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WOK National Poetry Month WebSlam

2 April 2020 | NPM Poetry Webslam

By 

COVID-19
by Anke Hodenpijl

 the doctor checks my labs,
 “Good to go,” she said
 I breathe with relief,
 eager to escape this breeding ground
 - door knobs, pens, magazines, chairs,
 even the toilet paper - hosts for the enemy
  
 I push the door with my derriere
 like a quarterback
 I backpedal
 dodge the incoming person
 and veer to my Honda
  
 Antiseptic towels at the ready,
 hands sanitized,
 I sing my twenty second song,
 claim a virus-free victory
  
  
 What’s that under my car?
  
 a red wallet.
  
 I scrub it with antiseptic,
 (crush those pathogens)
 a drivers license falls out
  
 it belongs to Edna
 I am sure she is inside that booby trapped office
 a fellow patient, 
 behind all those hazards
 fodder for my new-found anxiety
  
 my options play in slow motion
 look to the right
 look to the left
 the parking lot is empty
 no receiver to take the pitch
  
 I.          Go.      Back.
  
 Is Edna here? 

Anke Hodenpijl is a bedside singer, poet, gardener and safe spot for animals. She is inspired by nature, family, history, friendships and unfinished stories. Mostly, she is a grateful person.

1 April 2020 |NPM Poetry Webslam

By 

 CONTINUUM OF EACH OTHER                                                                   
  by Portia Choi
  
 I thought that thunder and lightning were powerful,
 heralding the wind of hurricane,
 uprooting palm trees, felling homes.
  
 Yet there is power in the breeze 
 that sway leaves to loosen from the branch-point
 where new life will bud in the spring,
 and give shade in the summer.
  
 There is power in the lulling waves that 
 smooth a jagged glass to a radiant crystal, 
 or a trickling stream that creates a canyon.
  
 And there is power in words,
 nourishing a famished heart to love, to forgive, and have faith.
 Words repeated -- the mantra of fulfillment.
  
 Yes, I can; yes, we can.
 Yes, yes, yes.
  
 Yes, in the silence, writing alone,
 searching into the depths and crevices of one’s inner self.
  
 The poet searching for words among infinite possibilities,
         lacing them into patterns of hope, awe and gratitude; 
 and by reciting one’s words to others,
 emancipates oneself from the shell of writing alone;
  
 weaving the words - eternal story of the continuum of each other.
  
 We are here, we are powerful.                                        
  
  

Portia Choi published a chapbook of her poems Sungsook, Korean War Poems. At Writers of Kern meetings, Choi met Helen Shanley and MaryLou Romagno who became good friends and mentors. Choi hosts First Friday Open Mic and publicizes National Poetry Month in April.  She administers www.kernpoetry.com.  Contact Choi ssportia@aol.com.

1 May 2019 | NPM WebPoetrySlam: And One to Grow On

By 

 
 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

By 

 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

By 

 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