Hanging Packages, Main Street, Placerville, CA
—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—And scroll down to Form Fiddlers’ Friday!
MONOLITH
Sawmill workers on holiday—
Christmas dawn—
what star drew them bridgeless
over waves of iced river
up the mountain
throwing boulders crazy downslope,
Michaels hurling devils
till no more earth to climb
but the monolith
portal to unworldly confluence
of stars
prayers and carols
between Sierra summit
and Valley fog
and then they trudged back down
over frigid river
into December night
before a workday morning.
Sawmill workers on holiday—
Christmas dawn—
what star drew them bridgeless
over waves of iced river
up the mountain
throwing boulders crazy downslope,
Michaels hurling devils
till no more earth to climb
but the monolith
portal to unworldly confluence
of stars
prayers and carols
between Sierra summit
and Valley fog
and then they trudged back down
over frigid river
into December night
before a workday morning.
HOLIDAY SHOPPING
I’ll meet you at the picnic table.
Don’t forget your camera, your notepad.
No time for hobnob, we’ve got so much on our list:
1 - great blue heron (check the snag in the lagoon)
2 - sun gilding stone in refuse left by goldminers—
we’ll be judges of what’s sun-gold!
3 - white pelican (if such a ponderously graceful bird
might pass overhead)
4 - song of unseen frog
5 - blueprint of a beaver-analog across the creek
6 - secret of “that narrow-plank thing” distracting us
among the buckeye woods
7 - monarch butterfly (doubt we’ll find one, settle
for dragonflies instead).
How to pay for all this? with imagination
wide-open as our eyes.
WISH-BOOTS
on Van Gogh’s Boots with Laces (1886)
What happened to those old boots
of Sierra backpacking days? Army Surplus jungle
style, worn till misshapen as the old flea-
market work shoes in Van Gogh’s acrylic; stiff
as my arthritic knee; boots deformed, conforming
to my feet the way my retired cowpony
adapted to me, teenage rider. Those boots are
as gone as my black mare; as my low-cut Red Wings,
meant for pastoral country but great for picking
a way through earthquake rubble, following
my search dog—she’s gone as those boots,
and my old Vasques I could wear all day and
the next and the next, Valley slough
or Moke wilderness.
If wishes were boots or dogs or horses,
I’d wish for the energy and gumption,
the backcountry solitude to do them justice.
on Van Gogh’s Boots with Laces (1886)
What happened to those old boots
of Sierra backpacking days? Army Surplus jungle
style, worn till misshapen as the old flea-
market work shoes in Van Gogh’s acrylic; stiff
as my arthritic knee; boots deformed, conforming
to my feet the way my retired cowpony
adapted to me, teenage rider. Those boots are
as gone as my black mare; as my low-cut Red Wings,
meant for pastoral country but great for picking
a way through earthquake rubble, following
my search dog—she’s gone as those boots,
and my old Vasques I could wear all day and
the next and the next, Valley slough
or Moke wilderness.
If wishes were boots or dogs or horses,
I’d wish for the energy and gumption,
the backcountry solitude to do them justice.
POINT OF SOLSTICE
We’re driving into a golden mist sun-struck rising out of last year’s burn, vacant lot between freeway and off-ramp, place-holder scrubby space we hardly noticed before flame, sirens, smoke and char reminding us how close we live to disaster—
this mist we enter
on December’s shortest day
dawning antique gold
A WALL
from “Wednesdays at the Wall” —California Magazine
Line of demarcation, simple,
nondescript, concrete—feel the energy
when you enter communal space.
Political philosophies, conflicting
ideologies, comfort and belonging, wishes
and prayers—a long history
at the wall, a set of steps, a sacred space,
mythical place located in the heart
when the wall was poppin’—
so much fun, so much going on—
daily escapades evolved,
catcalls and flirts, existence putting up
markers, community imprints, public art.
The true magic. Memories began
and ended at the wall. It was so alive.
from “Wednesdays at the Wall” —California Magazine
Line of demarcation, simple,
nondescript, concrete—feel the energy
when you enter communal space.
Political philosophies, conflicting
ideologies, comfort and belonging, wishes
and prayers—a long history
at the wall, a set of steps, a sacred space,
mythical place located in the heart
when the wall was poppin’—
so much fun, so much going on—
daily escapades evolved,
catcalls and flirts, existence putting up
markers, community imprints, public art.
The true magic. Memories began
and ended at the wall. It was so alive.
BEHIND GLASS
Silver glimpses, glitter-glint
of holiday on Main Street—
how it makes me reminisce
on Christmas bliss wrapped-up, sweet.
