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1. Mark Weber 09.02.10 / 12pm

   Some of the idea for this poem
   overtook me in this powerful couple paragraphs
   on p294 of Peter Matthiessen’s SNOW LEOPARD
   where he quotes his young wife who has just died in NYC
   during a snow storm — cancer:

   I left the hospital just before daybreak. It was snowing.
   Walking through the silent streets, I remembered Deborah’s
   beloved Zen expression: “No snowflake ever falls in the
   wrong place.” Even in this grim winter dawn, everything was
   as it should be, the snowflakes were falling without effort, all
   was calm and clear. In her book, she says:

   The flower fulfills its immanence, intelligence implicit
   in its unfolding.
   There is a discipline.
   The flower grows without mistakes.
   A man must grow himself, until he understands the
   intelligence of the flower.

   To proceed as though you know nothing, not even
   your age, nor sex, nor how you look. To proceed as
   though you were made of gossamer . . . a mist that
   passes through and is passed through and retains its
   form. A mist that loses its form and still is. A mist that
   finally dissolves, particles scattered in the sun.

   –Deborah Love
   ANNAGHKEEN (Random House, 1970)
2. Dottie Grossman 10.02.10 / 4pm

   If I have a pal in Palos Verdes,
   what have I got in Pismo Beach.
   For twenty-five thousand dollars,
   what have I got in Pismo Beach?

   Green is my pal in Palos Verdes,
   hurricane-eyed and hot.
   Even if he leaves,
   there will be green consolation.

   Twenty-five thousand clams,
   that’s what I’ve got in Pismo Beach.
   Twenty-five thousand blind
   and rock-blue clams,
   whistling in the dark at Pismo Beach.
3. Connie Crothers 15.02.10 / 3pm

   This poem and the photo really gets to me. Resonates. Fog-bound towns… I grew up with them. I loved getting over to Half Moon Bay. In those years, no one really especially wanted to go there. It was not a destination. Mostly, it was because it was usually cold and fog-bound. Also, there was a strong undertow there, not much good for swimming, much less sun-bathing, just walking and dreaming. I had to watch my step so I wouldn’t disturb one of the many large jelly fish that washed up on the beach. The kelp was often 30 feet long. Also dreamlike were the fields of artichokes, big thistles that didn’t look edible on the stalk. There were shacks set back from the road, visible through the thick mists.
4. David Meltzer 16.02.10 / 3am

   Mark
   was memory cloud dancing
   during my southern California days
   in exile from Brooklyn
   the full moonlit vision
   of grunions was in Malibu
   hanging out w/ surfers in a collective pad
   called Orgy Towers
   a month or so later
   I was living w/ Pete Jolly’s ex-wife
   in Topanga
   after hanging out in her downtown Hollywood pad
   facing the freeway facing
   Hollywood Blvd
   (Jack Sheldon, Warne Marsh, Ronnie Ball,
   & a cast of many including Chet who
   dropped by to hit the head
   & exit much later w/out saying goodbye or hello)

   so much more
   like you
   we’ve been around

   more

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