April National Poetry Month

by Annis Cassells

The red light whirled and flashed on this residential tree-lined street. Not my normal route, but a diversion, a road less taken. The vested officer, shimmered in the noon-time heat, loomed tall beside the window of a maroon Mini-Cooper. The driver’s license in hand, he retreated to his silver-and-white Beverly Hills Police Department SUV. I strolled past the cop and the car. Glanced over to see a young Black man, the driver, a young Asian woman in the passenger’s seat. Both mute. His jaw clenched, hands gripped the wheel. She held herself tight, arms around her waist, rocked back and forth. I acknowledged them with a nod and Hey there as I passed. Fifty yards further, in an oasis of shade I took out my phone, brought up the camera, waited while the scene played out. A second police car approached. The two armed officers strutted in synch, surrounded the Mini-Cooper. Rooted to the steaming asphalt, I stood beneath that tree, focused, held my packages and my breath. Released it once the officer presented the ticket, the driver signed, handed it back. The Mini-Cooper remained still for twenty heartbeats. It inched away from the curb, commenced forward, stopped beside me. The young driver met my gaze, reached out his hand, shook mine. Thank you. Thank you for waiting. Because the outcome could have been very different.

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Annis Cassells is a longtime member of Writers of Kern. Her poems have appeared in print and online journals. In 2019 Annis published her first poetry collection, You Can’t Have It All. She’s a contributor in the 2020 social justice anthology, ENOUGH “Say Their Names…”

by Judy Kukuruza

Damp soil - clumps, clods, granules
Many parts - whole
Felt with hands, bare feet;
aroma of primitive abandonment

Everchanging sky - constantly shifting, moving
Intriguing blues, whites, grays,
Mirroring and holding colorful sunsets, dawns;
Surrounding all - but unreachable.
 
Mother ocean moving in and out -
giving life, taking life;
Blue, green, foamy white - pulling, pushing
rising, falling - stirring and soothing.

Wind, air - pushing soil, sky, waters.
Colorless - hot, cold, scary, comforting,
Howling, soughing, caressing, buffeting.
Air with power to give and take away.

Elements inherent to ALL life -
respected, enjoyed, feared - ACCEPTED
Heightening senses, appealing baseness
the terrible beauty of CONNECTION. 

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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 Carla Stanley

 
 Trains twine through my life.
 Distant sounds of trains moving in the night
 Bracket sleepless nights of childhood and old age.
 Trains travel through my town, 
 A few miles from my house.
  
 Child-I traveled on the train,
 Dad had a pass, 
 He worked for the railroad.
 Adult-living in Germany, 
 Trains were a way of life.
 An efficient way to get to town.
 Grandparent-flying to D.C. to see grandbabies,
 Taking the train back to California.
 What a thrill.
  
 Retiree-read before I travel.
 I appreciate 
 The engineering,
 The labor,
 The imagination
 That went into laying track, 
 Blowing holes in mountains,
 Across the United States.
 Trains to Arizona and the Grand Canyon
 Amaze me.
 The vastness of the land revealed to 
 The traveler. 

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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 Dianne M. Buxton

  In Athens, then, truthsayers and foreign philosophers
 Retained their own quarters up on the hill.
 Dined by royal patrons, they would slip away, avoiding the palace women.
  At the foot of Apollo they laughed over mental puzzles
 Commented on gossip concerning the generals
 Inevitably thinking of war, they sobered -
 What is it exactly that philosophy should conquer?
  Our generals no longer indulge in such patronage
 The poets and the press form their own armies
 Formidable prisons provide them with silence and privacy
 They commit words of truth and wisdom to memory.
  Now armed with pen and paper, should I seek the tasteful phrases, 
 Twist some tantalizing ideas, entertain beneath the lights, create a diversion?
 Suggest some miracle is immanent? 

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Dianne M. Buxton’s poetry can be seen in Global Poemic, Caveat Lector, The Griffin, Sanskrit, and The 2021 Writers of Kern Anthology. A graduate of the National Ballet School of Canada and an alumni of the Martha Graham School of Contemporary Dance in NYC, she retired from the performance and teaching in the dance world and now writes.