Mood:
hungryTopic: Jammin in the Street
Food for Thought
Just when I think, "All is lost! We have lost sight of Mother Earth; Plundered her resources, Bled her dry, We have lost our way And can never get back!" I stumble upon the Alameda Farmers' Market: Music, blue sky, blue and white tents, Blueberries, nectarines, peaches, Red onions, yukon gold potatoes, Broccili, red beets. Vendors who know How their crops were grown. Customers on foot With expectant faces. I take a breath My face softens. "Perhaps all is not lost," I think. The girl from the organic stand Wears a T-shirt that says it all: "Beet the system." 　 copyright by Cathy Dana, 2010 　 Sighting the Poet at WesCafe 　 Most of all a poet, rounding over your blackberry, searching the right word, texting friends, telegraphing exploding images in bass and treble clefs. While coffee turns cool in your white ceramic cup, your true best self from inner heat emerges as you play your word concertos to a distant audience. Those phrasings chink your smooth smiling, fine line your polished marble presentations, soften your mouth's corners, the suspicions of our hearts, listening for the rest notes in the piece, the halting word, (even if there are only three), the stumble of the man yet to understand the boy (but wanting to), who knows this man, beams out in firefly moments, proud of his flight from the bumblebees. 　 　 Copyright 2010 by Mary Loughran 　 1981 　 Just one quarter to play my favorite game I rummage deep within my pockets there must be a quarter there trying to feel it out amongst pennies, nickels and dimes Just one quarter Just one quarter, to play my favorite game Black Knight or Wizard or Xenon Back then there were no deals $.75 per game or 3 games for $2. just one quarter for just one game unless you were good enough and made the points unless you were lucky enough and got a match And there it was, my last quarter deep within my pocket I pull it out as I make my way Keeping it tight in my hand Straight past those other games Pacman Centipede Asteroids Those games will never do Because with my last quarter I'm playing my favorite game Copyright by Catherine Murty 　 Real Food
Move over, Safeway--- Farmers' Market's come to town! Real Food soothes, sings, soars. 　 Copyright by Cathy Dana, 2010 　 　 The spring compresses, Storing it's release until Commanded to fire. Rising against the will & law Of gravity, the first Player enter the arena. Under a barrage of thumpers, Knocking down a row of Cheap soldiers, the player Careens off a diversion, Through cacophony of Bells & bars, descends Into the night. – M.S. "Pinball is Rock and Roll" 　 Lights flashing Buzzers buzzing Bumpers bumping Fast then slow Arcing Rebound Defying Physics and gravity Yet intrinsically Subject to the Universal laws of life The more you get The easier it is to get more Yet still the Element of randomosity Is the shiva of the game. 　 Bow Wow Doggie Diner's pointed snout Pointing out from off the corner Compete in quality, very nice Vanquished by the cheapy price Leaving quality mourners.. – Webster Street copyright 2010 Kenneth Peterson 　 The Elders Inn, Our Saving Grace
When he turned sixty,
Trying not to let his wicked smile show,
My dad gleefully announced his new life goal:
"I want to be a curmudgeon when I grow up," he said.
But he failed.
His curmudgeonly skills never fully matured;
Everyone at the Elders Inn loved him:
The residents, the aides, the nurse, the administrator.
Everyone.
At eighty, before his big heart attack,
My dad lived in Southern Cal, alone, independent---
"My carefree, happy bachelor days," he said,
Trying not to let his wicked smile show.
After the hospital stabilized his heart and discharged him,
We drove him four hundred miles north, to Alameda.
He didn't think he'd live long. We didn't either,
So Hospice came to the rescue, but everyone's jaw
dropped
When he became a Hospice graduate. Everyone's jaw.
So we had to find a new home for him.
He refused to be a burden;
"Do not take me into your home," he insisted,
And I knew he meant it.
So we began to look, and our spirits sagged
As did our backs, hefting his wheelchair
In and out the trunk of our car,
Checking out potential new homes,
Time after time shaking our heads "no."
Finally, finally, finally we found the perfect place,
The Elders Inn, our saving grace.
Copyright by Cathy Dana, 2010
My Dad Had a Wicked Sense of Humor
Everyone at the Elders Inn knew that my dad, Lang Dana,
Had a wicked sense of humor.
The young Philippine aide knew, as she administered his
meds.
"Mr. Dana!" she said, giggling away.
The residents knew he had a wicked sense of humor.
Bertha, ninety-one, beamed as she told
Her favorite story over and over.
