WHERE THE LAVANDULA GROWS…
—Janet L. Pantoja, Woodinville, WA
Rows of purple flowers lure me
with their aroma. I inhale. . .
ah. . . a fragrance so heavenly
I nearly swoon, but then exhale
glorious lavender I see
everywhere, and I move slowly
up and down through a narrow trail
absorbing all the scenery,
imagining myself a snail. . .
unhurried. . . my pace leisurely.
But time passes very quickly,
and twilight will soon assail.
I then return reluctantly,
saddened now that I must curtail
moments that were so savory.
—Jennifer Fenn, Fresno, CA
How does one write the world inside these lines?
Its forests do not fit in these confines.
Its winds that sound the chimes and play in trees
cannot be put in metered one-two-threes.
The foaming of its waves and waterfalls
that freely flow to us with crashing calls
are hard to fit inside some made-up forms,
just like it is with rain in streaming storms.
And then the fleeting rainbow’s bright array,
reflected through each dot of misty spray
just disappears too fast to capture here,
while we are left beneath the sun’s dry sear.
Each tiny mouse or hummingbird
cannot be trapped or caught within a word.
THE OCTOBER HOUR
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
We’re gaining time! Today’s the day
to set our clocks in such a way
to gain an hour. But I have found
that hour-for-hour and pound-for-pound
it’s all the same. This fine Sunday
before we go to church we’ll stay
in bed an hour. At night we’ll pay
the hour we stole when we were gowned
and pillow-fluffed. We have been bound
like all of those in this foray
and through summer we’ve had to play
along with this charade. We say
that this is how it is—we’ve wound
our clocks like this for years—we’ve crowned
our summer hours in sun’s bright ray.
—Carol Eve Ford, Kenai, AK
The winter beach is crouched along
with fisted kelp in tangles on the sand.
Cemented tight above the tidal zones
are frost-encrusted summer skipping stones.
‘Mid ice the tide has scattered in its wake
dark exclamation points the ravens make,
while eagles pose like effigies in brass
on each abandoned rooftop peak I pass.
Cold winter sun is slant against the day
and casts my shadow far and thin away.
A sanderling, alone, except for me,
bustles busy by among the scree.
So small and quick and scurrying is she,
floods the beach, the sea.
—Carol Eve Ford, Kenai, AK
They swell and rise and roll across the deep,
and I can hear them calling in my sleep.
They crest and crash and splash against
my heart resounds and echoes to their roar.
Like wild stallions running in the wind,
again, again, again, and yet again.
Their flying manes, their arching necks
then plunge and shatter only to ascent—
explode in celebration, all delight.
They never tire of joy, all day, all night.
They foam and lace and linger at my feet,
then silently and flirting they retreat.
They toss their hidden treasures on the sand.
I stoop to cup abundance in my hand.
There is pleasure in the pathless woods,
there is rapture in the lonely shore,
there is society where none intrudes,
by the deep sea, and music in its roar;
I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
Thanks to Carol Louise Moon for organizing today’s contribution to the Kitchen! She writes, “Here is a project completed by the Pantoja Sonnet Circle, a sampling of five poems by Janet Pantoja, Carol Eve Ford, Jennifer Fenn and Carol Louise Moon, with photos by John Westling. In this project, these poets shared and critiqued each other's poetry in two forms: Triple Quintillas and Couplet Sonnets. With the exception of John, all are previous Medusa's Kitchen contributors.”
Quintilla: Syllabic verse, octasyllabic (8 syllable lines). Stanzaic, written in any number of quintains (5 line stanzas). Rhymed. In each quintain only 2 rhymes can be used and it cannot end in a rhyming couplet.
Couplet Sonnet: aa/bb/cc/etc., 14 lines
A reminder that MarieWriters Workshop meets at Sac. Poetry Center, two doors down in Women’s Wisdom Room, 6pm tonight. This week’s workshop is facilitated by Patricia Wentzel. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa (Celebrate Poetry!)
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