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Tom Hedt
Originally from Washington State, Tom Hedt lives with his wife Nina, in Woodland, California. He has worked professionally in natural resource conservation since in the mid-80’s, a journey that has taken
him to Alaska, Arizona, Washington state, and California. He enjoys the outdoors, and took up poetry while hiking Stebbins-Cold Canyon Creek on a warm January afternoon. He writes in an attempt to capture the resonance of a moment, or an emotion, typically inspired by our natural world. Previous work has been published in The Sacramento Voices and the Tule Review. Reunion
Leaving slowly, like a weight pulling down though light green water, captured, turning rapid circles. Photos, stories, faces. Something lost. As children we would gather, small white fingers impaling worms. Lines from damp wood to deep water waiting, quiet, for a signal. Something caught. And when the April rain did capture a white blossom on the red brick floor, a faint glimpse of silk before me broken strands suspended at the door, life unwound, set adrift, connections thrown and cast through time. Give us grace through deep pictures cast on the hollow of our minds, and let our losses bring us peace through this churning, effervescent gyre. |
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Tom Goff
tutors reading and writing at Folsom Lake College. He has written five poetry chapbooks, most recently Tintagel 2.0, on English composer Sir Arnold Bax (Tiger’s Eye Press, 2018), and a full-length collection, Twelve-Tone Row: Music in Words, from I Street Press (2018). Two of his poems appear in the new anthologyFire and Rain: Ecopoetry of California, (Scarlet Tanager Press). He has contributed poetry to Medusa’s Kitchen, Sacramento Voices, Late Peaches, The Sacramento Anthology: 100 Poems, and Third Wednesday Magazine. Tom is a member of Golden State Brass, a Sacramento-area quintet, and performs often with the Auburn and Camellia Symphonies. Tom is married to Nora Laila Staklis, an accomplished artist and poet.
The Robert Graves Intonation
“The air is full of spices.” —Alan Rickman, in Ang Lee’s film Sense and Sensibility Some poets begin to speak to us in vivid voice, and so vivid, we hear that clear timbre in famous intonations: in his livid evocations of corpse-heaped fields, the limber hauling artillery to the bang and boom that can do no other than maim youths and dismember; that horror; or in his fullest lyric bloom, each lane of line a road laid graceful of camber, Robert Graves gives off an Alan Rickman tone, urbane, a silk-lined-sepulcher-wry wisdom. Rickman should live again to record that sound: Graves. Goodbye to All That bass. No undue moan or preening. Odd fado undersong from Lisbon. Spice from Sri Lanka. Other. Direct. Profound. |
