Poems by Shane Brant
Songbird
You’re a songbird! My precious songbird.
I am the revelation of the world, darling. Lingua franca.
In stupendous assembly something angelic and something
Nightmarish dictates me. All the energy of these lights
And all the power of these signs, their allure, their provocation,
Their desire to coax and annihilate dreams is mine,
Benissima cuore mia. I love you.
By Jen Nails
Who will clean out your desks?
A dirty penny that you can’t tell the year,
an invitation to Hudson’s bday in September,
math worksheets and one LEGO,
a red and yellow bouncy ball,
paper clips and a crumpled post-it that says “I love you!”
By Courtney Cliften
She reminds me of the desert,
and by that I mean, she reminds me
that sometimes we must demand
to survive. She says acrostics
have a way of figuring out exactly
what we want to say, closes books
if they don’t feel important.
Read MoreBy Linda Faiss
Growing up in Carson City, my three siblings and I often heard our mother say, “Go out and play!” Not just because we were in her way, but because it was healthy for us to be outside in nature exploring our sagebrush-dotted environment.
Read MoreBy Staff of Nevada Humanities
Spring is in the air, and there is a renewed enthusiasm blooming at Nevada Humanities. We are growing and need your help to continue to thrive. The humanities help ground us in the constantly changing world around us. The humanities help us understand, often with a fresh perspective, what life is about.
Read MoreBy Genevy Machuca
I want to start by apologizing to younger me
I head to college in a year,
And now it's starting to get pretty clear
I’m not going to be a princess
Wearing that shiny pink dress…
In fact I outgrew my tap shoe
Even got my license…
By Mo Lima Truong
i. Growing Pains
Escaping my mother’s womb has been my greatest feat in the name of individuality.
I cannot feel in simple
terms.
I shove my fingers into my veins and
pray I can begin
to map my skin.
I am exploding and
have exploded a
million times over.
By Dustin Howard
Many of my close friends are artists, and one of the most common topics of discussion amongst us is that of time—or the lack of it, to be precise. We often lament that there are not enough hours in the day for us to do the art we love to do. I know that this is a sentiment shared by artists the world over, and there’s some tiny solace in knowing that as individual artists we’re not alone in feeling this way.
By Nancy Cummings-Schmidt
In 2009, shortly after I retired from my position as Director of the Washoe County Library System, I got a call from then-Nevada Humanities Board Chair, Joe Crowley. He had decided I’d had enough of a rest, and it was time to consider volunteer opportunities. He just happened to have one in mind, which led to my appointment to the Nevada Humanities Board of Trustees. So, here it is 2023, and after serving for over 13 years, it seems an appropriate time for reflection.
By Nikki Corda
My first “big girl” book was Women of Courage by Dorothy Nathan (1964). This was a collection of biographies that introduced kids to the lives of Susan B. Anthony, Jane Addams, Mary Bethune, Amelia Earhart, Elizabeth Blackwell, Florence Nightingale, and Margaret Mead. My well-worn copy was a hand-me-down from my sisters, and my mother, Helen, was determined I begin reading the book as soon as possible. Helen’s fierce indignation about the historical injustice women suffered was contagious, and I devoured that book with mad love for these trailblazers.
By Anne M. Hoff and Daryl DePry
Upon moving to Las Vegas for my teaching position at the College of Southern Nevada, I was struck by the dynamic and intensely textured Mojave Desert, making it my constant creative muse. The outdoors also functions as my place of calm from the chaos of the city of Las Vegas. The energy of urban centers can be stimulating but mentally draining. The outdoor spaces allow me to have a sense of calm and inner reflection that I need.
By Gailmarie Pahmeier
In sixth grade I had a pen pal. I found her in the classified section of an Archie comic book. She lived in California, loved Veronica. I lived in Missouri, loved Betty. We loved our dogs. She had a poodle named Miss Tessa; I had a terrier mix named Gigi. We loved water, stories of sunbathing while sipping iced tea on a hot day. Our missives were declarations of our being alive, of shared experience. We wrote throughout the school year, closing our letters with “Write back when you can!” This relationship, made wholly out of words, was a light in my life.
By Todd Gilens
I am a writer and visual artist working with ecological themes. For several years, I helped researchers survey streams and meadows in the Sierra Nevada backcountry, and wondered how the dedication and insights of scientific inquiry could translate into everyday situations in the places we live.
By Deon Reynolds
This image was created while my wife Trish and I were participating in the Darwin Lambert Artists in Residence Program at Great Basin National Park in 2007. We started our day hiking the Baker Creek/Grey Cliffs trail, and it was a gray, dull overcast day, great for hiking but not the kind of light I was looking for photographically. Hiking along the trail we stopped at a clearing, looking up towards the weather happening on a totally obscured Wheeler Peak.
By Meredith Oda
Eighty-one years ago, on February 19, 1942, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066. This action resulted in the incarceration over 120,000 Japanese Americans in desolate camps throughout the interior of the United States for most of WWII. Two thirds of these Japanese Americans were US-born citizens; one third were migrants prevented from naturalizing as citizens. This was the biggest infringement of civil liberties in our country’s history, and it rested on the false justification of military necessity.
By Matt Malinowski
The old wooden floor creaks beneath my feet as I slowly move down the hallway of a stranger’s home. The house is warm, with a lingering smell of cigarette smoke, and the afternoon light is fading through its thin windows. I feel like an intruding time traveler, though I have been invited to enter. I arrive at the kitchen, and she stares blankly into the distance from behind the acrylic panel that separates her world and mine.
By Kathleen Kuo
Have you ever had a song stuck in your head? I, and many of you I am sure, have experienced this phenomenon in varying degrees; some mornings I wake up with a fragment of a song that might linger with me throughout the day before eventually fading. And then there are other instances where a song might play on loop for days and days, attempts to banish it notwithstanding.
By Staff of Nevada Humanities
Once again, The Western Folklife Center in Elko keeps traditions alive and will host the annual National Cowboy Poetry Gathering on January 30 - February 4, 2023. This will be the first in-person Gathering since 2020. Nevada Humanities has proudly supported the Gathering every year—now in its 38th season.
By Shaun T. Griffin
Marooned in the Rio, the drunks asleep at the tables,
a pit boss climbs the slow rope to obscurity,
and my friend hangs on his eggs at the bar. The southern
wind tosses the breath of books like sand. Would that they
be read like the two women stumbling the revolving door behind me,
a twelve pack of Miller Lite in their arms, the last refuge of pain
on Saturday night.
By Christina Barr
The New Year has begun in earnest - filled with meetings, emails, and deadlines - and I confess that I am having difficulty recovering from my holiday break of sloth-like pajama days filled with generations of traditions, friends, good food, board games, and puzzles. Autumn is my favorite time of year for being out and about, but winter is for delicious hibernation. In Reno, we've been subsumed with snow, which has helped create a sense of tucking in, but I'm actually very excited about the year ahead.
