Chabot College

Civilizing men is the act of training an infant
away from "wildwood", instead of childhood
George Argyres

The ever -present wind roars through us and past us, whistling through the cables and wooden beams of the bridge, tearing at our jackets and faces.
Thad Brinkley

She looked up through the branches, their twisted arms spread in a silent dance to the heavens.
Mary Ann Brown

Upon viewing an  ancient cave painting:
"In this refuge is the womb of the earth"
Florence Kadis

The world was my oyster.
Now I am caught in its shell
Albert Rothman

Alone in a pregnant silence
Elisa Uribe

Phantom soldier trees with their jutting bayonets of
ice-covered branches scratched at his face
Allison Laughton

A guide in Hong Kong said, "The people here eat anything with feathers except a feather duster and everything with four legs except a table."
Rose Leonardini

On the occasion of his granddaughter's second birthday:
"The unaware child centers us. We orbit the child, who is like a
huge sun, whose gravity attracts circling planets."
Ben Minton

Reluctantly couples pulled apart and then waved frantically as the young men melted into the open jaws of the hungry train
Frances Peterson

I'll hide the dissonance in my heart
Evelyn Stinchcomb

Words come in various
Sizes and shapes
     Sounds and syllables
They  may be
     Colorful or pale
          Cheerful or miserable
They can
     Build up or tear down
          Heal or inflict
They can
     Be sweet as honey or sour as lemons
          Halt a war or march an army

Words function constructively if
     Chosen with care
          Spoken with grace
               Minded with sincerity
Other wise they would become
     Empty
               Noisy
                         Wasted
Words, words, words.
 

I emerge
From the belly of the beast,
     Blinking my eyes, shaking my head in wonderment.
     Is there still life out here?
In the belly of the beast
     I and two computer monitors
     Are the living among the flotsam and jetsam that
     Cries out to be straightened.
Ah! Trees!  A sky with clouds
     Letting shafts of sunlight through.
Children play on a near by swing set.
     A bird calls- I try to answer in its own tongue
     With dubious success.
     Fresh air and sunshine!

Yes, there is a world out there
 

As I begin to sweep,
The old porch creaks and squeaks,
And seems to stretch in contentment
As if awakening from a long nap.
I watch them; my children's children,
Barefoot and sticky, faces full
Of peanut-butter-and-jelly smiles,
Bouncing, jumping, running;
Noisy, full and free;
Lively little leapfrogs,
Filling the air, Filling me.
My broom is busy, moving briskly
Back and forth -- back and forth.
Dust and cobwebs scatter,
And soon and in its own time
Clarity arrives to find me
And the old porch I sweep
Content and safely settled
Inside peach-filled sunshine
On yet another fading afternoon.

The sky is raining tears on earth.
Eye tears, ear tears, brain tears, heart
tears
Flood our world.

There is no hiding of eye tears
When one is sad
Water crystals are there
For all to see.

You can feel tears
when words come at you
With sarcasm, criticism and
anger
Ears pound and ache.

Brain and heart are hidden.
Thoughts and feelings change
Into shadows with wings
Flying away.

Sky rains tears of sadness
Visible and invisible.

Prattle...
Her first speech sounds,
How dear to hear new
     Words
Unique for clan comprehension─
Listen!
 

You are relentless
Week after week
Reading your haiku and cinquains
Into my deaf ear

Now you have done it!
You put my mind to sleep with music
And slashed open my heart
With words from Hafiz
The perfect poet
God-Lover

Now shall I  close my heart
And be normal again?

We do not know when or where it comes from
It just happens
We begin by
     Accepting
          Arguing
               Understanding
     Laughing
          Grieving
               Helping
     Sharing
          Caring
               Nurturing
Before we know it
An everlasting bond is forged
A friendship to be savored and treasured

In paradise I remembered her.
     Brown shoulders and bare feet
     Weightless body racing down beaches
     Diving in cold water, fearless
     Swimming out to meet the waves
     Catching the best ones back
     Waves propelling her to the shore
Going out for more
     Waves crashing over her
     Showing power
     Rolling her under and grinding her into the sand.
     Underwater thrill releasing her
     Glad she made it
Going out for more
     Oblivious to the rest of the world
     That called her at the end of day
Going home
     Sandy
     Sunburned
     Tired from all that ocean loving
How can I be in paradise

     And not remember her
     And long to set her free again

Shall I shower
you with coins
of burning coals
upon your head?

