Sorrow And All Her Secrets

  Wherever Time Finds You
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Art by Joyce Odam

 

 

CALANDO
—Robin Gale Odam

When the credits roll, when happily
ever after is embraced and the story
cleaves to a strand of illusion, the music
becomes slower and softer, dying away.
                             

(prev. pub. in Brevities, October 2016;
Sacramento Poetry Anthology 2017;
Song of the San Joaquin, Winter 2017;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/29/24)

 

 

 

 The Ruse

COMMISERATION
—Joyce Odam

Sorrow came to sit with me again,
as many times before,
claiming to be my mother—

again with her old sad story,
her soft tears burning in the light
reflecting every word upon her face.

                                    
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/22/24)

 

 

 

 The Mystery Of The Self

GHOSTS
—Joyce Odam

…something that lingers
not quite gone
diffusements in memory
hanging on
to the spent realities
like a tune that teases
of a half-remembered song

ghosts stay on
where they are wanted
they belong
to your disturbance
to your relinquishment…
as long
as you want them
ghosts stay on…


(prev. pub. in Aquarian Dream, October 1996;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/1/11; 11/1/22)

 

 

 

 Aquarium

MIRAGE OR NIGHTFALL
—Robin Gale Odam

I
The one-subject notebook, the frozen
poem, the one metonym for yesterday.

II
Just something about this night.

III
At the underside of the water tiny fishes
sip at the veneer of another world.
                             

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/4/23) 

 

 

 

 Nothing Left To Give

HAUNTED  
—Joyce Odam

I wrestle with your obstinate ghost,
ever-angry and unforgiving,

what a wild loving and hating—
never resolved,

the push and pull of difference—
ever-faithful to the war.

Even now, you assail me in dreams,
still wanting my surrender.
                                

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/31/24)

 

 

 

 The Politics of Love

STALEMATE
—Joyce Odam

we are not friends
we are not
lovers now

we are
a cage

we lock each other
we threaten
freedom

                 
(prev. pub. in Prophetic Voices, 1992;
Lovebites Chapbook by Joyce Odam, 199l;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/16/10; 7/7/20)

 

 

 

 Listening

MOMAZIA
Band 10, Lifescapes by Emanuel Kirakou
(Relaxing Guitar and Cello)
—Joyce Odam

Oh player of sad music that hurts
my heart—I need to feel what you
make me feel—music that holds me

so still, so haunted—oh player
of sad music, too beautiful to
bear—this is what I want to hear.
                                 

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/10/10; 1/16/18) 

 

 

 

 The Silence

WE WHO ABANDON, WE WHO SEEK
—Joyce Odam

Oh, father, who left me, who
I equate with god—what do I mean

by refusal to love, to let return?
Why keep the question alive—
 
that cry without answer—
seek nothing where nothing is?

Oh, father, who became a forge,
I am incomplete.
                                  

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/19/12) 

 

 

 

 The Twilight

SHADE
—Robin Gale Odam

counterpoint of light
no one knows that she is gone
into dark of day
searching for a memory
searching for a memory
               

(prev. pub. in Brevities, December 2017)

 

 

 

 You Tell Me Your Dream

HEALING
—Joyce Odam

I shall not look again to sorrow
with its bruised wing that I
have pushed away. I am not

its love. I will not let it
stay with me, though it calls me
winter and starves when I

look at it. I am going to be in
love with happiness—with
its safe heart and hands

that flutter
ever-so-softly
about my habit of weeping.  
                           

(prev. pub. in Sorrows Mini-Chap by Joyce Odam,
2002; and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/22/24) 

 

 

 

 No Compromise

Today’s LittleNip:

MIND-POWER
—Joyce Odam

You are that maze
I never get through.

How did you
make yourself so clever,
without an exit?

How did I
get in?


(prev. pub. in Parting Gifts, 1996;
and in Brevities Mini-Chap)

___________________

Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam have shown us some of their poetic secrets today for our Seed of the Week, Dark Secrets, and we thank them for that.

