Poetry from H.R. Creel

Mad King
a mad king sits on his high
horse, remote control
in hand
his castle smells of feet
and old milk
his reign an endless one
of terror until his wife
doesn’t answer from the
polka dot bedroom.
Road Map
 
I’ve got a road map
to the stars
Going to meet a famous
person or two
Maybe one of them
will offer to marry me
and we will walk on celluloid
A forever fantasy life.
 

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Poetry from Cassandra Gauthier

You Were Supposed To Be Watching

 

You were supposed to be watching

As I draped the black robe onto my shoulders

And placed the square cap onto my head.

But instead

You draped yourself into a bar chair

And placed your hand around a cup

 

You were supposed to be watching

As I walked across a green field

And sat down on a hard chair.

But instead

You walked across the black parking lot

And sat down on a soft car seat.

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Poetry from Angelica Fuse

Step Back
 
step back
a moment
strap on new
eyes
do not jump
so quickly
to judgment
wash away
the pain you
wallowed in
become
who you were
always supposed
to be.
Pigtails
 
don’t put
pigtails on me
they are only
handlebars
don’t try to
pin me down
define me
I will break
through the walls
of definition
don’t try to size
me up
or I will shrink
you down.
 

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Poetry from JD DeHart

John Ramm (appearing at Eunoia Review and at Writing Raw)
When first domesticated, John was given
A power tie and a mug with antlers
He was informed about corporate life
Now he paces in the offices
Snorting and bucking, attempting to climb
The heights are sheer
This is what his hooves are made for
They talk about him at the water cooler.
 
The Ballad of John Ramm (appearing on VerseWrights)
Munching twigs, scenting
the air, hidden in a thicket
of leaves, brambles, thorns,
agile feet take him to flight
but not soon enough
Hailing a cab, trying to make
his way to work, he remembers
distantly what it was like to be
in the wild, but that was so long
ago, it seems like a different
animal lived then
While others preen, he pummels
While others rant, he rams.
Legend of John Ramm (appearing on Squawk Back)
Not sure why he spells his name
with two m’s sometimes. Maybe
it’s just been that long.
You can tell by the way he sniffs
the day, it’s not all good here. He
wants you to think it is. We all do.
How are you, I’m fine. Do they
even give you time to answer? I
sit across, study his antlers, want
to set him free. But his handlers
just won’t let me.
Like Ramms at Play (appearing on Venus in Scorpio)
He was a creature of the forest,
at work and at play,
then forced into an office.
But all that has been said before.
Now the family
must manage the remains,
decide if they will return
to the forest glen, scamper
and rut, or make the continual
business climb.

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Christopher Bernard reviews San Francisco’s Opera Parallele’s production of The Lighthouse

 

THE CRY OF THE BEAST
A review by Christopher  Bernard

Opera Parallèle presents a new production of Peter Maxwell Davies’ "The Lighthouse." From left to right: Thomas Glenn, David Cushing and Robert Orth. At Z Space on Thursday night, April 28, 2016.

Opera Parallèle presents a new production of Peter Maxwell Davies’ “The Lighthouse.” From left to right: Thomas Glenn, David Cushing and Robert Orth. At Z Space on Thursday night, April 28, 2016.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Lighthouse

An opera written and composed by Peter Maxwell Davies

Produced by Opera Parallèle

Z Space

San Francisco

April 29 – May 1, 2016

 

The Grim Reaper’s over-exercised blade this year – which has seen the loss of so many figures from popular culture, from David Bowie to Merle Haggard, from Patty Duke to Alan Rickman – has not spared high culture. The Hungarian writer and Nobel laureate (and Holocaust witness and survivor) Imre Kertesz died this spring, and also Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, arguably – or rather, inarguably – Great Britain’s most significant composer since the death of Benjamin Britten.

 

By coincidence, serendipity or synchronicity, Opera Parallèle (San Francisco’s production company of modern opera), was preparing a new production of Davies’ most popular dramatic work. And the fine results, a triumph of talent over budget, were on view this spring over a handful of performances in San Francisco’s Z Space at Theater Artaud. These were dedicated to his memory, and it’s a great shame he didn’t live to see them: I think it’s fair to say he would have been more than happy, not only from the point of view of musical integrity and skill, but also of inventive and satisfying staging.

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Poetry from Joan Beebe

FAMILIES

We wonder, sometimes, about families we see,

Are they happy and content as they should be.

Behind their closed doors there may be strife

Affecting their home and always their life.

What makes a family so sad and despaired

There may not be enough love shared

That makes a person whole and happy and content

But that love has to be shown and really meant.

People yearn for a life that will bring the love they need

And, without knowing, we have planted the seed.

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