Will I underwrite
your whiskey fund?
Or share a loaf
of bread?

Here you go─
my friend.
It is not for me
to know.

Our Lady's lilies shine out
     of summer dusk.
In our patio they tide over
     June through July.
Trumpeting white star notes
     Of evening grace.
Each scented Madonna light
     Makes a sanctuary
     For our senses
Solitary, or in Mass, they
     Always bring the good news.

They are gathered for the rosary.
The women dressed in black,
The men wearing wide black bands
On their suit coats,
Showing proper respect for the
deceased.

The sober-faced priest enters the room,
makes the sign of the cross,
Prayers are begun.
Rosary beads move in all hands,
Eyes downcast, or closed,
Piously.

These are the last moments
To view the body in the casket,
Before it is laid to rest.

The final "Amen,"
Rosaries are put away.

The people form a line,
Walk up to the casket,
Then to greet the immediate family
Of the deceased,
Who are all in tears.

Handshakes, hugs, whispered words
Of condolence, are accepted
Gratefully.
Move on, the line is long

This is the hardest part,
Tomorrow the funeral mass in the church
Will be less personal.

The funeral mass begins,
With the soloist singing
 "Ave Maria."

The priest speaks kindly
Of the deceased
And reminds all that
"Dust thou art
And to dust thou shall return."

The mass ends, and pall bearers
Wheel the casket outside,
Reverently place it in
The hearse, to be taken to
The cemetery.

Once the casket is lowered
into the ground,
All will gather for lunch
And wine.
Good memories will be shared,
Everyone will be comforted.
Life goes on!

Whistler
Is third child, Mark
All Stages, musical...
Morning warbler, and
        Dusk Tuner─
Daily.

Under
by Martha Lusk

Can I make the commitment to go under
All that is and has been?
Can I let go of
     losses
          gain
               careers
                    loves
                         hates
                             geography,
and all that is and all that is and all that is?
What is stuff?
Stuff crowds me. Stuff suffocates me
Yet I allow myself to be under it.

That is not the under that you pointed out.
Do I know that under?
Is that under what I've searched for all these years?
     Clothes and curtains
               pens and paper
                         paint.
                                   fabric
                                             wood
                                                       plants
Stuff

Food and eating. Bathroom to decorate and clean.
Walking and talking with Alice. Does she; could she understand....under?
She could if I could.

Under just stays there on top as these word spill out.
Is it gray or black or might it be yellow and orange poppies?
I want them in my yard but there isn't enough sun, he says.

That's not true in the under, gut let's peek.
No, I can't peek. Peeking isn't what under is about.

Under is tearing back the canvas.
Under is about peeling the pomegranate.
Under is about the luscious juiciness of the purple fig.

Figs and honey─sticky and sweet.
I delight in their image and taste.

Can I taste the under
     with my pen?
Can I taste under
     With scissors, pins and needles.
Does Nancy taste the nectar of under with her knitting needles?
Patterns or nectar?

Why so many question marks?
Where are my guts?
I don't need someone to show me under.

Under is figs and honey. I know it.
Will I let myself open the hive?
Bees come with honey in the hive.

Today is the tomorrow you prayed for yesterday.
Today is the "someday" of yesterday's dreams.
Today you choose tomorrow's bliss or regret.
Today can be tomorrow's blessed remembrance of a yesterday well lived.

Today is a river of time, which you sail, your potential joys pass by.
Are you awake or do you sleep? Do you see and seize?

Last night you prayed for a new day.
God has answered your prayer; he has granted you another day of life.
Today is God's gift, full of opportunity which you can use, enjoy or ignore.
How do you repay this gift of time, which you cannot give?
Use the other gifts God has given you, your mind and energy and noble dreams.
Do what you know to do.
Do it.
Do it now, this day
which God is slowly taking away.
Do it now.
Seize the day
Seize today.

A deep midnight blue was
the color of the sky
When our destiny was written
with the brilliance of many stars

It hung on a satin smooth mantle
Against the midnight sky
When the full moon of October
Appeared before our eyes

Illuminating our bodies
and blessing our longings
Our destiny was written
With the brilliance of many stars
In the heavens high above
As cherubs sang for us
melodies of love

In the twilight of my life
In constantly recall
The illumination of our bodies
Against the midnight sky

I see my image in your eyes
I feel your warmth
I hunger for your touch
My destiny is forever written
with these words
As I whisper them to the heavens
I am eternally yours

Glaring white light
amplifies
the room's white
flat paint starkness.