Our new Seed of the Week is “Beyond Absurd”. Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from. And see every Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry form challenges, including those of the Ekphrastic type. And be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week

___________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

Words on a Page

—Photo by Joyce Odam

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that 

Sherre Vernon and Paula Sheil

read tonight in Modesto, 7pm.

For future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column at the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones  by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!

 

Are the ghosts gone yet?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dark Secrets

  Black Magic, Classic Favourites
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth

* * *

—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth,
Nolcha Fox, Claire J. Baker, Caschwa,

Joe Nolan, and Sayani Mukherjee
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth, Joe Nolan,
and Medusa

 

 

DARK SECRETS
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

That chocolate without the milk,
though ‘plain’ not word that comes to mind;
Black Forest, scene, grim fairy tales—
though gateau could secret construe.
Some recipes are guarded well
as secrets of the kitchen chef;
confections set in branded bars
from Mars across the Galaxy.

Can Northern Lights be classed as these,
dark secrets for cosmology,
or what unveiled by science now
has whisked the curtain, mystery?
But then the séance, holding hands,
a circle on black magic’s verge
for that’s what stirs the spirit world—
and back to Nestlé’s chocolate box.

Satanic mills, though churches, Blake,
to things said in confessional?
Accepted shames throughout the world,
the greatest, toleration of.
Of secrets, hid grot, passing time,
in dark recesses of the mind,
that unease, guilt that seeps and saps—
what some did ’Nam, saw more Afghan.

Is it the dark of which I’m scared,
ashamed to tell anyone so;
stark shadow in the high-noon glare,
which blinds me to what’s hidden there?
Jet, oil and coal all undermined,
once mourning brooch, now mourning
       broached,
for planet’s dark night of the soul
will visit us in blinding light.

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo 

Courtesy of Stephen Kingsnorth

DARK SECRETS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

We tape our smiles to our faces.
We primp and pry when we converse.
We’re robots in a world that’s scripted.
We don’t ask why something’s wrong.

In the darkness of the evening,
frowns turned lower than the lights,
all our failures, all our anger
burble into cysts we hide.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

MY AMYGDALA
(PTSD, startle reflex)
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA

Dear anyone who cares,
on the worst startles, my brain misfires,
plunges me into a traumatic pause
in a primitive cave called AMYGDALA.
Triggered, I’m a child, lashed with

a leather belt. Then, I’m a fired bullet
trying not to bolt, as if an ice cube
were slipped down my neck and spine!
I’m to tap on my knee to ground myself,
a speedy remedy that halfway comforts.

On big-triggers I tremble as, when a toddler,
I tumbled down our back stairs onto a garden-
scraper-blade; I shock as when my temperamental
boxer-father threw a vase at mother, who held me.
It smashed on the bedroom wall behind us, she said.

Exaggerated startles, with my efforts to subdue,
last a few quaking seconds! Yet each reaction
(now into thousands) feels as if I’m sliding off
a cliff, unable to firmly grip . . . I don’t know what
loud noise or sudden gesture will trigger the next
jerk-jump and quake. When the phone rings I jump,

and doubly sorry if my startle startles you . . .
It’s not the worst disorder to live with.
I’m conditioning myself to groove with jolts!
Maybe one day I’ll embrace my malady, forgive
my almond-sized amygdala deep in my brain!
I forgot to say: it helps if you seem not to notice
and not say “I’m sorry I startled you.”


Note from Claire: No dark secret now. I’ve had
PTSD from childhood trauma, the rough startle
reflex being part of the trauma. Hey,
I’ve conditioned myself to have way fewer
reactions.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo 

Courtesy of Joe Nolan

DARK SECRETS
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

Where did I leave my keys?
Did I remember to change the toaster setting?
Who, exactly, vets candidates for President?
Did I leave perishables in the trunk, again?
How long till obsolete?
Why does mail I marked “Return to sender” come
    back to me?
Who is going to replace undocumented laborers?
Will ICE storm in on St. Patrick’s Day parties?
What variations does the color black have?
Can I get a loan using my dental work as equity?

