03/05/2018 Bruce Fessenden's Poetry

Always Open Mic, always free.  Bruce lives in Berkeley and is co-owner of Fessenden Firewood with his partner Christine.  He has been deeply immersed in the natural world his entire life through the activities of backpacking, climbing and skiing.  A book of his poems —“Crimson Coat” — was published in 2014 by Goldenstone Press.  Pieces of Bruce’s writings have appeared in a MoonShine Star Co. anthology called “What is Love”, and also in Richard Grossinger’s book “2013”.  A second volume of poems, titled “Bones” will be published shortly.                                        Rough-Cut   People are sick these days     you can hear it in the coughing     at the coffee house, behind the words     you can hear the phlegm     from rushing around too fast     chasing after what they already have. Inside lung and organ tissue, inside marrow of bone     unseen surfaces, stairways, hidden windows     are already here in the world     patiently waiting to be found.   It’s not that I’m rough all the time     it’s something else, something that doesn’t quite fit     or is a little too silent     some part of me a little awkward     a little alien; never feel quite right     in the light of the everyday world.   I’m not a misfit, not a stranger     I fit in, in a different sort of way     like a crystal, opaque and transparent simultaneous     almost black, but inward, not glowing     more like an emphasizing     the innerness of the stone     a soft radiance, like an animal     attentive, alive to its world     just noticing, nothing more.   My darkness is the glade     on the western side of the ridge     where nobody goes. Or the wild desert, a land of extremes     harsh at high noon; yet crystalline purity     with the early morning light. Caravansari of old brought a human exchange     all the remains is the sand, the dunes     nights littered with stars. What is exchanged now?  Where there is only wind     and endless quiet, where footprints     are erased in an instant.   What is my last day?     Is it the holly tree, with its deep greens     and reds; luscious growth and a steady joy? Or is it the aurora borealis, with crackling mystery     and otherworldly colors: lime, magenta, pink? What have I released back to the     ground, to matter, to the mother     to the innerness of all things? What gesture was I making inside     the arc of my days, that others may have noticed     which I could never see. But love is not for understanding     love is an activity; love moves. Ashes to ashes, the course of my days     a hollowing, for innerness     a hallowing, full circle, the shape that     holds the sacred, like a garden     sifting, reflecting, dreaming     then releasing.     7 PM to 9pm Mondays (except some Holidays)   HIMALAYAN FLAVORS Restaurant 1585 University Ave. in Berkeley,  (near the corner of California) Off-street parking available in parking lot adjacent to the restaurant.   Poetry Express is will be 16 years old this year. Thanks to all who have featured, attended, read during open mic, and contributed to our long run supporting poetry and poets.