The LMU Extension Poetry Series takes place on select Thursday nights at 8pm in Room #1857 of University Hall at 1 LMU Drive, Los Angeles, CA 90045. Park free in P2-P3 and turn left as you enter the underground parking area. Take the middle set of elevators to G level (elevator room #2). As soon as you exit the elevator take an immediate right through the silver doors and curl around behind the elevators, look for posted signage. (if you go into the Atrium, you have gone too far). There is a limited Open Reading. Sign-ups at 7:45 (5 minutes or two poems).
Ricki Mandeville’s poems have appeared in Comstock Review, Spot Lit, San Pedro River Review, The Raintown Review and other journals. She has edited more than 15 volumes of poetry and is a cofounder of Moon Tide Press, as well as its consulting editor. She is the author of A Thin Strand of Lights (Moon Tide Press) and a chapbook, Beneath My Bed. A speaker, for various literary events in south Orange County, she lives near the ocean in Huntington Beach, California.
Lee Rossi’s new book is Wheelchair Samurai. His poems, reviews and interviews have appeared in The Sun, Poetry Northwest, Chelsea, The Beloit Poetry Journal, and The Southern Poetry Review. He is a staff reviewer and interviewer for the online literary magazine Pedestal. He lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.
Winter Moon Pantoum
Outside, a scarf of light around a throat of moon,
a wind slipping a veil of clouds around the stars,
and I’m a silhouette behind a frosted windowpane,
craving the silent benediction of snow.
A wind slipping a veil of clouds around the stars;
steep hillsides buried deep in fallen leaves
craving the silent benediction of snow
beneath an orchestra of tossing trees. .
Steep hillsides buried deep in fallen leaves,
strange shadows turning in an endless dance
beneath an orchestra of tossing trees,
and here, on the window ledge, his books all stacked.
Strange shadows turning in an endless dance
against my walls, moon-paled to silver gray,
and here, on the window ledge, his books all stacked
dreaming the touch of his long, brown hands.
Against my walls, moon-paled to silver gray,
my shadow waltzes in a flannel gown,
dreaming the touch of his long, brown hands
as clocks strike winter in the hall.
My shadow waltzes in a flannel gown,
and I’m a silhouette behind a frosted windowpane
as clocks strike winter in the hall.
Outside, a scarf of light around a throat of moon. –r.mandeville, from A Thin Strand of Lights
Pen Fetishist
I’ll admit that whenever he took the seventeen-
hundred dollar Mont Blanc from his briefcase,
uncapped and flashed the nib –
sun on Alpine snow – I had pen envy.
Haven’t I always said, poverty knows best?
And haven’t I lived as if the world would be
no poorer if I suddenly disappeared?
Yes, I disapprove of him and his spending.
But now that his limited edition Faulkner
commemorative radiates oversized serenity
in my inside pocket, where will his optimism
come from? Let him have his Lexus, his blonde!
I’m keeping a firm grip on the tool
of his trade! I’m about to make my mark. -l.rossi