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

ROOM WITH NO WINDOWS
—Caschwa

Our chief executive works at home
in a room with no windows, just
manufactured views from Hollywood…
a virtual panorama of propaganda,
more than enough to fill the largest eyes

No balconies on which to stand and
invite into the senses real air, pure and
unblemished by chemical imbalances
that overwhelm Nature’s best offerings

No matter the stress, people still grow
like weeds, form long lines around the
block to escape the great outdoors and
plop themselves down into the darkness
of a crowded movie theater

Pay top dollar for take-it-or-leave-it food
and drinks, while dozens of movie goers
at a time share very few restrooms, all
being nervously conscious to not break
the seal on “Top Secret, Confidential”
documents also stored in that chamber

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo 

Courtesy of Joe Nolan

BAD AIM
—Caschwa

(High Hopes)

Launch pad explosion
they call themselves scientists
these who miss the rim

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo 

Courtesy of Joe Nolan

SEVENTH DAY DEMENTIST
—Caschwa

(Dark Cave)

Say or do something
one day, then one week later
memory is gone

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

OFF THE SCALE
—Caschwa

The letters A I
are a transposition of
Insane Asylum

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

ON MY WAY
—Caschwa

(So Extravagant)

The opportunity of a lifetime!
Cheerfully handed over my life savings
to SPIT (Snail Pace Interstellar Transport)
to leave this dirty Earth behind and visit
priceless investment dreams over at BHOS,
which was either Beverly Hills On Steroids
or Black Hole of Space.

Here I come! No looking back, no regrets.
Will finally have the perfect, ready to move-
in home without having to build it myself.
Each domicile comes with its own celebrity
history, oil wells forever, and acres of parking
for all my adult toys. On-site chef ready to
make and serve only the finest meals.

Might go for a swim in my Olympic-size bath
tub, sip on whatever fine wine pairs with my
mood, and sleep on the right side of the street
for the rest of my life. Wish I’d have done this
sooner.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

KIROV, MURDERED!
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

Let me dig a death
Into a prison.
Let me put
Shackles
On my ankles and feet.
Let me put a black hood
Overhead.
Let me pray
That painlessly
I’ll be dead,

When the proletariat
Circumverant
Renders its deadly verdict
That Kamanev, Zinoviev
And Bukharin
Were really agents of Hitler
And conspired to murder
Kirov.

Kirov!  Oh!  Kirov!
Who could be so evil
As to murder Kirov,
The champion of Leningrad,
The hope of the Socialist Nation?

If only we had Kirov
Back again,
So much would be better,
You would not believe,
But they say they
Murdered Kirov
Though they were
Close friends of Lenin!?!?

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

CONSCIOUS CONCEPTION
—Joe Nolan

Donate to the mission
In the missionary position.

Launch your DNA
Into the next generation.

Help an egg to incubate
Into its incarnation.

Become a breeder for Christ
With a maculate conception.

Make it something
You’ll always remember.

When you come together
You both will scream your heads off.

After birth,
You can give up all you’re worth
With a sacrificial paycheck.

All your income
Will be purely sacrificial.

Bounce your babies
On your knees.
Get ready for the burp.

How cute they are,
Even when they vomit.
It only goes
To make you
Love them more.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

TRUST THE SCIENCE
—Joe Nolan

We got the science.
We know what’s what.
We’ve got a thousand poisons
To put into your gut.

We’ve got the things
That kill the bugs—
Precious, precious poisons
To put into your gut.

Call them antibiotics
Things that snuff out life,
Measured in proper doses
So they don’t kill you off, too.

It’s a system of trial and error—
Experiments, a must.
Put your faith in Science
In science you must trust.

But what happens
When we shift to
Warp-speed,
Throwing trials out the door,
With poisons left untested,
New tech
Who knows what for?
It’s a matter of trial and error
And you’re the guinea pigs.
We don’t worry—
We’ve got immunity,
No matter how bad-off you get,

But don’t forget!
Trust the science.
“Safe and effective,” we say.
When you say how
Bad you were damaged,
We tell you to just go away.