The walls,
bereft of softness,
punctuated
by white boards
and cork boards,
as if waiting.

Background noise,
paper shuffling,
Rapid-fire pens
attacking
paper; squirming
with nervous energy.

The room devoid
of beauty,
down the gray
vinyl tile floor,
curtains block
out the world.

Trapped in a void.

If we could all whirl and twirl
Like clouds holding the sun
In nature's own rhythm
We could reinvent time
To do the dance of life

Memory
by Albert Rothman

Yearnings
Friday night loneliness
Lighted windows
In towering apartments

Time lays a golden patina
On the silver-ray of the past
My mind skips episode to episode
Stepping stones in an old stream
My rock paths
Irreversible.

Six desks in a small room
Six bodies working at those desks
Some people don't use deodorant
Toothbrushes or mouthwash,
Whew!

The smell of sweat mingled with
cologne
Is nauseating.

The overhead lights are too bright
Open windows provide
too little air.

Electric fans offer minor relief
Clothing sticks to the body.

Four people chain smoke
And never empty
Their stinky ashtrays
Yuck!

Your eyes burn and
Your throat feels raw ─
Have another cough drop.

Your desk tray is full of work
Letters to type, manifests
To fill out.
Answering the phone
Is part of your job.

It's getting late,
Type faster!

Darn! Typewriter ribbon
needs changing
A dirty job
You'll have to wash your hands
When you finish.

Its five o'clock
Your work is not done.

You hope someone else
Will be working overtime too
Or that the boss is too busy
To hang around you.

He things that you're attractive
And that he is irresistible ─
Fool!

He has bad breath, is balding
And is old enough to be
Your father.

You'd like to tell him off
But he's the boss
And you really need the job.
Type faster!

When all things have been done
And all words have been said,
'Tis then too late to understand
By intuition we'd best be led.

Listen to those inner voices
The hunches, the flashes of vision,
Pay attention to the stuff of dreams
Let rot to die pure reason.

Mind itself will lead you best
Would you but stand and listen,
Then heed the course, the trail, the way
That inward knowing visions.

Intuition perhaps is inborn knowledge,
'twas there before we "learned"
Society dictates school and structure
Leaves not a page unturned.

In essence though, to me it seems
Truth is not taught but "known"
Were we to listen to ourselves
Wrong seeds need not be sown

Light Upon Darkness
by Guus Burgemeester

When I think of gold, I watch the sun
When it is silver, I look for the moon
While mountains uplift my spirit.
When I see diamonds, I think of people
Who tried to make this world a better place.
Whenever I see the earth, I think of those
Who have died all too soon.

May all  their souls rest in peace

Poster View
Haiku by Mimi Hoag

Dim shadow meadow...
Stretching out to meet
Woodland ─
Sunlit trees embrace!

     "Plumy" is my dream cat,
Colored deep red-purple.
     A namesake for that favorite
Plum fruit with added violet eyes
     She, too is a sassy and sweet
Treat in my life.
     So elegantly exotic in her
Tread ─ picking and pausing to
     Groom her rich velour,
Plushy fur.
     The same "surprise" ability
Of fey cats and universal spirits
Is her selection of choice
Times to appear and then leave.
     Delightedly, I view her "camouflage"
Antics, enthralled.
She hovers near "like-colored"
Scenery, when then suddenly
     Appears up the lacy red
Maple tree, then leaps through
     Purple Spanish lavender
Beside the magenta smoke bush
     And flops on a carpet of
Rose-Lilac creeping Phlox.
     Forever taking on the color
in which she lands (When it
     Is her spectrum!)
We walk in strides through
     Dream-time heather
high above the sea, my pal and I,
     Continue with her amethyst
Purring dialog, free to be.

