Whose Land Is This?

—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

—And scroll down for Form Fiddlers' Friday!

SEED OF THE WEEK

TV news: seed-packets not ordered arrive in the mail. Random act of kindness, agro-eco sabotage, mercenary scam? I ponder, meat-cleaver in hand, beheading bunch grass—non-native. Did we sow it with pasture mix for our sheep? Ewes and ram grazed it down to nothing. Sheep are gone. Bunch-grass takes over, building hummocks year by year like footings for a monument. Green long after annual grasses turn brown; by late July, tall golden torches ready to flame. My weed-eater can’t cope. Machete’s useless. I wield heavy-duty shears and my mother’s cleaver. Mystery seed-packets a joke? invasive species from China, to sow havoc on our land?

good grass in its place
dreaming under sun and moon
of greener pastures 

WHOSE LAND

He’s paid good money for the axe-
strokes that make clearing
out of wildwood. Now
it springs up hedge and lawn
where used to be cobwebbed thickets,
season on top of old gray cedar
season.

But every 50 years, they say,
some spirit of the land sneaks back
to burn somebody out,
to slip a view-lot into landslide.
Oh, he’ll beat the wind, the flame,
the floods. Hasn’t he got
insurance?


(prev. pub. in An Hour in the Cougar’s Grace by Taylor Graham)

UNGROUNDED

A sometimes-image hovers
below wellhouse and garden—a doe.
The doe who last year
dropped her fawn on our doorstep?
(No, on mown weeds
by nutritious buckhorn plantain
grown wild behind our house.
A fortnight she nursed her babe
well-hidden somewhere along dry creek
with its lone remaining bedrock
pool of winter rain.
Why would a lone doe visit us
if not with fawn?
I’m aimed straight at wellhouse—
I get too close, and she’s
high-hock floating over dry pasture,
into woods. Does a flying hoof
ever touch ground?
No more than her image vanishing
in tangles of oak and shadow. 

GRANTED

…how are we remembered in our choreography of bones?
                     —Michael Wasson 

How are we remembered
if not recognized
by law or grant in
words on printed page

in our choreography
danced by grinding rock
tiger lily creek
cedar of our flesh

of bones
settling with the sun
left buried when we
were driven away. 

SCHÜTTELREIM

Maskery:

Look how she sewed herself a cute mask
not wishing to be stowed in a mute casque.

Deciphering:

Tattered, patched, glued & old-twined map—
does it lead to gold treasure, or a mind trap?

Remodel:

No pre-planning, just a mucky guess—
lacking know-how leaves a gucky mess.

Forge:

Mind’s hammer and fire make smith—
would mind’s old wonder shake myth? 

ART IN THE TIME OF CORONA
On a portrait by Robin Cole

Golden light of particleboard as backdrop
for the artist’s subject. Renaissance rust-gold
brown, she calls the color her brush plays
on palette, a complex shade of highlights and
depths on canvas. A holy-light type
of environment for the object so carefully,
softly brought to mimic three dimensions:
a roll of toilet paper. So rare in time of corona;
commodity missing from grocery shelves,
swept away by pandemic shoppers
afraid of running out; toilet paper stockpiled
like gold. An artist’s roll, golden corona
of light—worth a limited-edition run.
No need to hoard, one roll should last forever. 

Today’s LittleNip:

FREE-THOUGHT ZONE
—Taylor Graham

My morning chore, weed-eating grass
gone dry and brittle leaf to stalk.
A shadow crosses as I pass,
and here’s a feather shed by hawk.

I trim dead weeds at base of tree.
No plan, just rote while thoughts range free
in meditation, second sight
as the swift-hawk fine-tunes her flight.

_____________________

Good morning, and many thanks to Taylor Graham for her poetry and photos today! To see Robin Cole’s painting, go to www.9news.com/article/news/local/storytellers-artist-paints-portrait-toilet-paper-roll-portrait-of-the-time/73-26cf3de3-6cc5-4dbe-90a8-446b9d00f6db/.

Taylor has sent us some forms this week: some Schüttelreim (“toughest couplets I've ever written”, she says), a Rispetto, a Glosa (Joyce Odam’s version [from last week]), and a Haibun. Check for definitions of these forms in Medusa’s Form Finder at the bottom of this post.

And, speaking of forms, it’s time for Form Fiddlers’ Friday!
 
_____________________

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 pinned up in the Kitchen, by golly! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for links to definitions of the forms used this week.)

Today we’ll start with a smooth sonnet from Tom Goff:

THE ACHIEVEMENT OF THOMAS GUNN
—Tom Goff, Carmichael, CA

[T]hey withdraw to an orbit
and turn with disinterested
hard energy, like the stars.
           —from “My Sad Captains”


Not yet have we admired your full intent:
Eye trained, half on the street and those who live
There, lucky if natural freshness turns their bent
Retro, from those who take to those who give;

Half on our broken link to all our dead,
In your case, Father Brute and Mother Muse;
Your captains, in their sadness feebly sped
Orbs, glowing, but slowed to keep their sullen views

Fixed on what can’t be fixed. Your energy
Rebels, experiments with drugs and you,
Altering you as you would altered be,
Till past is just a membrane to poke through,

Reach fingers beyond, to loves who died of AIDS,
To sun you touch unscathed, bathed in its molten glades. 