Don’t forget!
Trust the science.
“Safe and effective,” we say.
When you say how
Bad you were damaged,
We tell you to just go away.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

CRAZY BOAT
—Joe Nolan

A crazy boat
From crazy town
Rides a river
Up and down
From mountains
To the sea.

Which sea
Might it be?
A sea by day
In brightest light
Or in darkness
Darkest night,
We’ll have to
Wait and see.
There is no
Guarantee.

 

 

 

 A new tulip of the need of the hour...

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

 

 

RAIN
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India

A newborn hope of a beginning
A melody of evergreen music
Right from the bottom
A new salvage of hope of kindness
Earth’s rotten beauty of kindred spirit
Sprang into my ear of misty morning
July rain is falling hard
Over the years of dale and tiptoes
Of milky white morning of summer halt
A new tulip of the need of the hour
A bright splash of sound of music
As the daffodils lay over the window.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.
 
―Roald Dahl

_____________________

Our Tuesday Seed of the Week was Dark Secrets, and our contributors had plenty of those for us, starting with Stephen Kingsnorth’s dark chocolate, and winding up—how’d we get there??—with Joe Nolan’s murder of Kirov, plus some scientific back-alley, shudder-ful stuff. Well, there’s plenty of dark secrets out there to scare the bejeebers out of all of us. (I looked it up. It’s a word.) it’s no secret that poets carry secrets—dark and otherwise…

 

Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week, but there are no deadlines on SOWs. And check each Friday, too, for poetry-form and Ekphrastic challenges. 

Anyway, Sacramento Poetry Center’s new Poet News is out (https://www.sacpoetrycenter.org/poetnews), and I’ve taken note of a few events coming up, both from SPC and from the poetry community in general:

•••The deadline for Lincoln Poets Contest is Wed., July 16, and for SPC’s next Tule Review is Thurs., July 31.

•••This coming Thurs. (7/10), 7pm: Sac Poets Society Generative Poetry Workshop with Patrick Grizzell takes place—writing responses to poems and discussing those responses. Free. Sac. Poetry Center, 25th & R Sts., Sacramento, CA. Sac Poets Society is a fledgling writing group that meets on Thursdays (except for the first Thurs. of the month). Follow them on instagram @sacpoets; for more information/questions write to them at sacpoets916@gmail.com/. And see also the current Poet News for more info about this new group, too, at https://www.sacpoetrycenter.org/poetnews/.

Other workshops that are in, well, “the works”:

•••Sat. (7/19), 1pm: Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center (MoSt at https://www.mostpoetry.org/) presents a free workshop, Paint Chip Poetry, with Stella Beratlis. Salida Library, 4835 Sisk Rd., Salida, CA. Try out a variety of poetry prompts inspired by the descriptive language of paint chips. All ages invited. Feel free to bring your own extra paint chips to add to the prompt possibilities. Info: https://www.mostpoetry.org/event/free-poetry-workshop-paint-chip-poetry/.

•••Mon. (7/28), 4-6pm and Wed. (7/30), 4-6pm: Cal. Poet Laureate Lee Herrick's online workshop, Giving Difficult Material Poetic Shape: The Unexpected Joys of the Abecedarian. Cost: $150 ($120 before 7/14). Sign up soon—seats are filling fast. Info: https://capoetlaureate.org/ourcalifornia/.

•••Thurs. (7/31, 8/28, 9/25), 5:30-6:50pm: Poets and Writers of El Dorado’s Writing Words to Light the Way, a workshop with Lara Gularte has three more monthly meetings scheduled at the El Dorado Hills Library, 7455 Silva Valley Pkwy, El Dorado Hills, CA. Click on UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) in Medusa's Kitchen calendar for info.

There are lots more poetry events on the calendar, too, of course; click on http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html and scroll down for the happenings, including the ongoing workshops listed at the bottom of that page.

Oh—and happy birthday to Ringo Starr today! He's 85. Ringo says Peace and Love. Well, I can hang with that . . .