You are fair
     I am dark
               He is tan
You drive a BMW
     I commute in a Saturn
              She rides in a Toyota
You speak English
     I speak Chinese
                She speaks Spanish
You are financial gurus
     We are engineers
                 They are social workers
You live in Atherton
     We live in Hayward
                They live in the Tri-Valley
You are morning people
     We are night owls
                 They are both
Differences may lead to
     Fear
     Defensiveness
     Wars
Differences can be
     Interesting
     Challenging
     Constructive
The question is not what the difference are
What matters is how we deal with our differences
Do we honor them as friends
     Or
Hate them like foes?
Differences
     Give us unique colorful personalities
     Proved us opportunities to build up each other to be a better person
The choice is yours and mine
Shall we work together and enjoy our days?
     Or
Shall we fight till death and hate each day?

       "Plumy" is my dream cat,
Colored deep red-purple.
       A namesake for that favorite
Plum fruit with added violet eyes
       She, too is a sassy and sweet
Treat in my life.
       So elegantly exotic in her
Tread─ picking and pausing to
       Groom her rich velour,
Plushy fur.
       The same "surprise" ability
Of fey cats and universal spirits
Is her selection of choice
Times to appear and then leave.
       Delightedly, I view her "camouflage"
Antics, enthralled.
       She hovers near "like-colored"
Scenery, when then suddenly
       Appears up the lacy red
Maple tree, then leaps through
       Purple Spanish lavender
Beside the magenta smoke bush
       And flops on a carpet of
Rose-Lilac creeping Phlox.
       Forever taking on the color
In which she lands (When it
       Is her spectrum!)
We walk in strides through
      Dream-time heather
High above the sea, my pal and I,  
     Continue with her amethyst
Purring dialog, free to be.

Love is on the owner
of any particular season
It is not Spring, in fact
it is the beginning of Fall
As I watch with gaiety
at their morning ritual

Two birds in love─are
dancing in my garden
They strut around kissing
each other repeatedly
Intermittently drifting
from each other momentarily
They kiss and kiss
feeding each other
and kiss and kiss again

I felt lighthearted
witnessing their courtship
It provoked a memory
of many years ago
In a twilight courtship
Salvador unexpectedly
stole a kiss from me

Love is not the owner
of any particular season
For in that unexpected
moment he captured my heart
The unexpected moment
of a stolen kiss
was in the Fall
 

My cup is full, my world is good
But my frequent laments are misunderstood
I long for a time when you weren't so somber
And your deepest thoughts I could share and ponder
I need a respite from my daily routine
I crave precious moments calm and serene
I have an urge to hear a Beethoven sonata
A Chopin etude, a Bach toccata
Handel's Messiah would soothe my soul
I've no need for a loftier goal
I've  no need for a mansion grand
With a manicured lawn and acres of land
I eagerly await the next sunny day
I'll take to the hills and run an play
I'll search for poppies and fields of green
My heart will be full, my thoughts serene
I'll savor the moment and practice Feng Shui
I' need the peace and serenity
Of moments of bliss and solitude
Away from crowds and people rude
Why must Christmas come so soon?
I cannot abide another Santa tune
I cannot deck my halls with holly
Holiday frenzy has made me most un-jolly
I have no need for mistletoe
Or robot raptors and rings that glow
I flee the mall and head for home
I promise myself I will not roam
To any place with horrendous noise
And callous cashiers who disturb my poise
A familiar sight makes me smile
Claiborne Court and my domicile
Freezing and tired, I quickly turn my key
I'm home at last─Ah, serenity!

Beauty is pleasant to the eyes
It soothes our soul
We can
       See it
                 Touch it
                            Feel it
It transcends time and space

It can be
      Physical
                Emotional
                           Tangible
                                    Intangible
It is defined by our unique personalities

Beauty, per se, is neutral
    Our interpretations of it
              Our reactions to it
                          Change its neutrality
Our choices dictate its quality and function

What shall it be?
A blessing or curse?

Wild spaces inside,
Awaken our inner
        Being─
Center awareness
To breathe out any
       Old Stress─
In turn to inhale peace
      Time.

My Delight
Haiku by Mimi Hoag

These white papered
          Words...
Recording briefly,
          Fly and zing─
Out loud-saucy crows!

dormant grays yield to green life

early flowers:
   virginal white milkmaid
and thin stem shooting star─
   its harlequin hat purple
promises of spring

clown-like burls
near the base of an oak
a mistletoe wig on its bare head
alder catkins
fuzzy pajamas
   hang down to dry

I lay my pack down
a black beetle joins me
   orange shield on its back

half moon punctuates
a cloudless sky

on the horizon
distant Sierra snow

winter retreats slowly

I retreat   reluctantly.

