Pacific Raven Press, LLC.

BROWN Brown. I imagined it was such an ordinary color the color of my skin.... Brown, the color of Mother Earth, rivers rain-swelled, a variety of tones, sharps and flats, like people: Africans, Indians, Asians, Pacific Islanders. Don’t mind. Apple Brown Betty, pie crusts, brown gravy, coffee, caramel, chocolates, walnuts, pecans, peanuts, cashews, brown wrapping paper for Xmas packages. Brown, the color of my skin. Don’t mind. Kaleidoscope of kids brown-nose the teacher, preppies scuff their brown penny loafers. Brownstone elegance fights decay creeping blight in New York City, reminding of another timeresurrecting. Browns of tapa cloth, batik, wood carvings carved brown doors to places and events memorable, the brown doors, usually forgotten. Brown owls, chipmunks, squirrels, dogs, horses, elks, bears, giraffes, gazelles, lions, and other creatures around the globe. The color of me, brown. Don’t mind. Browns are as natural as breath, as varied as grains of sand. To think, I imagined it was such an ordinary color, the color of my skin.

MELTDOWN Under the rule of a zealot Opponents beaten and discouraged Thwarted elections... Forgotten revolution The meaning of democracy. Wild animals near extinction Illegal hunters Heedless, greedy poachers Elephants and rhinos at high risk Rare tusks for ancient Chinese remedies Jewelry, decorative art, piano keys Endangered even on animal preserves Where empty nests dot the abandoned trees in leafless intricacy All Nature a sunset witness. Ignorant collaborators Hungry, envious of Western wealth Commit unspeakable acts of cruelty to feed their families and greed. Awesome independence corrupts Distorted collective vision of progress Ignores economic meltdown As policy supports political intimidation Social unrest dominated by bully tactics. Discontent rumbles under the drought of inequality Like magma inflates before an eruption. 2015 by Kathryn Waddell Takara, Pacific Raven Press, LLC. Poem originally published in Zimbabwe Spin: Politics and Poetics by Kathryn Waddell Takara *President Mugabe (Feb. 1924 Sept. 2019) Review of Zimbabwe Spin: Politics and Poetics Poets forge and foster hope. Is present-day Zimbabwe worth a song? Well, Kathryn Takara forces us to believe so: ‘Creative melodies of possibility flash across the darkening horizon lit by evening fires.’ She predicts that the Great House will rise again from its current political mess. Listen to this great American poet, and you will realize Charles Baudelaire lives on. Takara’s dexterity in offering us Zimbabwe on a sweet and sour plate tells us that poetry is sister to photography. -George Gnapka, PhD, author and professor in Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast)

HAPPY YOU AND I Dancing Bumping Spooning... Thumping Waltzing You and I. Laughing Pouting Smiling Shouting Swaying Paying You and I. Tripping Skipping Tipping Lipping Flipping You and I. Hoping Coping Waiting Praying Loving Affirming You and I. 2014 by Kathryn Waddell Takara, Pacific Raven Press, LLC.

MAGNOLIAS & MEMORIES ..................................................She walks out leaving the smell of collard greens, pork chops simmering in bacon grease,... onions, okra, and steaming rice, past the lanky dogs hungry for hunting possum, the smell of gunfire. ..................................................She walks out past the gate across a swaying field, deceptively dry, seductive to a summer wind, a spark, a fire caused by lethal Alabama lightning. ..................................................She walks beyond the homestead, slips under the barbed wire fence, across the neighbor's cotton field, down the soft slope by the creek, mindful of bullwhip snakes and water moccasins. ..................................................She passes surreptitiously on, toward the giant magnolia tree, whose large viridian leaves absorb her misery, whose magnificent flowers sooth her wrinkled confusion. ..................................................She is called Daisy cinnamon brown homegirl in a gallery of Southern colors, sweet smelling white magnolias as intense as burning black flesh, after a lynching, under a saffron sun, and terre green pine trees. ..................................................She moves cautiously cradling searing memories: dancing fields, flash forest fires, dusty roads, and unpredictable black snakes (fearless and fast in striking). Alabama sky, blue witness of countless color-inspired terrors. ..................................................She walks on to a destiny beyond Dixie, beyond the racial creed, beyond the greens, pork chops, possum, fireflies, blackberry bushes, and jagged edges. ..................................................But memories stick, like thick molasses, memories of sweet magnolias and lurking fears.

Choosing movements, editing on a still, sultry afternoon.Choosing movements, editing on a still, sultry afternoon.