"Lang's arms were all bruised," she explained,
"So I asked him, 'Lang, what happened?'
And he looked me right in the eye
And said, 'Well, I fell down.
Then I looked in the mirror
And I wasn't satisfied,
So I fell down again.'"
Bertha shook her head in disbelief,
"That Mr. Dana!" she said, giggling away.
His family knew he had a wicked sense of humor.
When I came to visit,
He showed me his hurt shoulder.
"The comforter on my bed has it in for me,"
He confided, leaning forward conspiratorily.
"Last night while I was fast asleep
My comforter grabbed me by the foot,
Yanked me out of bed,
And threw me down on the floor.
My comforter has it in for me."
"Oh Dad!" I said, giggling away.
Everyone at the Elders Inn knew my dad had
a wicked sense of humor.
Copyright by Cathy Dana, 2010
Fortune Cookies, Friends, and Favorites
Chamomile lemon tea is my choice,
With honey, of course.
I sit, I sip,
Pausing in an otherwise
Furiously busy day. Again.
Here in WesCafe
I find refuge from the world's demands,
From my own demands of myself.
In these times of corporations,
Big business, and chains
It is refreshing, heart-warming
To find this homey, home-grown cafe
Created by Monica and Miguel
Out of passion and dreams and elbow grease.
Love, warmth, and wisdom pour out from the cafe wall
Where hand-painted words proclaim truths---
"A calm sea never made a skilled mariner"
Catches my eye and gets my head bobbing up and down.
Miguel tells me Monica and their daughter
Hand-painted the sayings, which cover the entire wall.
I ask Monica, who I am meeting for the first time,
"Where did you get those sayings on the wall?"
She laughs. "From fortune cookies, friends, and
favorites," she says.
"Oh! You just gave me the title of my poem!" I say.
Copyright by Cathy Dana, 2010
GOING NOTICED
I go noticed on Webster Street by a great many people;
Precisely, my dog and I go noticed there-
To be even more precise, the harness on her back
Causes the three of us to get paid attention to.
Their presence means the absence of some eyesight on my part.
It also means the presence of many acts of kindness.
Like my accoutrements and me,
They all go noticed.
A voice emerges from a waiting car
Informing me of my ability to cross the street at Santa Clara
.
Other, more visible good Samaritans
Hold open doors or give warning
When construction cones are sprouting from the
broken sidewalk next to the veterinary clinic.
Even the neighborhood drunk is solicitous.
He appears periodically
To ask me if I am all right,
And, once, even to supervise my safety
While I was curbing the dog just beyond the local pub.
The only payment he extracts from me
Is my acknowledgement of him.
"Don't say 'Hi, R---!'" He shouts from the pavement
Beside the now-closed restaurant on the corner,
On a dun-colored morning
Or a harried afternoon.
Naturally I respond as he wishes, with "Hey, R---!" –
His kingly name a demand for attention in and of itself.
I once even heard him tell a companion at the curb in front of my
house
(after the customary transaction was completed)
That he wished that he could give me his eyes.
He, who was often unseen
Was more than willing to go unseeing
For my sake.
I ponder the meaning of invisibility
And blindness
As my dog and I cross Central Avenue and sojourn up Webster
Street,
Past the bar, and the post office, and all the rest of the stores,
Some of which I know, some of which I don't,
And arrive at the bus stop, still pondering.
I was ruminating so hard that I almost missed the bus,
But the driver wouldn't let me because she had noticed me.
I am humbled by R---;
All he wants is to go noticed by me,
And has no fear of helping out with the task.
He, who may or may not be Elijah, or Jesus,
Or some fallen angel,
But is far more than what he appears to be
On the sidewalks around Webster Street.
Copyright by Alysa Chadow
　
Silver ball shiny, roundy.
Come near my flip, I smack you soundly.
Bounce off the rubber,
then hit the post.
