Monday, October 9, 2017

Local poets take the stage at Sun Alley

Award-winning poet L.I. Henley waits for the audience to settle down. Then she brushes back her long black hair and launches into her poem, a powerful childhood memory. As her mother explains that she is separating from the poet’s father, their Buick is caught up in a flash flood.

A drought     she thought     a walk across the Mojave
& then

water like thick honey from the comb

             I’ll know when it’s time she said
to go out the window

Henley (the “L” stands for Lauren) grew up in Joshua Tree.  The winner of many poetry awards, including the 2017 Perugia Press Prize, she writes spare, highly polished poems capturing the magic and the dangers of this beautiful and harsh landscape.

Since February 2017, Morongo Basin poets have been gathering around the Sun Alley stage on the second Sunday of every month to hear featured writers like Michael Dwayne Smith, Cynthia Anderson, Susan Abbott and, of course, Henley. 

The reading series is the result of poet Rich Soos’ efforts to support the high desert writing community. Soos publishes Cholla Needles, a monthly literary magazine launched at the beginning of 2017. He approached Space Cowboy Bookstore, located in the Sun Alley, about hosting a series of readings by poets that he publishes and the owners agreed.

There is a very obvious tight-knit group who have been doing things together up here for many years,” Soos says, “and they are very open about allowing new writers into their fold and sharing themselves while listening to others. The respect they have for each other, and the support they show for each other, is an inspiration.”

Along with the featured poets, audience members can add their names to the sign-up sheet and read a poem of their own.

During the October 8th reading, for instance, the audience heard from sixteen other readers, including Dorothy Baker, speaking in her persona as “The Queen.” Ellen Baird read her eleven-year-old son Lowen’s poem about betrayed trust, and writer Gabriel Hart related a nightmarish journey down the Morongo Pass in a gale force wind.

Regarding Cholla Needles, Soos says, “I put a small ad in the Hi-Desert Star and Facebook asking folks to send poetry and short stories. I wanted to print one magazine a month, and I was determined to print at least 6 books this year. So far we’ve published ten issues of the magazine, and 16 books of poetry, art and fiction by local writers.”

Soos has plenty of experience running small presses. In the 70’s & 80’s, while living in Monterey, San Diego and San Jose, he published over 200 issues of Seven Stars, a monthly magazine, and 100 books under the name Realities Library.

For his current book projects, Soos uses Amazon as his printer. This gives him flexibility in terms of the number of books printed at any time and offers speedy turn-around time.

Soos obviously takes great pleasure supporting local writers, and, for full disclosure, that includes me.  This spring, he published a few of my poems in the issue 5 of Cholla Needles, and I was one of those sixteen other readers on Sunday, October 8. High desert writers owe Rich Soos much gratitude for his love of poets and good books.

For more information about Cholla Needles, go to the website or pick up a copy at Rainbow Stew in Yucca Valley, Space Cowboy in Joshua Tree, and Raven’s Books in 29 Palms.

L.I. Henley and poet Jonathan Maule are editors of an on-line poetry magazine, Apercus. In addition, they feature visiting poets at the Beatnik Lounge on the 3rd Friday of every month.


Thursday, June 1, 2017

Cholla Needles, Issue 5 (2017)


Pajaros Callados
Thanks to Alberto Garcia Zatarain

Tus palabras amargas
me retan cada día.

Por la mañana,
en la cama solitaria,
los rayos del sol vuelan
a lo largo de las paredes
como pájaros de oro,
pájaros sin voz.

No encuentro mis palabras,
las palabras que se escapan
como pájaros callados.

El cuarto brilla
con la luz del sol.
La cama espera en la sombra,
Silencio.

Tus palabras amargas
me retan cada día.

El rayo de sol
se posa en la mano
como pájaro,
espera un momento largo
y después, se va.

Las palabras se escapan
como pájaros callados.
En la cama.
En la sombra.
Solo.

 Quiet Birds

Your bitter words
challenge me every day.

In the morning,
In the lonely bed,
The rays of the sun fly
Along the walls
Like golden birds,
Silent birds.

I cannot find my words,
The words that escape
Like quiet birds.

The room shines
With the light of the sun.
The bed waits in the shade,
speechless.

Your bitter words
challenge me every day.

The sunbeam
perches in my hand
like a bird,
Waits a long moment
And then is gone.

The words escape
Like quiet birds.
In the bed.
In the shadow.
Solitary.


3/21/17


The Empty House

Off to the side
Of the road,
A deserted house
Looking onto the long plain
Of shrubs and gravel—
A house with its share
Of ghosts?

I want to fill
The empty house
With my emptiness,
I want to sit
In the ruined living room
And look out
At the snow
On San Gorgonio,
At the clouds marching
Across the sky,
At the peach sunset.

Watch what is full and outside
Of the walls
Of this empty house.