___________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 

Ducks startled into the sky
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Paul Willis & Hip Hop Leadership
feature at Sac. Poetry Center
 tonight, 7:30pm.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gothic

 Dungeon
—Image by Kalhh (Pixabay)

 

* * *

—Poetry by Dawn Pisturino, Arizona
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Dawn Pisturino

 

 

DARKNESS

You rise with the morning sun,
A shadow on the eastern horizon.
Darkness follows you in the daylight
And thickens the gloom of night.
My inner light beckoned to you,
Piercing the blackness,
But you extinguished it,
Preferring to shroud yourself
In the pall of funeral dust.

 

 

 

 Ophelia
—Painting by Sir John Everett Millais

OPHELIA

Ophelia leans over the balcony
In Juliet-like display,
Contemplating the courtyard below
And listening for the sounds of her beloved.
“Hamlet! What keeps you away
And too preoccupied to see your lady love,
Your poor, impatient Ophelia?
Am I not worthy of your attention, too?
Forget the madness of your father’s death
And come to me!” Silence responds,
And Ophelia’s eyes glisten with tears.
Perhaps her father is right. If Hamlet’s
Affections are untrustworthy—
If he merely approaches her in jest—
Far better to die a tragic death
Than become the butt of court hilarity.
Her heart twists and turns with painful
Realizations and doubts. She must get away
And escape the constant scrutiny
Of father, brother, and royal gossip.
She will not marry anyone but Hamlet!
She runs from the castle, seeking clarity
In the running river.
She fills her arms with rue
And plunges into the rushing water,
Washing away all doubts and fear.
But a moment’s breathless distress,
And peace is hers at last.

_____________________

GOTHIC

Our love straddled the line between Life and Death
And all things in-between.
The limitations of Life could not contain us.
Only the limitless boundaries of Death
Could accommodate our souls,
Joined together, point-to-point,
In an unholy alliance that defied
The conventions of our time.
The castle walls loomed around us
Like great sentries, keeping us imprisoned.
Our hands bound with chains to moldy walls,
We whispered through the bars of our cells,
Anticipating the day of our imminent demise.
The Count’s rage could not extinguish the flames
Of our adulterated connection.
We lived for each other, and so, we would die,
Together, unfettered by human law and the
Condemnation of Holy Mother Church.
Our love would live on,
Even as the breath left our dying bodies.
Walking hand-in-hand into the darkness,
Cursed to face eternity together,
Our souls would rejoice in our oneness
And find mercy in an All-Loving God.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Love is like the wind, you can't see it but you can feel it.

―Nicholas Sparks, A Walk to Remember

____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Dawn Pisturino for today’s fine poems, and some pix she sent us to go with them!

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

For info about
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!

 

 

 

Yesterday

 —Poetry and Photos by Cynthia Linville,
Rocklin, CA

 

(For David Theron White, 1966-2024)

LOVE’S LABOURS LOST

You are standing in my bedroom doorway
with crooked nose and grin.
Surprisingly, you are 17
with bare, muscular arms
(football arms) and
a full head of dark curly hair;
then suddenly
you are 29
fatter in the middle
thinner in the hair;
then 45,
the years heavier still.
You must be a trick of light
or of memory—
you are not here at all.
(You are long gone.)
Only the doorway is the same.


(This poem was published in Linville’s first
poetry collection, The Lost Thing, from
Cold River Press.)

 

 

 

 

PSYCHE: GODDESS OF THE SOUL

Everyone talks about peeling the onion—
each crunchy layer
stinging eyes and lips

But I think about peeling the artichoke—
prickly, bitter
but oh, so creamy

A delicious heart at the center—
dipped in melted butter
shared with someone you love

I eat this artichoke and remember you

 

 

 

 

YESTERDAY
For Theron

Cooking eggs reminds me that
Paul McCartney used “scrambled eggs”
as a placeholder in the Beatle’s song
“Yesterday”
and I think of that this morning
as I carefully heat the pan.