Give me points
So I can boast. – M.S. CROLL'S The Croll Building, on the corner of Webster St. and Central Ave., was the site of Croll's Gardens and Hotel. Today a beautifully preserved building. Allowing my mind to drift back through time: Famous for training great fighters of boxing history. Sailing ships from Alaska bringing fish to be canned. The Transcontinental railroad ending, passed Croll's on it's way to the Mole and Ferry to San Francisco. Alameda became an island, Bay Farm Island became a peninsula Local steam commuter lines of the Southern Pacific, later transformed into the East Bay Electric Lines. Not streetcars, but full-sized railroad cars which connected to the mainland by bridges at Webster Street and Fruitvale. Across the street from Croll's - - - Neptune Beach Unique American snow cone and the popsicle first sold here. The Kewpie doll, the original prize for winning games at the beach Two Olympic-size swimming pools and an exceptional roller coaster, hand-carved carousel, the Ferris wheel, roller coaster and other rides. The Cottage Baths were available for rent. Webster Street home of Skippy Peanut Butter. Jack London known to take part in oyster pirating. Pan American Airways established a seaplane port, the original home base for the famous China Clipper. The world's first-ever containerized shipping crane was used. Alameda is a "Coast Guard City." Alameda's industrial and ship building industries thrived. The advent of World War II, the Naval Air Station was established. Now home of the Hornet. 　 Copyright by: Peter E. Sandholdt 　 FARMERS' MARKET
　
On Tuesdays Webster Street becomes alive. Parking at a premium, people hustling everywhere. The Farmers' Market is open. Entering the market you are met with a gorgeous array of flowers Both potted and cut. Then a large variety of fruit and vegetable stands. To the left of the vendors are tables set up with people giving you great information. One table is manned by a couple of Master Gardeners, that will answer any and all your questions about gardening. Beside the marvelous selection of fruits and vegetables are vendors, selling a great assortment, chickens cooking on a rotisserie, others selling Mexican food, Italian food, pastry from around the world, all freshly made and cooked locally. One warning - - - do not go shopping hungry. Between the fragrance of the flowers, the aroma of the fresh fruit and veggies, mixed with the odor of the tantalizing food. Your nose is treated. Your saliva flows. The desire to taste everything. Like a feast set before a king. Copyright by: Peter E. Sandholdt My treat at Yokohama Japanese Restaurant The Yokohama Restaurant is so close to home While living at the West End It so convenient to enjoy My favorite "sukiyaki" Just say "sukiyaki to go" No fuss, No dishes to wash, Just be pampered And be treated By these family-styled Restaurant Owners. Copyright by Amy B. Estrada Nations Coffee Shop
Satisfying my
Hunger and thirst – and offers
Sweet treat – apple pie.
CALAFIA
Authentic, gourmet
South of the border cooking
My Webster hangout.
　
YUMMI YOGURT
MY COMFORT FOOD, AND
MY HEALTHY SMOOTHIE STATION
YOU'LL LOVE IT ALSO.
I REMEMBER
MY OLD BLOCKBUSTER
THE ENTERTAINMENT CENTER--
WEST ALAMEDA.
Special East Ocean Restaurant
Always Prime choice of
St. Barnabas Social club
Gourmet food, Grand Place.
Copyright by Amy B. Estrada
　
Farmer's Market Haiku Poems
July 2010
Green tea ice cream, ah! Here's India Foods,
Just what I need – sunny day and more – around the world tastes,
at Farmers' Market. at Farmer's Market
Mary Rudge Mary Rudge
Lemon tree green green
Lemon flower fragrant scene
Lemon yum fish dish
A.M. Fonda
So many bright fruits!
Mix and match – one pound, one dollar
How much can I carry
Wanda Ingmire
PEANUT
Compact to live in a shell
Two peas to a pod
Cozy full of life
Nina Serrano
Summer Site Write 2010
Webster Street Poems
　
Chadow, Alysa GOING NOTICED
Dana, Cathy My Dad Had a Wicked Sense of Humor
The Elders Inn, Our Saving Grace
Food for Thought
Fortune Cookies, Friends, and Favorites
Real Food
Estrada, Amy B. My treat at Yokohama Japanese Restaurant
Haiku, various
Fonda, A.M. Webster P. Nut Jamboree
Holder, Zoe Webster Street Memories
Loughran, Mary Sighting the Poet at WesCafe
Murphy, Garrett WHAT A NOT SO TANGLED WEBSTER WEAVES...
Murty, Catherine 1981
Peterson, Ken Art Glass
Banking on the Street
Nations
Ninety Nine
Pin Ball
Providence
Haiku, various
Rudge, Mary AT NATION'S
THE NEW WORLD OF WEBSTER STREET
ON WEBSTER STREET, INTERNATIONALLY EAT
Sandholdt, Peter E. ALBERT'S
CROLL'S
FARMERS' MARKET
M.S. Untitled
Untitled
Anonymous "Over Time"
Anonymous "Pinball is Rock and Roll"
Farmer's Market Haiku Poems
July 2010
Fonda, A.M.
Ingmire, Wanda
Rudge, Mary
Serrano, Nina PEANUT
energetic
party time!