June 3-9, 2002: Bess Kemp and Paula Villegas

week of June 3-9, 2002


Bess Kemp and Paula Villegas


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Bess Kemp
bkemp@napanet.net

Bio (auto)

Bess lives north of San Francisco in the Napa Valley She has been published online and in print in approximately 100 venues She is currently an antiques dealer and the editor of Some Words Poetry, which is now in its third year of publication.

The following work is Copyright © 2002, and owned by Bess Kemp and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Sanderson Block is Gay

and he trots up the hills
of San Fran’s Castro
home from work
crossing tracks
and barriers
unaware of disdain
fitting in
like the landscaping
in front of his
three story Victorian

his partner Jeff waits
with dinner
and maybe dessert
if he’s lucky
right now
he’s folding laundry
on the sofa
or watering the ferns

domestic bliss
is all Sanderson
ever wanted
and never had as a kid
and now
just like everyone else
he is home

Circles

a lilac breeze
light as spring itself
gently moves the lace
of the curtains
like a sweep
of hair
out of ones eyes
little gnats and flies
circle like smoke
devour the air
in a black mist
move on together
as one
to find rest
in the shade of shrubs
summer is coming soon
approaching on quiet cat feet
too soon here
with heat and humidity
like slow suffocation
with no prying loose
from the grip it has
and then the breezes
of lilacs
will be missed

The Setting

a tongue of light
licks the top of the hills
just as it descends
cascading
into blackness .


Paula Villegas
MISSOPHELIA@aol.com

Bio (auto)

Paula Villegas lives and writes poetry somewhere on planet Earth

The following work is Copyright © 2002, and owned by Paula Villegas and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Flushing 29 sense Wednesdays

Fake Irish immorality
masquerading as Morality
Twenty nine for one special
In lockstep with clown death
Grimly we march down the fast food
wrapper highway

Pick our teeth of stray hairs of the dog
We all call Mac
Suck in our guts and
puke out of turn
the shrill velvet tones of
Bile and her diarrhea-ettes

Dulcet vomitorium musack
humming under the
corporate arched brows

The suits frown in glee as they
munch on our
McDollars and watch us
roll our fat tubs into
their premeditated special saucy
grave.

My Mother Wants To See the Sea

To Pacific Ocean she gravitates
Her ice blue eyes light with recognition
Memories of lazy faded days on Lake Michigan

Gazing at the water anticipating
A vast array of fantasies of youth forever
Great fame, glory and money laid at her
Feet celebrating her kind contributions
To an ailing world that needed her
She couldn’t see the other side
Lake Michigan was too large and vast
And bloated with itself
Nursing became her profession
Love and hope went bad in a tragic marriage choice
Her parents died, the house was leveled

The neighbors left and the neighborhood
Was unrecognizable from the place where
A young girl dipped her toes in the chilled
Michigan lake
She moved very far away to a desert city
Never to return to the pain of great loss
She stayed for many many years
Dreams of the water and softer easier times
Soothing her moisture of youth desire

She sought for reconnection after so long
Of a retreat in her altruistic shell
She looked around for water
To quench her severe thirst
I am her daughter she is my mother
I came to rescue her
I saw my longing in her face
And I led her to peace of the Pacific
Ocean
Last I saw she was looking into the water
Trying to see the other side
She had rediscovered Lake Michigan
She found peace
and died.

El Paso

Situated on the border of despair
Our pass is from nothing to
Nothing Mexico to Texas
El Paso to Juarez

Empty as the Rio Grande
In El Paso we mean
Dust to dust We know nothing else We do not transition
Here
Our Paso people blow
Like the wind
Parched and void of
Pulp
Our dirt encrusted mouths
Whisper words of Spanish sorrow
That just slips past our manana
Minds
Our tears hopefully
Lost in the translation Only our parched Grande Rio
Remains
Our yellow weeds tumble
Roll over our dead bodies
We search for a drink
A moist swallow
Mirage

Consoled in our own
Special self deception
We cannot fully miss
what we have never
Had
We wait
For what we
Do not
Know
Our future is past
Tense in El Paso
Paula Villegas
Page Two
El Paso

So we pass unnoticed
Into our cracked unyielding
Ground
Seeping further into
Our El Paso oblivion
Our shallow ingrained deeply in us
Since our borne bone dry
El Paso
Birth.

Languid Lies

Smooth as silk
Your tongue tells me

What isn’t true
Your breath exhales
Promises
of my unspoken desires fulfilled
Your butter knife wit
Melts through my defenses

And I yield to your charm
Your penis presses against me
And you explode with the

Truth
Your love lasts until
Your strong convictions

Shrink away to flaccid indifference.