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This is my home,
Where my first screams of life occurred.

I sat in its classrooms.
Rode bikes in its streets,
Played hopscotch and jump rope on its sidewalks.

I rode its buses to school, to work, to shop.
Swam in pools, jumped off the high dive into the cool water,
Had picnics in its parks.

I danced at the Inner Circle and Hi-Rise Café,
Drank until I vomited at the Cadillac Club.

I fell in love, over and over again,
Until I found the “one,”
But not the last.

My children first opened their eyes here,
Grew up, went to school, played
On the same streets.

It looks so different now.
Not the place I remember.

The house where I first saw light of day
Still stands, looking aged.
The sidewalks evoke ghosts forgotten with time.

Schools are still there,
Students run screaming out their doors.
The structures shudder with their new noise.

The pool is gone.
Replaced by a restaurant.

Everyone left the old neighborhood
Spreading out, out into new boundaries.
I can’t bear to see those streets of the past.

Town is rearranged.
The clubs no longer exist.
A stadium sits on the place christened with my spew.

The river front is glorious!
Decorated with fresh images.

Flying pigs top the entrance
A Serpentine walk winds ‘round
Laughter and smiles come from a carousel and swings.

This is my home.
Not the one I left
But the one I love.

—Janet Skibinski

Originally from Ohio, Janet now resides in Bakersfield, CA. Her love of writing began with creating her eighth grade Class Prophecy. Today Janet concentrates on family memoir, poetry, and her recently renewed interest in fiction. She serves as Writers of Kern secretary.

Only as far as a flicker of light
on the dragonfly’s sun-kissed wing

Only as far as the miracle
of flowers that bloom in the spring

Only as far as the ocean waves
as they play upon the shore

Only as far as the sunset
that closes each day’s door

Only as far as your laughter
that echoes in my ear

If only as far as your memory
Far away, is really right here

—Sandy Moffett

Sandy Moffett has been a writer and lyricist for more than 40 years. She has been published in, Mortuary Management and International Mortuary and Cemetery Management, Cup of Comfort: Devotional for Mothers and Daughters, and Chicken Soup for the Soul: Angels Among Us. Sandy is a long-time member of Writers of Kern.

Inhaling the gravity
of abandoned aspirations
she ponders the flesh of her disappointments
noticing too late
that the noise of her inheritance
denies
the texture of her imaginings
and the emptiness
of a counterfeit story

What she was given
did not suit her
like the hand-me-down prom dress
it smelled alien and too familiar
it felt inbred

today
she turned away from
the secondhand  pretense

lusting towards her own desires
she decorates her life
with unburdened joy

today
she,
she,
she
decided

Anke Hodenpijl

When Anke Hodenpijl is not a poet, she is a singer of songs, mother, grandmother, partner, gardener, traveler, and foodie. She thinks life is delicious, poetry is the essence of joy, and relationships are the reason for it all.

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.

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 devotes her time to promoting poetry by hosting the monthly First Friday Open Mic and publicizing events during National Poetry Month in April. She administers www.kernpoetry.com with stories and pictures of poets and poetry events. She published a chapbook of her poems Sungsook, Korean War Poems. She is published in a number of journals, including The Asian Pacific American Journal, A Sharp Piece of Awesome, and Levan Humanities Review. She is a long-time member of Writers of Kern.