Poetry

by Carla Stanley

 Riding down the bike path
 Heading out of Bakersfield
 An abundance of land surrounds the route
 Bordered by the Kern River on one side
                And Stockdale Highway on the other.
 Grassy hillocks and trees provide shelter 
                For insects
                For animals
                For people.
 Ground squirrels hug the earth, 
 Looking like dark sprinkles on the green landscape 
                Of the park. 
  
 As the trail skirts the city 
 Rabbits surprise us by streaking across the blacktop.
 We pass many people as we pedal
                Five miles out,
                Then 10, 
                Then reach the end of the path on Enos Lane.
  
 Away from houses, roads, people,
 We see three roadrunners, two quail, 
                And one lone coyote.
 What a day! 

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Carla Stanley is a retired Theater & English teacher. She is a Bakersfield native and spent 20 years as a military wife living in Oklahoma, Washington and Germany. She spends her time traveling with her husband (pre-COVID), writing, gardening, and walking her dog Sky.

by Jennette Green

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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 Judy Kukuruza

"No obligation when you call."
 "Your car warranty is about to expire."
 "This call is being recorded."
 "Can you hear me?"
 Unknown numbers
 from unknown place
 Burma, Florida, Wyoming, India
 and of course United States.
 Delete - Block
 But we're on a list.
 Ask: who do you represent? Dial tone.
 Ask: what do you want? Dial tone.
 Ask: are you from the pig farm? Dial tone.
 Ask: first AND Last name? Dial tone.
 Ask: can you get me a car, too? Dial tone.
 Ask: do you realize I am recording also? Click.
 Covid boredom equals block, delete
 creativity says "Do you love Jesus?"
 "Let me tell you about my day…" 
 or "say…is this another scam?"
 For fun, "can you hold? Hubby can't find ammo…"
 Best, "really? really? seriously?"
 Silence on the other end?
 Dial tone?
 Golden.

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Retired college instructor from CSUB and Bakersfield College. She published her memoir One Body/Many Souls in 2018, and later Poems to Ponder, Little Stories to Play with in Your Mind, and Letters. She publishes her blog, “Our Spiritual Journey” through Word Press.

by Shelley Evans

  moon
 beams so bright
 pierce the dark night
 shine their laser light
 along the way for
 soon
  
  
  
 day
 breaks into dawn
 the sunrise a beacon
 a welcome aurorean
 illuminates a sure
 way 

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  DOG  LOVE
  
                 Dog lies at the feet
                 of the ones for whom he lives.
                 Love connects their souls.
  
  
  
  
 WILDFLOWERS  DANCING
  
                 Wildflowers blooming,
                 dancing in a gentle breeze ~
                 colors of the spring. 

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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

 You were our uncle, since your sister was our mother. 
      But you were more like an older brother, just four years older than me.
      We called you “uncle”, and you would smile, knowing of our affection for you.  
  
 I remember how you listened to me, as a teenager, mostly about boys.  
      You were always so kind to me, since I was the youngest when you visited us
      as children in Korea.    
  
 When you died suddenly a month ago, I did not cry.  Such a surprise.  
      I felt mostly for your wife of fifty years; we are about the same age.  
      I felt for her, a life now without you;  
      someone to call “dear”, have talks, the daily “expectations and assumptions”.  
  
 Months ago, 
      our sister was saying that she will talk to you, uncle,
      to get the true stories of our past since you were the eldest
      with the most remembrances.
  
      One story:  Mother was taken away by a soldier to be shot, 
      and surprisingly released. Was it before the Korean War, or during it?  
  
      The days and weeks passed.  
      And you died before we had a chance to ask you.  
  
 By you leaving suddenly, 
      your quiet advice to me is to take time and get to know each other.  
  
      So I called sister, living hundreds of miles away.  I got to thank her for
      watching over me as a child.
  
      I watched the video-sermons of our younger brother living on an island.
      I joined his live-virtual meetings with his parishioners.  
      We ask each other, “How is your soul today?”  
      My soul is comforted just to be with our younger-living brother;  
      just seeing him, listening to his thoughts.  
  
 Thank you, uncle; our sweet, smiling “brother-uncle”.     

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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.