Everything Writers Need | Writers of Kern
Put your head on my shoulder,
let me reminisce in your autumn sky,
lemongrass, sweet chocolate chip hair
Each strand like momma's fresh baked cookies
Lay your head next to mine dear
And let me inhale
until i can't smell sadness no more
Until all that lingers in my soul
Is the scent of home
-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.
COLONEL BAKER’S FIELD
His name was Thomas Baker,
He was a brilliant lawyer,
A leader of the state of Ioway.
But he had a restless spirit,
A heart for bold adventure,
That drew him here to Californ-i-ay.
He settled in this valley,
He drained the swamp around him,
He planted fields of grain and fields of hay.
He gave free food and water,
To travelers and their horses,
As they journeyed between Frisco and L.A.
He was a man of faith,
A man of noble purpose,
With vision bright as sunlight at mid-day.
He watched for special people,
And whenever he would find them,
He’d give free land to encourage them to stay.
But he had one main condition,
That when they finally prospered,
They’d help the town succeed in every way.
They all worked hard together,
They built a friendly place,
For families, neighbors, strangers day to day.
We still greet weary travelers,
We still raise happy families,
We still work hard to do our best each day.
It’s still a place of goodness,
A place of honest handshakes,
A place we do things in our own sweet way.
It’s a place where God’s still reverenced,
Where Christ is lifted up,
Where we honor what the Bible has to say.
That’s the story of our city,
And of Colonel Baker’s field,
Who made this town what it is today.
~ Don Clark
Don Clark, 77, has had a life-long career in all phases of journalism, including newspapers and magazines on the East Coast and radio and television reporting and anchoring on the West Coast. He has begun a new career in guiding people toward secure financial retirements. He writes prolifically for Don Clark’s America. He lives on a ranch south of Bakersfield. He can be reached at [email protected]
Mind sets...
Pettiness propagates pettiness...
Constricting one’s life to emptiness...
Self indulgence, a paradox of happiness
Fleeting pleasures, a constant source of anxiousness…
Generosity generates graciousness...
Liberates life to the freedom of the spirit, gratitude
In its fullness...
Beyond the shackles of human bondage limitless
In that freedom, many hearts beat to the rhythm of love...
In oneness.
~ Sudha Reddy
Sudha Reddy is board certified in obstetrics and gynecology. She is a life-long seeker and learner whose parents taught her true happiness is in helping and sharing. Her life purpose is to decrease suffering in the world, in every possible way. Writing is one of her many activities for staying healthy.
ALONE ~ TOGETHER
Here we are, together ~ alone…
Sitting at opposite sides of the room.
You, head in hand, on the rocking chair;
Me, wondering how to reach you there.
Or wondering whether I should.
Or should I just leave you alone?
All I can hear is the cuckoo clock
Beating a steady pace: “TICK ~ TOCK,”
Keeping time with the kitchen clock:
A nervous “tic-tic-tic-tic-tic” ~ STOP!!
This deafening silence ~ I could scream!
I just want to call out your name,
Or say something just to reach you.
But I wonder if you want me to.
And I don’t even know what I’d say
That could really matter anyway.
And I honestly wonder whether
We know what we’re doing here
Alone ~ together…
~ Shelley Evans
Named after poet Percy Shelley, nature inspires Shelley Evans; several poems are published, and she’ll publish a book soon. Shelley’s a wife, mother, secretary, WOK member, participates in open mic nights at Dagnys, CSUB’s poetry readings, and has entered poetry in the Kern County Fair. Rhyming is breathing to Shelley.
En Passant
For papa
In passing, I shift my own weight
Adjust my eyes to shadow.
Defiant against rule.
How long before we get caught in our minds
My dad would say each part of life
Is equating to profit and loss
Hands spinning & weaving web through a city
Overtaken by terror of commitment or the self.
I refuse dictators & false commitments
I keep the structure of myself, gazing
& grazing weapons of my identity
trying to adhere to certain standards, but those don’t make me
I am immune in the transgression, immune to whoever
Forsakes this city we’ve built.
I see new light flooding memories, blind
I want to appreciate pieces of life, savor it
Attune every thought to darkness.
~ Shawn Anto
Shawn Anto is from Delano, California. He’s originally from Kerala, India. He currently studies at Cal State Bakersfield looking to receive his B.A. in English & Theatre. He was last seen on stage in Dreamers: Aqui y Alla. Past theatre credits include The Profane, “Gasoline”, and SubUrbia. His writing has been featured or are forthcoming in Reed Magazine, O:JA&L, Genre: Urban Arts, Mojave Heart Review, and elsewhere. He currently lives in Bakersfield with his mini-rex rabbit, Elio.