Taking the Open Mic by Storm

By Camincha

THE BLUE MONKEY on Hayes Street in San Francisco,

you couldn’t miss this great open mic cafe!

There it was. One whole wall depicted vividly a jungle scene, the green, the dew on the leaves, the sun pushing light through the plants. There in the middle of the room was an enormous Blue Monkey clinging to the trunk of a tree. His face turned to contemplate the busy goings on in the café.  His eyes opened wide, surprised.

The place had changed hands. Alba had questions. Nobody knew the answers. Why it had been sold was a mystery.  But THE BLUE MONKEY kept attracting people. Bob became a frequent reader. He came at first with two, three people. Women. Late twenties, early thirties. Attractive, excellent full figures, curvy in just the right places. 

The first time Alba saw Bob and his friends, they had signed on the open mic list under his name. When he was called, one of the women got up and danced a most lovely, voluptuous number. Scantily dressed, she floated around the café aided by two pieces of gauzy cloth. Her performance was received with exuberant enthusiasm. The temperature in the café reached new levels.

In the following weeks, different people took the lead on the open mic, managing the readings. One night a woman was at the podium,

assertive, organized. Her name was Jeannie and from that moment on THE BLUE MONKEY took off in a meteoric run. It was lots of fun to be there. 

People read joyfully, giving it their best. Jeannie was totally dedicated, paid out of her own pocket to make printed flyers and postcards. She also made sure the readings were posted in all Bay Area newspapers. She also invited literary figures to come listen which resulted in their work being published. Like Alba, who presented a poem.

One night Jeannie materialized by Alba’s side and said, "I want to feature you, to read with Alain Mc Kodak.  Alain is established as poet and writer, he's well known. He wants you because you are new at this." This amused Alba, who knew that Alain wanted someone who wouldn't be better than he was.

She said yes to Jeannie. On her way home Alba laughed out loud. She thought, hmmmm, she thinks I’m not good enough on

Open Mic. 

Well, I know am good. I’ll be great. What’s important is that I’m featured at the HOTTEST venue in San Francisco!

The Café was standing room only. Alba had worked the phone inviting everyone she knew. She was so grateful they responded. The reading was just great!  

All my love. Thank you everyone! My roses are keeping me company 'till I do open mic again!  Meanwhile I practice...

Camincha is the pen name for a prolific California writer. This piece is an excerpt from her novel, "The ‘90s, Golden Era of Open Mics." Stay tuned for more excerpts!

I've heard about the THIRD EYE before but now......

This morning
meditating

eye started seeing
eyes, I saw
eyes from the side, left
dissolving into
eyes from the right.

Eye saw
some from the front
head on straight
but always shape-shifting.
I would turn my attention to the image
and voila, it would disappear!
And a new eye would
appear in its place,
as if the eyes were melting
pooling into water.

I have heard about
the third eye
and its connection
to
a mystical and esoteric concept referring to a speculative invisible eye which provides perception beyond ordinary sight.^[1] The third eye refers to the gate that leads to inner realms and spaces of higher consciousness. 

Magical,

these eyes.
I feel deeply grateful that
every time I close my I's
Eye can conjure another
I.

A BABY IS BORN

Pardon me for wanting to show you photos of my brand new grandson, Ronen. But the fact is, he is the most awesome child in the world. Every grandma knows that to be true about her grandchildren. :)

Only a week old, he has already wrapped each one of us in love. He is a miracle for sure.

His mom, my daughter Jocelyn, is extraordinary, caring for him, loving him, being the best mother in the world. My son-in-law, Evan, is an unbelievably supportive husband and father. What a blessing  it is to watch the two of them bonding with their newborn son.

Here is Ronen coming home from the hospital:

 Here is Ronen holding on to his daddy's chin:

Here is Ronen yawning with his Mom

By the way, Ronen is a Hebrew name which means "Song of Joy." That is surely an apt name for this tiny tune of a boy who is bringing everyone so much happiness just by being alive!

More Words To Fathom

By Sharon Flitterman-King

Words grow out of words

I fathom that—

  from the Indo-European root

  word pet: To spread

As in “length of two arms

stretched out.”

         .

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his eyes

         .

