Friday, April 10, 2020

From the Singing-Stone

—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA



APRIL BLUE   

Dawn breaks to breaking TV news:
casualty counts and quarantine,
dwell-time to get things really clean
and safe. This virus leaves no clues,
it’s present as breath. Covid blues:
an undertone to every scene
dawn breaks.

It’s raining. Light the field’s live fuse—
a long-dead poet’s singing, green
as soon-flammable grasses lean
to Earth’s old paradox, her dues.
Dawn breaks.






THE STRANGER, THE POEM AND I

And just to show who’s master I write the poem.
                     —Howard Nemerov


In a gallery nook between alley and
art, I sit at an old manual typewriter just
ready to compose extempore a poem, to
take a stranger’s voice and show
how it can turn to verse—and who’s
to know I’m not past master
of ghost-poeting? This young man and I
in collusion—no, collaboration—to write
what might prove to be the
heart of a trustful stranger in my poem.






DISTANCE SHARING

How can we gather?
Poem-bird sings from its cage,
song without bars or distance.






MASKED AT THE X-ROADS

Rain-chilly wind.
I could count the cars—
maybe one a minute
headed out of town—
passing on by.

Parting words
muffled in masking.
Tires sing wet pavement
outward bound.
My hair waves goodbye.






A NEW WORLD

No traffic on the country two-lane,
everyone’s sheltered in place. Peace
of this moment, its mask of cradle-quiet—

till turkey gobble-gumble breaks
the spell, prehistoric silhouettes moving—
Something unclicked the Pause button.

Toms on parade, hens ignoring,
pecking at fresh grass. Our old world,
unfamiliar as any new morning.

New rules, old essentials. Get things done
in good old ways, or invent new ones.
Like the turkeys, stay alive and moving.






NO STONE SLEEPS 
(Golden Shovel on lines from Shara McCallum’s “No Ruined Stone”)


By dark of moonlight everything
comes back insistent, calling for you
again, again; not the good dog you have
now—sable bitch sleeping bed-side to
give what comfort the living give—
but old dogs who come uncalled and
shine by moon’s regret. Nothing
stays dead; by dark or plenilune, will
flood the room but not quench
memory’s thirst, or
unhunger
you for every gone one of them.






Today’s LittleNip:

ESSENTIAL SONG
—Taylor Graham

Tap your poem
on a singing-stone
under the summit sky,
hear it ring from a boulder
far down the canyon…

 
___________________

Thank you, Taylor Graham, for Essential (and essential) poetry and photos this morning, bringing us words and pictures from the singing-stone. She’s sends us forms, too: a couple of Golden Shovels (“The Stranger, the Poem and I” & “No Stone Sleeps”), a Katauta (“Distance Sharing”), a Gogyohka (“Essential Song”) and a Rondine (“April Blue”). Here are references for some of those forms (we talked about the Golden Shovel last week):

••• Katauta:  www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/katauta-poetic-form
••• Rondine:  www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/rondine-poetic-form
••• Gogyohka:  www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/gogyohka-poetic-form

Speaking of phun phorms, it's . . .



FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!  

It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers! Each Friday for awhile, there will be poems posted here from some of our readers using forms—either ones which were mentioned on 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 forms and get them posted in the Kitchen. 


Last week, we talked about the Renga Chain (www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/renga-poetic-forms) and I suggested that poets send in the first 3 lines (5-7-5, not rhymed, any subject) so that other poets could finish them (7-7, not rhymed, communicates with first 3 lines). Here are five “stems” that Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) sent:



RENGAS ON HOLD
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA 
 
haberdashery
beautiful window displays
look but don’t touch…yet

***

came to visit you
but they would not let me in
left teardrops at door

***

hands and face shielded
my heart is an open wound
bleeding just for you

***

we have to do right
this is not bumper bowling
flatten the damn curve

***

I inherited
good looks and talent galore
lost them years ago


Try your hand at adding two 7-7 lines to any or all of these, and send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com/).

_________________

Plus, Caschwa has sent us some more form ditties, which I present herewith:


FLAVOR!! (not your typical Villanelle)
—Caschwa

one stack pancakes, please
“do you want hot sauce with that?”
put me on my knees

flavors that will tease
“double inferno, scorched fat”
one stack pancakes, please

easy to appease
“in your path runs a black cat”
put me on my knees

and double your fees
“a mad touch of herb and rat”
one stack pancakes, please

boogie-woogie keys
“you will dance and lose your hat”
put me on my knees

heat to melt the freeze
“hitting bottom of the vat,
aged quite more than cheese”
put me on my knees

* * *

RG
—Caschwa

how I miss
thee, somehow, blowing a kiss
across six feet empty space
won’t replace eternal bliss

here I am
with thumb firmly in the dam
opposable digit, yes
on first guess, I tried my yam

__________________

Our recent Seed of the Week was Essentials, and both Carl and Sue Crisp sent in appropriate poems:
 

GOTTA HAVE IT
—Caschwa 
 
eventually
essentials will take over
the whole, entire world

no more surplus stock
no more optional extras
nothing but the core

peaches without pits
skip the wedding, go to bed
dessert, the first course

monorail, no stops
more cup holders than pistons
start with bankruptcy

all colors, use white
your numbers win without you
one hump per camel 



 —Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Sue Crisp



STAYING THE COURSE
—Sue Crisp, Shingle Springs, CA
                                              
So many things we usually think
of as essentials,
turn our to only
be incidentals.

Things not necessary
for us to survive,
nor are they necessary
to keep us alive.

Essentials, on the other end
of the spectrum, is a combin-
ation of incidentals and
essentials blend.

What do we want, versus
what do we really need?
Essentials have taught us
lessons we should heed.

The times we are going through,
are for the sharing and the caring.
These graces are up to me and
to you.

Essentials we need to pass onto one
another as our sheltering in place grows long.
Sometimes it takes extreme circumstances to
sort out the essentials that keep our country strong.



 —Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Sue Crisp

___________________


Our thanks to today’s contributors for their fine and fancy fiddling! Spend your Poetry Month time at home in wise ways—write poems!

And tune in to www.facebook.com/jamesleejobe tonight at 7:30pm for a Live-feed poetry reading on Facebook by Davis Poet Laureate James Lee Jobe. Also, poetry videos of his going back for years are up at youtube.com/jamesleejobe, and James’ blog for others’ poems exists at yolocountypoems.blogspot.com. People can email poems to James for this blog at jamesleejobe@gmail.com/.

—Medusa



 To the Humiliation of Dogs Everywhere
—Public Domain Photo


















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