Poets Salon: Secrets From the Past

POETS SALON

– 4/17/19

Hosted by Kathabela Wilson

It has been twenty years since I carried the stone up the stairs from the ocean and placed it under a neighbor’s tree. Of course they did not notice. Today I go back.

worn by the wind
the same stone
heart-shaped

~ Kathabela

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Heart-shaped stump, Inokashira Park, Tokyo, Japan (Photo -Kathabela Wilson)

Erika Wilk

Secret from the past

Was it hunger or the need of sugar that caused me to open a tube of sweetened condensed milk? I sucked from it like a baby at a mother’s breast, fearful of being discovered.

But I was alone in that dark cellar, sent to fetch some item for the deli above and careful to wipe away any evidence from my mouth. Conserves of fish, meats and capers payed no attention to me, the goose, long neck held with string against her body, cold and dead, there to be roasted the day before Christmas.

I returned to that sweetness on another day or two until it was gone, then gave the empty tube to the trash.

around the corner
we lined up for bread
and horse meat

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Heart-shaped stone, Mesa Lane, Santa Barbara, April, 2019 (Photo – Kathabela Wilson)

Dianne Moritz

Secrets

After my father left us, Mother took my sister and me to live with Gramma. My first childhood memories are of Gramma, her love, and that two-story, white house with its backyard rose garden, laundry snapping on the nearby clothes-line. Gramma spent lots of time in the kitchen. She loved baking cookies. My favorite were the Swedish rolls, little round balls covered in confectioner’s sugar. On Sunday mornings Gram made several batches to offer her sisters and husbands when they drove from far off Iowa farms for a visit to the city. Everyone gathered in the living room, but when their chatter turned Swedish, I got annoyed. I felt left out as they talked and laughed, usually about things “not fit for little ears.”

Sunday afternoons
great aunts visit
speaking Swedish
telling secrets
I never learned

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“Having sat just long enough” haiga by kris moon (kondo)

kris moon (kondo)

what is the bag worm
whispering into the ear
of the buddah

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having sat
long enough to become one
with lichen & moss

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peeling back the years with just a fingertip

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“Bag worm whispering in Buddha’s ear” (Photo – kris moon (kondo))

Devin Harrison

in dreams I retrace
twisting paths
back to beginnings–
the secrets I keep
even from myself

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Time passing itself (Photo – Tom Clausen)

Tom Clausen

all the time
ending and beginning
the universe

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time
passing
itself…

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always now…

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straight out
of a dream
another day

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Secrets From the Past: Quotes and Credits

Erika Wilk: “One month before the end of WW2 my mother, I, and my siblings, fled from Berlin to Salzburg to live with grandmother. I grew up in that magical city. The sound of air raids and bombs was replaced by music and beauty. The war ended, food ration were imposed, American soldiers handed out candy and chewing gum, and all in all things were tolerable. There were many mouths to feed , eight children, three of them orphaned, from three families all living in the same large apartment. I don’t recall ever going hungry. We often had polenta with tomato sauce but fruit was a rarity.” Now, after sixty years in California, Erika is still able to read and write in her native language but prefers English…it is so much easier! A sixty year resident of Pasadena, CA, she plans to stay put.

Dianne Moritz writes poetry and picture books for children from her home in Southampton, NY. She cherishes memories of her childhood in Iowa with her Gramma and wishes she had asked more questions.

Devin Harrison: “In an effort to unearth my past, I follow my dreams, but there is no release. Illusion surrounds me and keeps me from knowing myself.” Devin lives in Vancouver Island, British Columbia, where he practices a minimalist lifestyle. Much of his time is spent wandering in the forests

kris moon (kondo) is an artist/poet living by a mountain stream which becomes a raging river during typhoons in Kiyokawa Village. She went to Japan by ship in 1972 where she has lived most of her life. “It is at the turnoff of the main road going through the village, to go to my place, not even 4 minutes from where I live.”

Tom Clausen: “On an afternoon bike ride I suddenly came across time passing itself along Burns Road on the roadside…such a strange sight to find as I rode up the hill.” Tom Clausen lives in Ithaca, NY. He worked at the Mann Library of Cornell University. Now, he’s a well known and published poet. He walks the woodlands finding secrets of the past and present to share with us from his daily adventures.

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♣ We welcome and encourage your response, especially in the form of a short poem, by leaving a comment below.