listen to me
I would stand tall
Confidence would pour forth
That voice knows all things
Iwantthatvoice

Who even speaks that way anymore?
We’ve lost Paul Harvey, Chick Hern, & TV’s Walter Cronkite
Where are those authoritative voices upon which we had come to rely?
Now the voice that gives us entertainment “news” & celebrity gossip
also gives us the updates on tornadoes, earthquakes, & terrorism
The authority in that voice is missing
The poise. The drama. The reverence.
All lacking from the dude with the gel-spiked hair
& the chick in the spaghetti-strapped tank top

Give me the voice of Tom Brokaw & Dan Rather
& the radio announcers of yesteryear
diesel fuel, black coffee, & gravel
I want to sound like that!
And that’s the way it is.

—Stephanie Gibson

Part philosopher, part pragmatist, and part mystic, Stephanie’s writing most often makes observations about life’s contradictions and wonder; its pain and joy. Usually these take the form of narrative non-fiction and poetry. Her career path includes public and private sectors, group facilitating, journalism, and work with teens and young adults.

I have a story I’d like to be told:
Our daughter was a young lass eight years old,
We were on vacation in Wyoming
And planned a horse ride one early morning.
We saddled up our steeds to start our dia
Father, Mother, Grandparents, Alicia

Her maiden voyage started peacefully
As we rode to the cowbow grill with glee.
We finished breakfast in a gentle rain
And remounted our horses once again.
On the trail ahead was a broken branch
That snapped back into her horse from the ranch.

The startled horse raised itself in a fright
And our daughter fell off him to her right.
We dismounted and quickly came to aid.
And decided right then to help our maid
By picking her up and replacing fears.
On the saddle once more after some tears.

Phase two of our plan allowed her to roam
On a ranch near granny and ba-ba’s home.
Taking lessons each weekend for a year
Gaining skill and balance, learning the gear.
Riding bareback at first on old Brandy,
He wasn’t Black Stallion, but was dandy

The owners of the ranch had a good plan, too
They began seeing what Alicia could do.
Her next rides they determined could now be
On a liver chestnut mare they could see
Would be perfect for Alicia’s new skill.
She saddled her and hoped she’d fit the bill.

Tigo and her were like one from the start
It was difficult to pull them apart.
Friday night sleepovers watching the moon.
Saturdays were spent from dawn ‘till afternoon
Brushing her, currying, riding, washing
Staying with grandparents, T.V. watching

These things were the norm for many a moon
Then came the chance to purchase Tigo soon.
First, Billy Robertson’s place on the Kern
Was enjoyed with Tigo as they both learned.
Berkshire’s on Brimhall was next in line
They had fun together, oh, it was fine!

Rides with Mom and Druval were a delight
Both of them relished these times spent ‘till night.
On to Grubb’s place was the next stopping point
For a short time- then we bailed from the joint
And settled at Rio Bravo a spell.
Seven years of good times riding pell- mell

Up and down the trails she talked and laughed on.
She rode from the dawn till the sun was gone
Growing closer to Tigo all the time
And enjoying her through every clime.
Granny on Jessie and Mom on Shorty
And her on Tigo made quite a posse.

Moving on to Valley Tree they were three
Amigos sharing good times, they were carefree.
When she could come home from marriage and school.
They were both maturing- it was so cool!
In her absence mom, granny and ba- ba
Took care of her pal, even her pa- pa!

Two years ago Mom lost her pet, Shorty
And Rio’s been a handful, but sporty.
Ba-ba’s ridden Tigo when she couldn’t,
Alicia rode Tigo when most wouldn’t.
Her love for her pal was not unnoticed.
Tigo whinnied and pranced, we knew she wished

For Alicia on her rushing ahead
Over hill and dale and through green orchard.
Like old times together they both could share
All the memories from that first days care.
Her pal and best friend for many a year
Was beginning to slow and we had fear

She would someday not be able to ride.
Alicia came home to be by her side,
When she could, and she loved hugging her mare
And caring for her –they were still a pair!
Lately she couldn’t saddle her at all
But being together helped her to recall

The wonderful memories they had shared.
Her husband came to know how she had cared
By listening to stories of their deeds
And watching Alicia even do her leads
When she rode her pal almost to the end.
And looking at pictures at every bend.

Alicia visited her just days ago
One last final time, but she couldn’t know.
Tigo bravely stood so she wouldn’t show
How much she was hurting, she couldn’t flow
With her friend on her back-her leg would bow.
Thank you Jesus she saw her Tigo

Before you took her up for her last rides
She is surely waiting by the angel’s sides
We know these past days have not been easy,
But God in heaven has been real busy
Training her friend for a mighty warrior
Coming to Earth with our Lord and Savior.

—Warren Pechin

Warren Pechin has lived in Bakersfield since 1951 and joined WOK about one year ago. He is currently refreshing a twenty-year old novel he wrote with an architectural theme, Retribution, and a non-fiction book, Historical Bakersfield Buildings, both hopefully completed early next year. He is a licensed CA architect.