As I crack in the eggs and gently stir
I think of that morning when we were 18
playing house long before we were married
feeling so sophisticated to be cooking
    breakfast together.
(You had to be sure I wouldn’t add milk
before you let me cook for you.)

Forty years later, I sip my coffee, butter
    my toast
add a slice of cheese to melt over the eggs
just the way you liked it.
All our troubles seemed so far away.

I heard of your passing yesterday.

This morning, I can almost hear your voice
feel your scruffy young face scrape my cheek
smell the Lifebuoy soap on your neck.
Love was such an easy game to play.

Ten years ago, you asked me if I
regretted leaving you.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so honest.
But I do regret the loss of
who we were together
in those yesterdays.

 

 

 

 

YOU MIGHT THINK I’M CRAZY

        I think that you’ve wild, when you
        flash that fragile smile.
                    —The Cars

On my 50th birthday I gave you back your
    artifacts,
souvenirs from the long-ago-us:
your 1984 driver license
your torn high school football jersey
a slim braid of your thick, black hair.

But I still feel like I’m carrying those lost
    years with me,
still living in a place that no longer exists.
Now that you’re gone, I wonder if you live
    there now:
dancing new wave in your Adam Ant eyeliner
red denim vest, skinny tie, and maroon fedora.

Perhaps we enter the future backward.
Perhaps when we die, we gather up what we
    loved most
and create a personal paradise:
wild with joyous affection
transparent and full of light.

Your smile always contained everything—
May your smile contain you now.

 

 

 

 

Today’s LittleNip:

My heart’s fingers
long and soft
probe your chest for
open wounds
scars
bits of gold
or stone.

—Cynthia Linville

____________________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Cynthia Linville for today’s fine poetry and photos!

 

 

 

David Theron White















 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Terry Moore presents
Poetic Odyssey tonight
in Sacramento, 8pm.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dreams and False Lights

 —Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Stephen Kingsnorth, Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox,
and Caschwa

 

 

EARLY TO BED TO RISE

Suddenly you woke. The radio clock said 8:33. How could you so oversleep, 4 hours late. You jump up, dress in gloom. Close windows to keep out rising heat, the cloudy dim. Why isn’t it bright summer daylight? Phone says 8:53, Thursday. But that was yesterday. This is Friday, poetry day, imagination’s free day—but it’s still Thursday. You went to sleep Thursday evening and woke an hour later in its twilight murk. Go back to bed. Tuck in your imagination and sleep thru your dreams.

Waning moon staggers
across sky leaving false light
for us to follow. 

 

 

 

I LOST MY EAR

on the trail somewhere
who knows, listening to birds
I couldn’t name but
how they lifted my spirits
my footsteps, my ears.
It was so sweet, my right ear
has stayed behind to listen. 

 

 

 

 

CHIMERA ON THE NATURE TRAIL

An antlered deer head with a long snakelike
body on countless insufficient legs.
How did it get here? What manner of tree
sacrificed itself in the creation
of such a huge, peaceable monster posed
before a summer's worth of oaks and brush
and stiffly feathered dead golden grasses? 

 

 

 

 

HIGH HOPES

Last night my dog ran ahead with all the others
as we handlers walked a dream-field—a test
of getting along together. What do dreams know?
Our subconscious possibilities. Hope.
The morning news is pitfalls, tragedies, fear.
But the dream—relief, jubilation, walking
together toward a goal. High hopes.
Like the dream that visited just a week before
the great quake—dog handlers of all nations, all
persuasions working together, finding a way
thru the deep dark tunnel to save ourselves
and others. The journal recording that dream
is lost—its image stored in memory safe as hope. 

 

 

 

Otis

 

 

A QUIET NATURE WALK

Follow my dog along railroad track—
history’s train dreaming a distant past.
There’s hush of birds, the breeze is slack.
Someone has lost a lavender jacket.
Follow my dog along railroad track.
He shows me, camo’d among gray rocks,
critter scat full of gray fur. Attack
of cougar on jackrabbit? Not a sound
disturbs the silence. No turning back
until we reach the big creek trestle.
Follow my dog along railroad track. 

