Biography of Val Morehouse
A reviewer, storyteller, writer, & librarian. Current reviews are in The Ruach: newsletter of Temple Isaiah, Lafayette, California. Quote: 'Val could read the phone book and make it sound good! ' A podcast of Val reading Gershon's Monster is at http: //media.libsyn.com/media/yourjewishneighborhood/yjn-108.mp3
Click 'play now'. To hear Chanukkah Guest, a story by Eric Kimmel, go http: //media.libsyn.com/media/ yourjewishneighborhood/yjn-19.mp3 April 08 Val won 1st & 2nd for short and long poems at Pleasanton, CA Poetry & Arts Festival. Also, poems Carbon Futures and Blowout appear on CA Poet Laureate Al Young's website alyoung.org> Wild Blue Yonder section. Other readings, etc. are on blog HoopDance at Valmorehouse.com. Early reviews also appear in archives of The Booklist (Chicago) and Library Journal(New York) . Early poems were published in Anthology: a Collection of Cape Cod Writers, from Woods Hole Press.
Val Morehouse's Works:
A.N.T.H.O.L.O.G.Y.: a Collection of Cape Cod Poets
Val Morehouse Poems
Waiting For The Folks
Who am I? Why, you’re Mama. No, I am not. I am your daughter. Stop foolin’ me!
There is something raw in the taking, an ordinary sadness that blackens in the bottom of the cup. Here a fly is swatted,
Like a lover he enters my life, carrying his dark purpose into the bedroom. Each thing opens to him like a map.
Faces of natives turn inward like talk in uncertain throats. Small replicas of life eclipse
Inside the morning this heart is a gong announcing your presence. See? This skin of mine is but a sheaf of pale wheat, ripened to nourish another’s need.
With knives he carves my woman’s flesh into new peaks and valleys, cuts out the center of rebellion, that audacity of dysfunction,
_________For William, who performed this ritual... Sealed with gases vivid as a flock of monarchs,
….“We hoped to gently persuade you book-review lovers to head online in search of our missing Book Review page…” The Contra Costa Times.
Dawn's red cap early over silver spoor tracking dewprints of the moon.
Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child
____version from a traditional slave spiritual, circa 1860’s...
We will know and remember with the inferno in our hearts, the day a devil’s passport was stamped: “Return to sender.”
In dim coolness, underground, punctuated by the dropp and whine of the elevator I cut open boxes and stock tomorrow’s shelves.
Tall Meadows (Haiku)
Crackle of sun stranded in blue glass she waits in that white house so old her breath haunts the cold
____With apologies to Pablo Neruda.
Electricity makes hot points to
the lightbulb. Water snaps
ready on the stove.
Pots utter provocative remarks.
The candidates are lined up to introduce themselves.
It is worse than a political convention.