Three poems by Puschart Prize Nominee Joyce E. Young.
Harold Taylor, head of the Lake County Horseshoe Association, blinks through his wire-rimmed glasses in mild confusion. His bristling grey mustache gives him the look of a walrus scholar. “Was it?” he asks. Dropping his gaze, he snaps open the locks of an ancient portfolio. It’s crammed with files. Running the back of his finger across the tabbed folders, he finds nothing helpful. “I thought it was 1983,” he says, “but if I told you 1987, that must’ve been it.” The date regards the start of the LCHA. Call it two generations ago. Back then, says Taylor, who also runs the Pro Desk at Mendo Mill & Lumber Co., in Lakeport, the games were a rolling affair, with players convening in each other’s backyards for some 20 years.
In our inaugural episode, Georgina Marie discusses poetry with poet Beulah Vega. Beulah Vega is a writer, poet, and theatrical artist living and working in California’s Bay Area. Her poetry has been published in The Literary Nest, Sage Cigarettes, Walled Women, and Blood & Bourbon among others. Her first book of poetry, ‘A Saga for the Unrequited’, will be published in August of 2021 by Fae Corps Publishing. And her theatrical production company: Heroines, Harpies, and Harlots will present the second annual Sonoma County Women’s theater festival “In Their Own Voice” starting May 8th. She will also be reading as part of the Eclipse Lit launch party/American Foundation for Suicide Prevention fundraiser on May 22nd. She is still amazed when people refer to her as a writer, every time. To listen, follow this link or visit https://www.lakecountybloom.com/rootedinpoetry
We were unmasked then and I was at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, waiting for a connecting flight. Jostling through the lunch line, I found a place to sit with my sandwich and hefted up my carry-on bag for a table. The chair beside me was empty, but as I smeared mustard across the soggy bread, three people arrived. One of them, an attractive woman pulling her own small bag, sat down. With her was a woman, younger, I thought, in a wheelchair. She was accompanied by a tall man with sandy hair and wearing a light blue Aloha shirt, who eased her chair forward so that the women were almost touching knees. The wheelchair was sleek and looked new. The women bowed their heads in muted conversation, and I found myself leaning back into my chair, trying to give them space they obviously did not need. They started crying. To read the full story visit @lakecountybloom
April is National Poetry Month AND National Donate Life Month. In honor of that, this month, Poet in Residence Georgina Marie and The Bloom are holding a Poetry of the Body Contest. Submit your poem relating to the body or organ donation for a chance to win a cash prize and publication in the Rooted in Poetry Column! Send your submission as an editable Word document to firstname.lastname@example.org no later than Sunday, April 26th. Winners to be announced by Friday, April 30th! Visit donatelife.net to learn more about organ donation. The public is encouraged to wear blue and green to help share the Donate Life Message.
She wrote him letters. About the time he read Neruda’s poetry to her when she was ill, the time he ran outside in the rain to fetch the chapstick from her car, the time he brought her daisies after driving to three florists in his search, only to discover they grew wild behind an abandoned farmhouse two miles from their home. She trusted their past. The memories in her letters steadied him, and with her words, his life felt more vibrant. For a year, he returned her letters with postcards, writing nothing except his next address. He moved often, life snaking through back-country roads, as elliptical as her handwriting. Her words would find him wherever he went. A letter had arrived that October morning.
The EPIC Poetry Contest committee is proud to announce the first winner in the EPIC Poetry Contest 2021, “In the Know,” by Pamela Bordisso. By winning Week 1 of the EPIC Poetry Contest Pamela will receive a $100 gift card, a graphic design of her entry to be promoted on social media, as well as eligibility to be part of the final round of the contest. Pamela’s poem won by popular vote according to a polling method on Zoom. All members of the community are welcome to enter and encouraged to vote for a winner at the end of each event. Contact email@example.com for more information.
Green my world, springtime green tangled wild, verdant lush, sun-glossed green. Lustrous leaves polished in jade, pendulous crystals lighting the way through green velvet pinions of broody hen trees, ruffling against a satin-cool breeze deep in this forest pearl shimmer green. Where whirling, twirling tendrils of spring extend their banners welcoming me in echoed murmurous […]
Humans have always been curious and restless creatures enduring untold hardship into uncharted seas Is it a human instinct that necessitates these pilgrimages of humankind’s history The quest for knowledge is a powerful draw- As magnetically forceful as the fierce drive the salmon must feel as it is pulled relentlessly up the stream to its […]
rain snakes along window panes in tiny beating streams tap-tapping against the roof and walls while I read words on the page another steady flow– “a note was sent to the warden begging his attendance…” I slip along this tale and dream, rain tap-tapping against window panes; outside, the sky shifts light, swinging a cloak […]
It wasn’t fall when he died, closer to winter’s heart, when birds abandon bare trees, dew sets forth its layers. No delicate blossoms lined our path, none of spring’s hopeful renewal, just tired trudging, winter’s dirty boots, a sterile hospital room unfit for a two year old’s play. He unhinged from existence, a blazing gold […]
Let them say the meadow of my heart blossomed in the summer, burst forth in colorful, robust bunches, gleamed– let them say my heart’s woodlands were carpeted and bloomed vividly in the spring. Let them say my heart was a cornucopia, a proud, sturdy host, an open-mouthed vessel which filled itself over and over again. […]