 

 

 

 

IN MY FUNGUS LOG-BOOK
    Hedwigia ciliata

I find, listed here, Medusa moss
among our rocks and trees and fungi
of all sorts in their seasons. Which moss
is it? I’ve been wandering among
black Grimmia anchored as sure as
skin to great dark boulders that had their
birth on an ancient ocean bed. Just
imagine our Sierra foothills
underwater. But how about this
Medusa moss? Why can’t I find it
now, in late June? It’s the wrong season.
I discovered it three Octobers
ago, it had a different common
name. I’ll have to wait till pumpkin time,
when rains turn Medusa moss’s dry
straggly stringy locks into something
more vibrant, more stunning. All these stones.... 

 

 

 

 

Today’s LittleNip:

DON’T FORGET 

—Taylor Graham

It’s not a joke—
it’s poison oak!

Hedge-parsley sticks
like sixty ticks.

Better not shake
that rattlesnake!

Tales of this rock
I can’t unlock.

_____________________

Many thanks to Taylor Graham for today’s fine photos and poems on this 4th of July, 2025! Forms TG has used this week include a Haibun (“Early to Bed to Rise”); a  Chōka (“I Lost My Ear”); an Ekphrastic Poem based on the photo (“Chimera on the Nature Trail”); a Response to the Tuesday Seed of the Week (“High Hopes”); a For-Get-Me-Not chain (“Don't Forget”); a Fold (“A Quiet Nature Walk”); and some Normative Syllabics (“In My Fungus Log-Book”). The Fold and the For-Get-Me-Not were last week’s Triple-F Challenges.

TG writes: Happy Independence Day (let's have high hopes for independence!)

El Dorado County’s regular workshops are listed on Medusa’s calendar (if you scroll down on http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html/). For more news about such events and about EDC poetry—past (photos!) and future—see Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado Poetry on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry. Or see Lara Gularte’s Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. And you can always click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html). Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!  
 
And now it’s time for…     

 
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!

 

It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers, in addition to those sent to us by Taylor Graham! Each Friday, there will be poems posted here from our readers using forms—either ones which were sent to Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some challenges—  Whaddaya got to lose… ? If you send ‘em, I’ll post ‘em! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for resources and for links to poetry terms used in today’s post.)


Check out our recently-refurbed page at the top of Medusa’s Kitchen called, “FORMS! OMG!!!” which expresses some of my (take ‘em or leave 'em) opinions about the use of forms in poetry writing, as well as listing some more resources to help you navigate through Form Quicksand and other ways of poetry. Got any more resources to add to our list? Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com for the benefit of all man/woman/poetkind!

* * *

 

 

Last Week’s Ekphrastic Photo 

Arakawa River in May Rain 

—Painting by Hasui Kawase

Poets who sent responses to last week’s Ekphrastic photo were Stephen Kingsnorth, Joe Nolan, and Nolcha Fox:


TREE SUBTLETY
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

It’s subtlety, the judgement passed
on Hasai Kawase, Japanese,
in nature’s drama, poetry,
expressed in woodblocks, and their print,
as if tree guards identity.

Revered for fusing culture zones,
a timeless spirit, with modern—
the sensibilities, his age—
or thus the auction house, for sales,
creates an oeuvre blurb address?

But know, I think not, seeing work,
though much destroyed, quake, twenty six;
engrained by cherry, natives would
reflect the nation’s story book,
its history in fine art form.

The viewers drawn into serene,
transient seasons of Japan,
snow swirling through the quiet towns,
rainfall’s glisten. stone-gentle paths,
the river, there, for ever been.

Then sunlight flickers through the trees
as we, in calm, are mesmerised;
though I note slash of glyph-strike rain,
the common pelt of June, named May
in calendar of lunar sphere.

Review those nearer, clearer marks
may be the masts of craft in fact;
the sympathetic fallacy
enacted by the riverside,
or is trompe l’oeil mind trickery?

