Russell Salamon is the author of eleven books of poetry and one poetic novel, Descent into Cleveland. His work has appeared in Passager, Sunstone, Uncommon Ground, Daybreak, The Listening Eye, Saint Petersburg Russian-American Anthology, Peckerwood, Puckerbrush Review, Retooling for the Renaissance in the Third Millennium among others. He is the winner of the Passager Prize for 1996 and has performed his poetry at the Cleveland Bicentennial Celebration. He serves on the editorial board for California Quarterly, published by the California State Poetry Society. He has been a featured reader at many venues in the Southern California area including Beyond Baroque, Autry Museum of Western Heritage, Mission Viejo Public Library and Bakersfield Art Gallery. 

The Inevitable Press, Laguna Poets Series # 213, produced Breeze Hunting for the featured reading in Laguna Beach in 2001. He lives in North Hollywood, California, and is currently working on a collection of poems, Woodsmoke and Green Tea, soon to be published by deep cleveland press

He may be contacted at: thesalamons@eartlink.net

BREEZE HUNTING

At sunset trees leave their bodies
and go breeze hunting. Each breeze
is different and has tinted ribs.
Some are pink-green and others
somber, slate gray.

Tree beings tame these winds,
have them eating from branches.
The plum tree collects violet fog,
puts it on plums. When you eat,
you bite breeze skin. 

Fragrances echo on your taste buds 
until you stand directly in the center 
of time without trembling.

from Breeze Hunting (The Inevitable Press, 2001)

 

WATER

Nearby the ocean
with seals fishing under
surface wind meadows
floats a slice of sun pouring
between fog banks.

Water always wants to be
something else. It tears itself
up as surf. As white clouds,
it goes looking for deserts
to be lizards or cactus.

Here it breathes in leaves
of redwood trees. It wants
to be tall wide eternities.

I drink water.
I write with water
in my hands.

from Redwoods in the Rain

 

MARMALADE

I got greedy. I kept plucking
ripe moons from branches
until my pockets were full.
I walked to the car leaking
moonlight through my pants'
legs.

At home in a large pot
I cooked them down to
luminous marmalade.
I have it in jars on a pantry
shelf.

On toast, moonlight
goes well with black coffee
and fried green tomatoes.

from Say Those Stars Slowly I Am Still Learning

 

GHOST FOG

It is raining. Ghost fog
steps in among tall trees,
moist silence with far off
whoosh of surf trains.

But here are harp strings
and deep silences. A tall
breath enters my lungs.
The trees hide me.

Huge twin boles race skyward
and a single lithe one stands
among others.

This is a vertical dance.
A crowd of quiet. Rags of
clouds snag along ridges
of mountains.

from Redwoods in the Rain


2005 Russell Salamon

 

Praise for Breeze Hunting: ". . . The secret of this book's own magic comes pouring forth like a diluvian inundation of lyrical synesthesia. The log-jam is broken open and we're swept away with a current of water, trees, freedom, true love, and poetic imagery. And there's a breeze whispering in the branches: you can ride the updraft all the way back to eternity. The movement from nostalgic simplicity to higher spirituality is done with such skill. . .Wonderful!" --Pat Cohee, Laguna Poets


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