I am an empty house,
Standing upright
And facing the fullness
Of the outside
With eyes emptied of
Opinion, expectation
Or hope.

An empty house.

5/10/15


The Mountain/Ahab in the Desert

The hump of the mountain emerges
Out of the clouds
And recedes back into the clouds,
The layer of snow on its flank
As white as spume.

Like an adversary waiting on the horizon.

An exile, I am miles from the ocean.

Does the wind cast away the waves
The way it tosses gravel
Across the windshield?
Does the wind make it impossible
To stand on the good leg
And the wooden one?

Nature signifies its disapproval
And we draw our lines in the sand.

Is it unjust, or simply absurd,
To take it to task
For the misfortunes
That sweep us off
The good foot and the other one?

No matter how quickly I drive,
The mountain recedes into the distance
Like an adversary slipping beyond the
horizon.

Its lack of humility
Weighs on my soul.

5/18/15


Cul de Sac

The mountains to the east
Are neutral, featureless
In the afternoon sun.

That is the condition
Of this place,
Looking through the windshield,
At this moment,
Looking for certainty
And only finding
A cul de sac,
That place that wakes me up
At three in the morning,
Words reverberating,
Threats, accusations, rage –
The sun not yet
Reddening the tips of the mountains.
Close the bedroom door,
It’s cold out there.

My brother calls it
PTSD.

The mountains are heartless
And I am alone.

My goal this year:
Start the motor
And drive myself out
Of the cul de sac.

11/7/16


The Leonardo Mountains

I was always a child of the city,
I always loved the crowded sidewalks,
The old museums and the refined culture.
In the midst of the noise of the city,
I accepted the silence between the people
Around me as the price for
A life of the mind.

But the cost of life
Amongst the skyscrapers 
And the run-down apartments
Was beyond my reach
And now I find myself
Before the brown mountains
And the tough, green shrubs,
At a distance from the sidewalks
And the cool faces.

Perhaps I truly find myself
Now in the midst
Of the mind’s silence.

But each time I face
The mountains, angular
And sharp and blue in the distance,
I remember the canvasses of Leonardo,
And in my mind,
culture is still alive
And worth the pain
Of exile from the distant city.

5/11/15

(The Leonardo Mountains also appeared in Cholla Needles 2017 Yearbook.)

Monday, May 1, 2017

Mojave River Review, Spring 2017

Read the issue

Contrails

I noticed that the pepper tree
Is gone, a tree of life
We planted over Chuck’s ashes,
And the circle where we sat
Remembering our old friend
Is replaced with a swimming pool.

It’ll be 95 today,
And many of us
Who sang and cried and wished
Our friend a good farewell
Will float on our backs
And watch the contrails overhead
Dissolve into wispy
Nothings.

5/12/12


Scorpion

I don’t like to kill things.

The critters live here, we’re just visitors.
Remembering the sidewinder
That crawled under my chair
In the garage last year,
Sunlight sparkling on the silvery arms
Of the lawn chair & the snake
Finally slid away as the sun went down.

I don’t like to kill things.

I found a scorpion sitting on the air mattress
Where Maria slept
Last night.
I’m cleaning up her bedding
& there he is, all bristly,
Pincers at the ready.
I try to sweep him out the door
With a broom
& he scoots underneath the baseboard,
Tail curled up like an angry fist.

What do you do?

Live by chance?
Leave the door open
& hope he exits gracefully?

What if he scurries into the other room,
Burrows into our suitcases.
Or crawls into the pile of sheets
Laying on the other bed?

Snip off his tail?
That’s where the poison is.
And leave him defenseless
Against his enemies?

What do you do?

You get a sharp knife from the kitchen drawer
And jab it precisely under the baseboard—
A puddle of blood staining the saltillo floor tiles.

I hate to kill things.
Sometimes you don’t have a choice.

Nov. 2012


Headlights on the rolling hills

A hand once swept across
This darkness, pushing up
            The hills that swallow
            my headlights,
Pushed up the hills,
Rising and dropping in the night,
            And I speed along,
            60 miles an hour,
            scanning for red-eyed coyotes
                        scrambling across the road bed.

We meet like this, at night,
Your headlights in the rear view mirror,
            The ghost light of your car
            Sweeping under my car,
                        Its shadow imprinted on the hills
                        And vanishing when you drop into a dip.
We meet like this as if the hand
That pushed these hills in place
            So many heart beats ago
            Set our wheels in motion.

I don’t want to be lonely.

I love the rush of the unknown,
            Speeding down these hills at night.
            Meant to follow and to lead,
            Headlights on a back road.

Over how many hills will time lead me?
And who will carry my ashes in a jar
When the headlights go out forever?

Do you, too, think about dying
On a dark road in the desert,
Your headlights shining in the rear view mirror,
My car leading the way?


10/29/16