Enjoy an evening of poetry with Kathryn Takara and friends, and get your copy of her latest publication, Season’s in Haiku, Saturday, October 1st.

RED DREAMS, VOLCANO VISIONS

An exciting pocketbook of poetry that offers Takara’s firsthand observations and reflections of the 2018 Kīlauea eruption, including the following poem.

PELE AND FISSURE 8

ZIMBABWE SPIN: POLITICS & POETICS

This poem, originally published in Zimbabwe Spin: Politics and Poetics by Kathryn Waddell Takara, refers in part to the then-President of Zimbabwe, the late Robert Mugabe (Feb. 21, 1924 – Sept. 6, 2019).

MELTDOWN

Under the rule of a zealot
Opponents beaten and discouraged
Thwarted elections
Forgotten revolution
The meaning of democracy.

Wild animals near extinction
Illegal hunters
Heedless, greedy poachers
Elephants and rhinos at high risk
Rare tusks for ancient Chinese remedies
Jewelry, decorative art, piano keys
Endangered even on animal preserves
Where empty nests dot the abandoned trees in leafless intricacy
All Nature a sunset witness.

Ignorant collaborators
Hungry, envious of Western wealth

Commit unspeakable acts of cruelty to feed their families and greed.

Awesome independence corrupts
Distorted collective vision of progress
Ignores economic meltdown
As policy supports political intimidation
Social unrest dominated by bully tactics.

Discontent rumbles under the drought of inequality
Like magma inflates before an eruption.

Copyright 2015 Pacific Raven Press, LLC

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Brown.
I imagined it was such an ordinary color
the color of my skin.
 
Brown, the color of Mother Earth,
rivers rain-swelled,
a variety of tones, sharps and flats, like people:
Africans, Indians, Asians, Pacific Islanders.
Don’t mind.
 
Apple Brown Betty, pie crusts, brown gravy,
coffee, caramel, chocolates,
walnuts, pecans, peanuts, cashews,
brown wrapping paper for Xmas packages.
Brown, the color of my skin. Don’t mind.
 
Kaleidoscope of kids brown-nose the teacher,
preppies scuff their brown penny loafers.
Brownstone elegance fights decay
creeping blight in New York City,
reminding of another time—resurrecting.
 
Browns of tapa cloth, batik, wood carvings
carved brown doors to places
and events memorable,
the brown doors, usually forgotten.
 
Brown owls, chipmunks, squirrels, dogs,
horses, elks, bears, giraffes,
gazelles, lions, and other creatures
around the globe. The color of me, brown.
Don’t mind.
 
Browns are as natural as breath,
as varied as grains of sand.
To think, I imagined it was such an ordinary color,
the color of my skin.