Memorial: Theresa McCourt Thomas Mitchell A.M. Clarke Samantha Archuleta Nicholas Kyle Edwards Katherine Breger Zachariah Rush Stephen Cipot III
Theresa McCourt Fond Memories of a Poet and Dear Friend On April 30th, 2017, Theresa McCourt passed away, but left behind cherished memories of her glowing smile, and her beautiful, thought-provoking poetry. Theresa was an amazing supporter of the Sacramento Poetry Center and volunteered countless hours of work for SPC. She was a long-time poetry workshop participant, Editor of Tule Review, event organizer for the Children’s Multicultural Literary Festival, and volunteer for many poetry events throughout the community. Theresa was an amazing poet, and her friendship will be missed among many at SPC, along with the community she supported and inspired. Here is one of her poems published in the June 2008 edition of Poetry Now.
Getting Started
Gimpy, ragged, shifting from stillness to motion, relearning after so many repeated efforts, that breath will even out, that heart, after the initial flurry, will recover an even beat, that hips and knees will be anointed a certain distance from the house. After one or two miles, the Achilles will even shed its shadowy film of scarring, grown anew from one night of stiffening sleep. Since first stepping onto the road, twenty-four years ago, I’ve listened to so many of my grumblings, a variety of complaints— all of them reciting what can’t be done, what I could be doing instead, what I’m not capable of.
THERESA MCCOURT
Autumn Sequel
1. Beyond the window, the geese rise-then float incandescently on the morning haze. 2. There is a different stillness listening to the parables of willows clinging to the hillsides, a certainty of larks singing to themselves. 3. Above the long fencerow, the crooked mountains, the curving moon swinging over the overarching sky. 4. Maybe tomorrow I will forget myself and think of how the world really is when the fading light shines on a heron’s wings.
THOMAS MITCHELL
Walking in the Woods
together we move through the tall pines he tells me of the bad days his words reaching through the sounds of an early autumn there is a need here in the pale shadows the new morning rots like an open fruit
A.M. CLARKE
The Salton Sea
SAMANTHA ARCHULETA
that was the year we visited the Salton Sea the air was thick with death the beach was hot and still the bones of long-dead fish crunched beneath our steps and we were silent because it felt wrong to stir the air I raised my camera with diffidence. maybe it was too hot, maybe it was too bright but the soft swish of the sea seemed to beg me to drop the lens we walked along the edge of the water with our heads bowed the flies swirled around our ankles and our ears pelicans and gulls dipped and danced over the glossy mirror of water unaware and undaunted by the conditions. On the opposite shore we explored the shells of homes long abandoned, reclaimed by salt and time we walked through Salton City, past abandoned dogs, gutted trailers, half buried boats and sagging palms. It seemed like the residents of long ago packed only what they could carry and ran without a backward glance. The town felt hollow and out of place, stuck in time, eroded and ransacked. When we drove away, I watched the mountains in the rearview the town and the desolate sea were quickly disappearing behind the car, and the eerie silence that is settled over Salton City settled between us and has remained there ever since.
June
Invention of age propels the lost society back into the arms of slavery. stranded machinery masses cast mankind away under speechless entertainment. What extinction we build. Adam’s youth now resolved to inhibition God limited through weights of forged material.
NICHOLAS KYLE EDWARDS
Musician in Red
Sitting on the gray weather rocking chair splinters enter my back as it creaks back and forth keeping the beat. Sun fading, nearly down, but that don’t stop the heat from rising, as sweat meanders down my forehead to my chest and underneath my white stained linen shirt. The moist air brushes out the smell from inside the kitchen, Grandma’s gumbo. Silky smooth the red juices will stream side to side in my mouth, streaming through the walls of my cheeks. My mouth salivates waiting to be called in. Grandpa’s timeworn banjo sits comfortably and warm upon my lap as callouses begin to form again on the tired tips of my fingers I think of this past cold, dry, winter.
