14 October 2019 | CSUB | Evening with Poet Lindsay Wilson
Poetry
1 May 2019 | NPM WebPoetrySlam: And One to Grow On
Lilacs
I remember that lilacs enfolded the night
in a soft June kiss,
a never-never land
of love in a candy store.
They floated like clouds of stingless bees
in mesmeric rivers of honey
around your tender face.
There was a sound like water falling
or clusters of little bells
or birds about to sing.
Sometimes I touch that lilac night
when your grave opens,
when dreams take us deep, deep
to love without time, without loss.
~ Helen Shanley
Helen Shanley was program director for Writers of Kern for many years. She may have been one of the founders of WOK. She held poetry writing critique group at her home and influenced a number of poets in our community, including Portia Choi. More of Shanley’s poems can be found at kernpoetry.com in the section “tribute to Helen.” Submitted by Portia Choi.
30 April 2019 | National Poetry Month WebPoetrySlam
Woman roar
I am woman and you will hear me roar
My thunder won’t be overlooked no more
I have given you chance enough
I have given you opportunity enough
I have given you time enough
But you refuse to open your eyes
Refuse to identify a Queen for what she is
A force to be reckoned with
A lightning bolt on the mountain of injustice
Cracking open the peak and revealing the truth of your nature
I am woman and you will hear me roar
The news can’t prepare you for my storm
Your institutions and man-caves
can’t protect you from my storm
My tornado has shaken even the most prejudiced of souls
My tornado has shattered
fragile masculinity time and time again
My tornado has shredded
unlawful laws to pieces
My tornado has broken
the knees of those bowing to false beliefs
My tornado has led chained brothers through the tunnels of hell
All the way to freedom
My tornado has awakened the vocal cords of fellow sisters
and from them came hymns of pure beautiful power
I am woman and you will hear me roar
You will have no choice but to look into the eye of my storm
This tsunami that has been building inside me
Is far more justified than your wall
And will crash through each and every last brick
The brick of inequality
The brick of misogyny
The brick of racism
The brick of sexism
The brick of prejudice
The brick of sexual assault and abuse
The brick of discrimination
The brick of homophobia
The brick of bigotry
The brick of hatred
And even that seemingly unmovable brick of silence
My waves will tear down all this injustice
And with them
Will come a sea of change
I am woman
I am my roar
~ Z
Hello, I’m Zainab, but you can call me Z. I’m just a 19-year-old girl blessed with hazelnut skin, an electric Brain, and a love for life, trying my best to write about what I know to be true.
29 April 2019 | National Poetry Month WebPoetrySlam
Stewing
Onions sliced
potatoes diced
into the caldron of my mind.
Bitter resentment knowing
my time is your time:
Cooking time.
cleaning time.
Who are the great artists, writers?
Michelangelo, Da Vinci, Picasso, Shakespeare, Lao Zu.
Then there were the Eliots: T.S. and George,
and the Emilys: Dickinson and Bronte.
Did they cook, clean for others?
Slowly simmering woman’s anger, boiled madness released
into the air.
Onions bring tears to the eyes, a reaction to the acid
of reality,
softened to sweetness with the warmth of a child’s hug.
Potatoes with covered eyes peeled, raw and crunchy, become
hearty
morsels with heat of writing;
slowly cooking, mixing the flavors into a palatable stew.
~ Portia Choi
Portia Choi hosts the monthly First Friday Open Mic at Dagny’s 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
28 April 2019 | National Poetry Month WebPoetrySlam
Fair Air
Summer morning ritual
unseal the house
gather chilled dawning air
As if I could store it, harbor it
to fight a Bakersfield afternoon.
As if it would stay, soothe
us when the sun’s rays bullet
through double-paned windows.
As if dust motes and particulates
dominant in this toxic air
could be quelled
by a bite or two of coolness.
As if fair air could survive ‘til noon.
Alarm disarmed,
its eye once red
like the last barbeque coal,
turns green,
signals accessible doorways,
promises of small cool breezes.
I push back wide vertical blinds,
pull open the leaden slider,
invite the false freshness in.
I glance at the thermometer
mounted on the patio post
past wooden art-filled fences
beyond neighboring rooftops.
Above the trees
a fresh sun greets me.
In this land of lung-searing summers,
allergens, penetrating dust,
and deadly defoliants,
chilled morning air
dulls memories of discomfort.
I am at home.
~ Annis Cassells
Annis Cassells has been a member of Writers of Kern for many years. This spring she published her first poetry collection, You Can’t Have It All, available on Amazon.com and locally at Russo’s Books.