My Skyline

The city

deluminate

at half past sixteen

Cubicle dwellers

put on their

fluorescent-goggles

Industry folk

scavenge

for breakfast

Rush hour trains

lullaby

the exhausted

Loved ones

meet

to dine

And we

ask  did the city speed up

or did we slow down?

Photo by Malay Prakash. Words by Ciara Brewer.

Terrapin Dreams

They say they closed
it down, that old campground
we all knew so well.
The smoke-filled sun
rising bit-by-bit
over the cliff with
each thump of the drums
beating together.
Snapping embers
flitting past the belly dancers
flying over the crowd
landing, pure soot
in the trampled grass.
The grass that cradled us
while others wandered Shakedown street
or searched for tents.
We melted with the air
fell with the morning dew
awoke wrapped in a blanket
of Terrapin Station--Grateful
opening our eyes.
The morning whistle blew
and reality set in,
it was the beginning
of the end. 

Art by Debbie Poon. Words by Ciara Brewer.

Melodic Strands

Electric guitar
chords
pulsate ears
on southbound bus--
rifts based
on Mississippi
Delta and Piedmont
styles
spitting lessons
into jugs.
Howling--
Fingers
bending string
recorded
by needle
injecting bits,
circuits filed away
in Library
of Congress,
promoted
by race record
companies.
Inspiring Chicago
Westside sound
of Blue--
grass vibrant
as Sierra foothill
hiking trail
in April;
marked directions
to road
to dam-dried cascades
to polygamous village
plagued by Gold Rush
drowned in
lake.

 

Poem by Ciara Brewer.  Response by Nadia Hassler.

Ned

 

 

Scene 1: Ned the Lonely Pear

Hi! I’m Ned
Want to sit next to me on the bus?
Want to play a game?

More formally I am  known as:
Nincompoop
Eating
Decipherables
You probably know me as:
The Cat That Got Your Tongue.
Clearly, I am not a cat. I am a pear
and you can call me Ned.

Let’s play my favorite game:
word bank.
You know how to play?
Where I take your thought bubble (like this)
eat all the nouns
scramble the verbs
serve them to you and you
spit out something.
You know that one friend?

“want...go...can...said...hungry...”

Scene 2: Nei the Hard Core

Hey. I am Nei.

More formally known as:
Nincompoop
Eaten by
Indecipherables.
You probably know me as Ned the lonely pear.
But, clearly, I am not a pear. I am a hard core. 

I only eat pronouns.I do not play games.

 

 

Art by Christina Steele. Words by Ciara Brewer.

A Villanelle from Down Under

Remember to look up when down under
and forget where to place your feet
to fall into inversion.

When the air smells grouchy and cries with thunder
or toes drag through blades of grass in defeat,
remember to look up when down under.

When sponged-skin soaks sun on a carefree meander;
those cunning trained eyes retreat
to fall into inversion.

After bright eyed nights, mind exploding in wander
of potential accomplishments to be beat:
remember to look up when down under.

Trains, Planes and Automobiles-- stop,  ponder:
sometimes its only clear when two strangers meet--
remember to look up when down under
to fall into inversion.

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Ciara Brewer.

An Eccentric Apparition

Beclouded is the dance silhouette.
And how it dances! Expanding through air
studded with experiences, shining.
The person and its phantom reversing
roles, practicing polished poses, discreet.
Acting out tomorrow’s incidentals,
perfecting those responses, avoiding
surprises, fathoming the unknown future
through poised body language. And then she stops,
eyes fall to floor, mirroring the image--
her beclouded doppelganger looks up
and asks: How far down the rabbit hole
do you want to go?

Photo by Steve Brian. Words by Ciara Brewer.

The Bamboo Vamp

She lures her lover
in royal fibers,
hues of desire,
visible only by caress
of lips in anticipation.

Lips quivering
from foot to thigh
through chakra cascades
until tongue touches lip.
Tasting her aura,
electrifying bud,
salivating mind,
converging energies;
gently dissipating
her mask of animal.

Photo by Caroline Näslund. Words by Ciara Brewer.

The Quilter

The Quilter

She is the fabric
of stitched sleeves,
triangles quilted
needle to thimble,
frayed knots
doubled over threads
stretching stitch
hole to hole
patch to  patch
methodically, slowly
uniting colors
shapes, sizes.
Body
momentarily separates:
by shoulders containers of stress
by breast donors of nourishment
by belly consumer of consumption.
When she reerects herself
from picking up
fumbled tools
they will be woven together
her masterpiece.

Sketch by Caroline Näslund. Words by Ciara Brewer.

 

Japanese Gift Shop

 

At first, I would resist going to Colorado with my Grandparents. Days structured:
planned meals, fifteen mile mountain bike trails, summer reading lists, and prompt
bed times. On Rainy days, go to town and spend hours in gift shops, perusing souvenirs
for middle school peers, an attempt to relate the essence of summer vacation. A Japanese shop in Frisco received my rummaging hands, wanderlust eyes and smiles of curiosity-- the owner noticed-- she picked up a black stone and explained the trifecta of the smoothly carved caricature: a rice patty, a house, a companion. It means happiness.

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Words by Ciara Brewer.

Shadows

street light lassos them through one way mirror
stretching through cataract mist
wandering lightly sauteed in cloud butter

city under skyline stolen from reflection
sacrificed to Poseidon
                          can you feel him swallowing it all up?

Photo by Amanda Grupp and Randy Conner. Words by Ciara Brewer.

We are tourists in Chicago

Wake from sun squeezed 

by stone and concrete

illuminating windows 

opening our eyes

to go  consume

an authentic Chicago experience.

We ride Lake Front path

with packed crate on bike 

and bag full of U-lock, lunch,

entertainment and essentials

balancing our experience of

naturous Lake Michigan

 and Chicago metropolis

on trail supported by concrete 

built over trash heaps

accumulated from e x p a n d i n g.

We exit the path and return

to feel-of-the-road directions

or Google maps stuffed in pockets.

If lost, we stop.

We buy Streetwise and

pretend that karma stopped us.

Fulfilled day of urban participation--

we re-enter bike path,

sit on concrete steps over

lake water absorbing and reflecting\

our wisdoms of the day.

 

Photo by Julia Kruy.  Words by Ciara Brewer.

Domesticated Dog

 

satin-red lead constrains him
he watches
squirrel taunting

canine eyes
reflect image, process
id festers

wooden deck
sun descends, cold
shades of gray char

grade-e protein bowl
in-satiating, manufactured

he hunts
 

Photo by John Henry. Words by Ciara Brewer.

City Prancer

City Prancer—

swing  umbrella

cross eighty-three

skip fresh coffee-talk

egg-white-omelet-silent   

observations

Cyborg—

left hand plugged

communal pulses

electrify human mind

flip switch

touch weather app

wear black, bring umbrella, exude gloom

complain through media

stay connected, work, pay bill.

Human—

unplug your arm

paint walls

splash sidewalk with green sediment

dance precipitated translucent sprinkles

turn on fluorescent stoop lights

crush rose petals on doorsteps

inhale lilacs before storm

Metropolis—

exhale technological impulse

keep walking

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Ciara Brewer.