KATHERINE BREGER
Ode to Bipolar
ZACHARIAH RUSH
“Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride...” — Lord Byron (Mania) To you I owe the lightning of the mind, seething, illuminating, the fullness of ideas, genius clattering out prose, poetry, or painting— sleepless marvels—not still-birthing in dim waking (as others know waking). I walk scorched shores with seraphim... :(: (Depression) To you I owe a thousand gaping wounds, a hundred paltry suicides. my scars screech thru serrated lips scolding me for fatuous dreams except when pain pleases. I have cried out my spirit, plunging limp thru chaos after chaos: so little of my hope remains.
Nocturnal
San Francisco is behind me, then Carmel, the Pacific Ocean is to my right, steep breccia cliffs on the left. The scintillating white and blue surf below these seaside hills show what is merely beautiful and austere. My car and its speed is a metaphor for what is easily ignored—non essential. You stop, and park, and look. Drive on, stop, and look again. The injustice is to what’s eclipsed by the trajectory of movement, between its beginnings and ends. Tonight I walked on the Carmel beach under a full moon that was snowing— the tide was out—walking to the song of the sea and fragrant air. And I ran. The moon unfurled a big white pearl on the trail of ocean, shining crests of waves like luminous flowers opening. And stars dropped chunks of light into the black bay that floated like loons particular to my private singularities. I stopped to notice the differences— for a long time I stopped, like a memory. Like a stranger at the door opening.
STEPHEN CIPOT III
CONTRIBUTOR BIOGRAPHIES Thomas Mitchell studied writing at California State University, Sacramento where he received his MA in English, and worked with his mentor, Dennis Schmitz. He received his MFA in Creative Writing from the the University of Montana where he studied with Richard Hugo, Madeline DeFrees, and William Kittredge. His poems and essays have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including THE NEW ENGLAND REVIEW, NEW LETTERS, QUARTERLY WEST, THE NEW ORLEANS REVIEW, CALIFORNIA QUARTERLY, CLOUDBANK. He taught middle school in Southern Oregon for 31 years, where he now lives on the coast with his wife, Linda. A.M. Clarke has been writing poetry since her early teens. She was born and raised in the panhandle of Florida and, after living in Utah for a few years, she has decided to give living in Sacramento a try. She currently lives with her boyfriend and two long suffering cats. Samantha Archuleta is a writer of poetry and nonfiction. She teaches high school English in Sacramento, CA where she lives with her husband and two dogs. Nicholas Kyle Edwards is an aspiring, Californian poet. Reflecting on America and individuality, his poems ooze Beatnik influence and existential philosophies. Studying philosophy at Sacramento City College and working in a local bookstore, Nicholas spends his time thinking on the big questions of ethics. Further, as an avid reader, he constantly inquires into the nature of knowledge. He takes long walks in a forest near his home, and he does so, all in pursuit of discovering his own writing, out of necessity , rather than desire. Katherine Breger, originally from Hollister California, enjoys writing poetry as a way to escape and express her thoughts. Her work is inspired mostly by romance, music, nature, and family within her life. Breger finds it very important to write what she knows or has experienced as a way to embody honest and pure emotion. Influences such as Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, Naomi Shihab Nye, and Phillip Levine inspire her to write every single day keeping her dedicated and grounded. Breger currently resides in Davis, California acquiring her multiple subject teaching credential from the University of California Davis. Zachariah Rush was born in Manchester, England, where his early poetry was published in small press anthologies. Since moving to the USA in 2007 he published the books 'Beyond the Screenplay' (McFarland, 2012), and 'Cinema & its Discontents' (McFarland, 2016), dozens of essays of film criticism and translated Albert Camus' 'L'ĂŠtranger' into a libretto for operatic performance. In recent months he has returned to writing poetry. Stephen Cipot is a scientist for the U.S.E.P.A., writer, runner, poet. Awards include an Edward Albee residency. He assisted the US tour featuring Aeronwy Thomas and Peter Thabit Jones. Publications include: Veils, Halos and Shackles: International Poetry on the Abuse and Oppression of Women; PRISM: a Journal for Holocaust Educators; The Paterson Literary Review; The Seventh Quarry; LI Pulse; Korean Expatriate Literature; American Tanka; Anton Newspapers, GLIRC Footnotes.