Here are a couple of poems from Joyce Odam, introducing two forms that are different from what we’ve been dealing with. The first is an Abracadabra, a form which Joyce herself devised (not to be confused with an Abecedarian). Today is Joyce’s birthday, by the way! Happy Birthday, girlfriend!

ABRACADABRA – Form by Joyce Odam
Eleven lines, eleven syllables, single stanza
Rhymed: a b c a x a x a b c a
 

MIDNIGHT’S OLD CONDITION 

—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA

Dare we trust conditions of this masquerade?                 
Eyes of warning watch us in our dreamlike dance      
shadow-hidden with their masks removed they stare 
as if we were not figments—as if not made                       
of our illusions—as if their eyes could guess                     
beyond our air of mystery—as if they’d                         
reached the end of midnight while we still refuse           
to go back to our other selves—too afraid—                  
too changed by costume’s guise, wanting the romance, 
loving the pretense, the brazen way we dare                 
test rules Forbidden-Love has never obeyed.                      

                                                                
(prev. pub. in Poets Forum Magazine, c. 2000)

Similar to an Abracadabra would be the Abacadaba; check out what Mr. Brewer has to say about that and “Magic-9” poems at www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/magic-9-poetic-forms/.

* * *

Joyce’s other poem today is a Welsh Clogyrnach, to be seen at www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/clogyrnach-poetic-form/:

Welsh Clogyrnach
Syllables:  8,  8,  5,  5,   3,  /  3  (can be one line)
Rhymed:   a    a   b   b    b  /  a   (    “        “        )


DREAM STRUGGLE
—Joyce Odam

At dawn, a silence, thick as air,
gray as morning. Some despair
lays its heavy hand
on troubled sleep and
smothers there—
sleep’s strange land

where sleep becomes an anxious place.
If guilt lives there, so must disgrace.
Mind unlocks—relearns
what always returns :
old concerns
it must face.


(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine)

                                   

Sue Crisp sent us an “outrageous” poem in Skeltonic Verse form, thinking about our Seed of the Week (Outrageous!):

OUTRAGEOUS (Skeltonic Verse)
—Sue Crisp, Shingle Springs, CA

The news—outrageous.
Actions contagious.
Is there a saving us?

Our lives under fire,
we have one desire,
COVID will expire.

Bravehearts work each day in vain,
healthy lives to contain.
Will this chaos remain?

Each day brings news grim.
Tears for the lost, brim,
some have futures dim.

Yes, outrageous...
Just how contagious?
Is there a saving us?

In vigilance, we,
in diligence, we
can live our lives COVID-free.

And Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has been busy as always, sending us the fruits of his form-labors in a Terzanelle, a Tuanortsa, and two less-familiar ones: the Tetractys and the Naani: 
 

BEFORE NOW (Terzanelle)
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

back in the late-fifties, as I recall
I would walk one mile to the grammar school
back in the late-fifties, as I recall

we were just little kids, but all was cool
had not yet been told I was nearsighted
I would walk one mile to the grammar school

unaware of deeds to be requited
the pores in my skin were something to see
had not yet been told I was nearsighted

I walked alone, just little, old me
it was mainly one sidewalk, the whole trip
the pores in my skin were something to see

here and there I would hop up and then skip
early departure left plenty of time
it was mainly one sidewalk, the whole trip

pick up ten pennies and trade for a dime
back in the late-fifties, as I recall
early departure left plenty of time
back in the late-fifties, as I recall

____________________

AS IT TURNS OUT [Outrageous(!) Tuanortsa]
—Caschwa

you are all powerful
you own a luxury yacht
you own a beautiful seamstress
she does exactly what you tell her to do
you tell her to trim the sails and report to your cabin
she does exactly what you tell her to do
you own a beautiful seamstress
you own a luxury yacht
you are all powerful 

GARDEN (Tetractys)
—Caschwa 
 
APRICOTS

prune
away
low branches
bring on new growth
enough for family, neighbors, and birds

***

STRAW

one
bale of
sun dried straw
for the raised bed
so the strawberries could then be “happy”

***

RASPBERRIES

need
water
lots of it
to stay alive
careful to use timer to get just right

***

GREEN ONIONS

reach
upward
each new day
we trim pieces
to top our colorful mixed green salads

_____________________

STONEY STARE (Triple Naani)
—Caschwa

crouched on hind legs
ears pointing straight up
unblinking eyes fully open
tongue draped over lip

our Chihuahua rests
on the hard wood floor
like a Moai on its Ahus
waiting for us to comply

refill both her bowls?
lift her up to her
most favorite chair?
time for some outside?

_____________________

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

•••Clogyrnach: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/clogyrnach-poetic-form
•••Glosa, Glose, Gloss: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/glosa-glose-or-gloss OR www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/glose-or-glosa-poetic-forms
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Naani: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/naani.html
•••Rispetto: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-forms-rispetto
•••Schüttelreim: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/schuttelreim-poetic-forms
•••Skeltonic Verse: www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/skeltonic-verse-poetic-form
•••Sonnet Forms: blog.prepscholar.com/what-is-a-sonnet-poem-form
•••Tetractys: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/tetractys.html
•••Tuanortsa (“astronaut” spelled backward): a Palindromic poem which reads the same from front to back as from back to front

____________________

Thanks, as always, to our intrepid SnakePals for going where many poets fear to tread—into poetry forms! Wouldn't you like to be a SnakePal? All you have to do is send poetry and/or photos and artwork—forms or not—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!

____________________

—Medusa
 

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