A blue glow casts shadows on willing fingers
Full of hopeful despair
Waiting for useless brains to flex,
Preserve sacred dreams.

Washed in wine, rinsed in water from the Nile,
Linens and sweet oils
Prepare the body for its trip through the underworld
Littered with obsolete thoughts.

Trampled and kicked off the trail with each
Beat of the heart
To eternity where the mouth is opened
In a field of reeds

And the writer's heart is found pure
 

A sea of green clover
with an occasional tall slender strawlike stem
with yellow bellflowers─
shocked me.

The tiny patch of ground for my chosen plants was unseen.
The sea of green chokes every other plant.
A single Oxalis plant is beautiful; However Oxalis in abundance is a weed.
Why does Nature create weeds in so much abundance?
Perhaps Nature's purpose is to bring me to my knees.
I am humbled by the profusion.
If I am to "husband the earth" with any plants of my own choosing
Then I must meet the persistence and determination of Oxalis with my own.
On my knees, dig, persist!

Oxalis is but one of Life's lessons.
Now I must ponder my need to mass murder the ants in my pantry and
I wonder why my body is food for mosquitoes.

Today I saw it,
In a large arc spanning the sky
A beautiful rainbow of many colors.

My young grandson questioned,
"A pot of gold at the end?"
A wishful dream of hope and joy.

Just as the rainbow came from a beam of light
The expectation casts brightness
to the gray winter day.

There had been a sudden halt
To the rain falling all around
Giving a welcome break to the winter scene.

We searched the sky for the beginning and end
Of this magic rainbow
But alas, it fell too low to the right and left to be seen.

And all too quickly we knew it would end
The colors began to fade
And soon they were gone.

We knew the rain would return
But what a wonderful break in the winter day
A time to smile and ponder the gift of wonder.
 

I have tried bringing thoughts
Meaningful
To paper,
But no fluidity,
No spill of sound
Has come,
Only a few words marching
Across dry, starched white
Like good little students
In linear lines
Who desperately wonder
Why I can't release them
For recess
So they can dance, wild
With creative abandon
And splash their loud
Liquefied beauty
On to parched
White paper.

A swing
Suspended from a sycamore tree
In the middle of the front lawn
Dangling empty from a grimy rope
Not moving in the still summer air
Of a late afternoon.

From the house beyond
In which a whole world is contained
Come voices, a dog barking, music
Someone is cooking dinner,
Someone had just gone into the bedroom
And slammed the door.

I am soaring up into the leaves,
Body leaning forward to see the future
Then swinging back with a surge of fear.
Who is in that house
Locked in the tight circle
Of languid days, decisions postponed?

Pot roasts and marigolds
Laundry to fold, desires to stow away,
The disablement of love
The wind of complacency

Yes I know this rhythm
Slows me into believing
That the pendulum will forever
Swing in this regulated pulse
From day to day,
Year to year.
The rope will never break
I will not be pitched off on to
Hard ground
 

In Spain and along the Loire I have inhaled the vaporous ghosts
Of scented gardens,
summoning shades of a summer child who set out each morning
To gather one of every flower
To be pressed in the pages of the Sears catalogue
Among the washing machines
And twelve-dollar men's suits.
This girl, in her starched dress, sash carefully tied
Into a bow in the back,
Carrying the basket with the confidence
That proper manners and deference
Would reward you with flowers
And womanhood and sunny mornings.
When the petals grew brittle, the colors faded
The bulging book was carelessly discarded,
A childish thing.
Still, the fragrance of jasmine and mignonette
Evokes the promise that you can find
One of every flower,
Read all the books,
See the world.

beautiful music
floods my thoughts and memory
to keep and forget

summer fades away
autumn creeps in silently
bringing a yearning

awakening now
listening to chirping birds
breeds new life for me today

Katrina
by Audrey Lovell

the rushing water
stops and recedes, revealing
death and destruction

I thank my Lord for this class,
     For Nancy,
     For each of you,
          And
     For myself.

There had been a time
     When
          I almost quit but didn't
     Simply
          Because
                     I was inspired by you.

We have shared
     Our readings,
     Our adventures,
          And
     Ourselves.

Regardless of where or
     What circumstance we would be in
There will always be a part of us in each other
     Until eternity.

Thank you!
          Thank you!
                    Thank you!