April National Poetry Month

by Jennette Green

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 Carla Joy Martin

 Driving around Haggin Oaks,
 Wide boulevards with clearly painted lanes
 Control smoothly flowing traffic
 Of SUVs and BMWs with custom vanity plates,
 Past palatial homes with white columned porticos,
 Manicured lawns, sculpted trees,
 Flower beds and five car garages,
 Quiet parks.
 Living seems good
 For those who have risen above the deplorables.
 Traffic obeys the stop signs.
 Cars signal before turning.
 Seldom are sirens heard
 Of police cars chasing criminals.
 Yet sometimes there is the wail of ambulances
 For pain and death still make social calls
 Behind the lovely facades.
 The roads are smooth and commodious
 As substantial bank accounts,
 Voluminous investments.
 Monumental mortgages.
 Life seems ordered and privileged--
 Like these streets.
  
 Driving around downtown,
 Asphalt is pitted and pot-holed.
 Traffic moves in jerks and bursts
 Like angry rats trapped in a maze
 Of poverty they can't escape.
 Pick ups and gardening trucks
 With peeling paint jobs and
 Expired tags on license plates
 Cough and roar through stop signs.
 Why obey authority
 When the system is rigged?
 Black clothed riders on bicycles
 Careen in and out of traffic
 Like crazed grim reapers
 Illuminated by headlights at the last moment.
 Police car and ambulance sirens
 Add their unholy howl to the enraged river of noise.
 Billboards advertising bail bonds and malt liquor
 Loom above tired, worn-out homes
 With old appliances lurking in the yards.
 Homeless push their shopping carts
 Holding all their worldly possessions
 Bound up in bulging black plastic bags.
 They collapse on corners,
 Hoping for charity.
 Skeletal dogs whine and feral cats screech.
 The streets are explosive and needy--
 Can't make it to pay day,
 Minimum wage,
 Evicted.
 Life is cruel, hard and unjust--
 Like these streets. 

Carla Joy Martin is a poet, pastel artist and piano instructor.  After living in New York, Scotland and Pasadena, she has now resided in Bakersfield for thirty-five years.  Carla enjoys promoting the arts in Bakersfield.  She hosts the Dukes Memorial Concerts as well as co-hosts the First Friday Open Mic Nights with Portia Choi. 

by Portia Choi

  My head nestled on Mama's arm, and she told me about the war.
  
 Mama whispered,
 “Your face, 
 just to see your face again, kept me walking. 
           I was being pushed up a hill with other Christians.
           My wrists were tied in a rope.
           All I could do was pray. 
           I remembered the verse in Romans:
           In all things look to God.
 And I witnessed to the soldier,
           that Jesus died for us, all of us, him too.  
           Jesus had forgiven us,
           just believe in Him and His goodness.
           The soldier told me to be quiet.
           I just kept praying then humming, 
           humming sweet hymns:
           Lord lead me onto higher grounds.
           The soldier became angry.
           We were at the tail-end of the group.
           At the top of the hill, 
           the soldier told me to go down the hill quietly,
           and to run away fast.
           I heard later that some of the others were
           beaten and killed--
           that soldier let me go”.
  
 I remember that time.
 Mama showed up after a long while.
 I remember her smile, tears,
 how she moved so slowly.
   

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 [email protected].