But wait, there’s more:

the Latin patere to be open

  comes from pet

  As in patent and clear

    and open

to understanding

Or the Latin pandere

  to spread out, in

  expand, the possibilities

of fathom

the word

Related to the beautiful

  petal, from the Greek

  petalon, from pet

    a leaf, whose loveliness

    often I cannot

fathom

Then there’s paella and pan

  also from pet, in the

  Greek patane, or

  “thing spread out”

So let’s eat and drink

  to words—

  as we fathom them

    together

         .

Nothing of him that does fade

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich

  and strange

the fathomless tempest

of words.

--For Claudia

Sharon Flitterman-King, PhD, lives with her husband in Hillsdale, New York. She is the author of "A Secret Star," among other works.

 

 

        . 

Fathoming the Moment

It started as a single word

I heard it
ringing inside my head
during this morning's
meditation.

For some odd reason
I will never quite ==fathom==
that very word
FATHOM popped
up front and center
in my mind
I was so pulled by it that
I stopped meditation
went into the
study to consult
the Oxford
dictionary
it said the
word
was derived
from Old English

"two arms
outstretched
embrace
bosom"
and then
"grasp,
power."

I went back
to meditating
and drinking my warm
cup of chai,
but I wasn't
able to stop thinking
about fathom,
and then into my head
came Eckart Tolle's book
THE POWER OF NOW,
I read that book
I keep it beside my
bed I am never very
far away
because what Tolle
 is
saying that I love
is that
we can only come into
consciousness
when we live
in the PRESENT MOMENT
but how do we fathom
this and this
and this and this
====moment ====
moments always
slippery and sliding
away?

I inhaled and
and went back
to meditating
I kept tr=====y====ing
to embrace the NOW
Tolle writes:
"Focus attention on
the feeling inside you,
but don't think about
it just FEEL IT
STOP THINKING
because
"The mind, to ensure that it
remains in control,
seeks continuously to cover
up the PRESENT ==== MOMENT

with past and future,"
The hear
and
HERE AND
===NOW===
here LIES THE
KEY TO
ultimately A UNION
WITH THE DIVINE
POWER OF THE UNIVERSE
yes, that is GOD but
Tolle says don't use
that Word because
"the word God
has become empty of meaning
through thousands of years of
misuse."

Now I sit here hours
later so many thousand
present moments
have gone flittering away
with me not
BEING in them.

I try to fathom
not thinking
and I cannot
I am lost
going out
of my mind.

But I am still
sitting here
truly
====trying====
to stop explaining
to stop writing
to you
and just start
feeling
it is snowing
softly outside the window
every flake falling
moment after moment
at an angle
The birds
outside the kitchen keep
pecking at
the suet they come swooping in and
flying and landing
on the feeders
with the black
oiled
sunflower
seed

and now for God's
sake I need to
stop,
====JUST STOP===
this poem has gone
on long enough
don't
write another
============

So cold so cold so so so so cold...

How cold is cold is cold is cold is cold? It’s just

way way way way way way way too cold. :)

Too cold to hold the steering wheel, even with padded mittens!

So cold that fingertips burrrrrrrrn

So cold that the nose –if exposed-- quickly turns the pink of a rose.
Only stalwart birds venture out to the feeders!

Chimneys pipe out circles of hot breath.

People bundle up in so many layers of hats and scarves and hoods

that you cannot tell who they are. 

Cars don’t start

or if they do,

they groan

and squeak

in all of their metal joints

when you turn the ignition.

But then

comes a morning

like this one, the sky

as clear as blue crystal

You sigh and

you say

oh well the air might be as fierce as white cold fire out there

but it’s still one grandly beautiful day.

SNOW POEM

As blank as this white screen

is the view outside my window.

Snow falling, snow blowing,

mounding higher and higher

on every surface.

Is it me? Or do you find

that the perfect whiteness

of a blank winter page

strikes up some anxiety?

As if we were still in school

and no matter that we didn’t

know what the hell we were

supposed to be writing,

we still somehow had to fill the

white sheet of lined paper

with our brightest ideas.

Today I stand beside the window

And force myself to slow

Down down down

to match the falling snow.

The only motion is that of

the flakes

pillowing 

in steep angles

 to the ground.

It being Saturday

There is

Nowhere to go

Nothing to do

Except fill the bird feeders

and build a fire in the

woodstove and read a book

or look out the window

or write poetry and

snap photographs of the snow.