But block sounds harsh, too angular,
as if would mock fine detail sought,
that gentle tonal gradient
both sky and placid river wash,
from grey to light with undulate.

A woman strolls, blue brolly holds;
an anchored houseboat, man bedecked—
these are the casual causal themes,
delicate colour palette dreams,
exquisite master of technique.

* * *

PLACID RIVER
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

Gently sails
A boat on
Placid river.

Umbrella shades
An Asian lass
From sun that’s
Far too strong.

Down here in the tropics,
It’s easy to get burned
In the mid-day sun.

Everything is lush
Along a river.

* * *

Nolcha Fox made a play on the boat known as a “junk”:


TOO MUCH TOO LATE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

When Mother died, she willed to me
a trunk I couldn’t open.
The locksmith had to break the lock
so I could see the contents.

Cracked cups and dishes all wrapped up
were of no use to me.
The photo album stuffed with
strangers faces was a mystery.

Costume jewelry, feather boas
not my style at all.
I realized she was offloading
junk that people gave her.

If she were here, I’d lecture her
to dump useless mementos.
I have enough junk of my own.
I don’t need more from others.

* * *

And here is a Haiku of Wisdom from Caschwa (Carl Schwartz):

 

 

 

BEATS DIETING
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

How to keep weight off:
put no more than one foot on
the scale at a time

__________________

Many thanks to today’s writers for their lively contributions! Wouldn’t you like to join them? All you have to do is send poetry—forms or not—and/or photos and artwork to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!

__________________

TRIPLE-F CHALLENGES!

See what you can make of these challenges, and send your results to kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.) Poetry loves fours, and here it is, July 4! Have a go at one or more of these forms which loves its fours:

•••Quadrilew: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/quadrilew.html
•••Quatern: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wipquatern.html AND/OR www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-a-quatern#what-is-a-quatern
•••Quatrain: www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-a-quatrain-in-poetry-quatrain-definition-with-examples
•••Quatrina (devised by Ruth Harrison): form of Sestina using end-word order 1, 2, 3, 4  | 4, 1, 3, 2  |  2, 4, 1, 3  |  3, 4, 2, 1 (envoy: 1–2, 3–4)

•••AND/OR take a walk on the wild side (Dark Secrets!) with some Forbidden Desires from Carl Schwartz. Even Carl loves fours. Maybe this should be Fourbidden Desires...

•••Forbidden Desires (devised by Carl Schwarz): 4 stanzas of 3 tercets; syllables for each tercet 7, 6, 8; rhymes xxa, xxa, xxa, xxa

•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one.

•••And don’t forget each Tuesday Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Dark Secrets”.

____________________

MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:

•••Chōka: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/choka AND/OR https://girlgriot.wordpress.com/tag/choka
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Fold: https://poetscollectivepoetryforms.wordpress.com/2013/03/05/fold
•••Forbidden Desires (devised by Carl Schwarz): 4 stanzas of 3 tercets; syllables for each tercet 7, 6, 8; rhymes xxa, xxa, xxa, xxa
•••For-Get-Me-Not: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Haiku: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku AND/OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse AND/OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Quadrilew: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/quadrilew.html
•••Quatern: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wipquatern.html AND/OR www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-a-quatern#what-is-a-quatern
•••Quatrain: www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-a-quatrain-in-poetry-quatrain-definition-with-examples
•••Quatrina (devised by Ruth Harrison): form of Sestina using end-word order 1, 2, 3, 4  | 4, 1, 3, 2  |  2, 4, 1, 3  |  3, 4, 2, 1 (envoy: 1–2, 3–4)
•••Response Poem: creativetalentsunleashed.com/2015/11/18/writing-tip-response-poems
•••Tuesday Seed of the Week: a prompt listed in Medusa’s Kitchen every Tuesday; poems may be any shape or size, form or no form. No deadlines; past ones are listed at http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/calliopes-closet.html/. Send results to kathykieth#hotmail.com/.

__________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 

Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
 
 Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)

* * *

—Artwork Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For info about
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!