Today’s LittleNip:
WHAT’S FOR XMAS?
A “Found” poem from Facebook
WHAT’S FOR XMAS?
A “Found” poem from Facebook
—Taylor Graham
My 9 year old dream
my brother had a purple one a beauty
mine was blue with chrome fenders
boss! so cool
Santa brought it to the bike shop on Main Street.
My 9 year old dream
my brother had a purple one a beauty
mine was blue with chrome fenders
boss! so cool
Santa brought it to the bike shop on Main Street.
_______________________
Merry Christmas to Taylor Graham and all our SnakePals today! The forms that she has sent us include a List Poem (“Holiday Shopping”); an Ekphrastic one (“Wish-Boots”); two Found Poems (“A Wall” & “What's for Xmas”); a Haibun (“Point of Solstice”); and a Rannaigecht—another Celtic form, Irish this time (“Behind Glass”).
And now it’s time for more poetic Christmas presents: a fine collection of poems delivered down the chimney 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 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, by golly! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for links to definitions of the forms used this week.)First poem out of Santa’s bag today is “A Found Poem” by Claire Baker of Pinole:
A FOUND POEM
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
While walking in a graveyard with my dog,
I spot a doll in a wire-mesh container
lodged deep in discarded flowers & trash.
I name her Naomi Sue, & take her home
to wash her filthy rompers & booties,
scrub her perfect body clean.
Her serene expression changes,
matching my varied moods.
I wonder about her life story.
(already she seems to know mine)…
I hold her up to my sheltie
who sniffs her hands and toes
as if pledging protection.
Naomi Sue comes more alive:
I’ll cradle this brave bundle as long
as I may live, though others think me daft.
* * *
The Fiddlers’ Challenge for last week was the classic form of the Found Poem (www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/found-poetry-converting-or-stealing-the-words-of-others OR poets.org/glossary/found-poem), and Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has placed one under the Christmas tree for us:
SPINNING COMPASS
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
(Found Poem excerpted
from Black’s Law Dictionary,
Abridged, Fifth Edition)
A person is said to be
“lost”
to either of two belligerents
when involuntarily
or by any means, but more particularly by
accident or his own negligence or forgetfulness,
he is ignorant of
whereabouts.
as opposed to
“found”
in the most general sense of the word
when actually present therein
from Black’s Law Dictionary,
Abridged, Fifth Edition)
A person is said to be
“lost”
to either of two belligerents
when involuntarily
or by any means, but more particularly by
accident or his own negligence or forgetfulness,
he is ignorant of
whereabouts.
as opposed to
“found”
in the most general sense of the word
when actually present therein
* * *
Carl writes that he enjoyed reading Taylor Graham’s "Eleven Tricks" on Friday, 12/18 [see medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2020/12/black-candy-kafka-land.html and scroll down], so he consulted Lewis Turco’s Book of Forms, 2020 about Normative [Syllabics], which led up to Carl’s own variation on that pattern:
A DOZEN SORRIES
—Caschwa
there was that time I dropped
a carton of eggs and broke
every last one, funny in hindsight,
it was all in the timing, like jokes,
and the joke was on me because
then I couldn’t demonstrate my
surgical precision of breaking eggs
into the frypan, which sat on the
cold burner enjoying a pretty good
laugh at the whole episode, having
nothing better to do with no flame
underneath, no eggs to fry
Carl writes that he enjoyed reading Taylor Graham’s "Eleven Tricks" on Friday, 12/18 [see medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2020/12/black-candy-kafka-land.html and scroll down], so he consulted Lewis Turco’s Book of Forms, 2020 about Normative [Syllabics], which led up to Carl’s own variation on that pattern:
A DOZEN SORRIES
—Caschwa
there was that time I dropped
a carton of eggs and broke
every last one, funny in hindsight,
it was all in the timing, like jokes,
and the joke was on me because
then I couldn’t demonstrate my
surgical precision of breaking eggs
into the frypan, which sat on the
cold burner enjoying a pretty good
laugh at the whole episode, having
nothing better to do with no flame
underneath, no eggs to fry
* * *
And here is an Alouette from Caschwa:
HIS LAST GOOD DEED
—Caschwa
don’t celebrate yet
or place a big bet
we must avoid the impulse
broken bridge ahead
claiming many dead
not us, we hit a wild moose
And here is an Alouette from Caschwa:
HIS LAST GOOD DEED
—Caschwa
don’t celebrate yet
or place a big bet
we must avoid the impulse
broken bridge ahead
claiming many dead
not us, we hit a wild moose
_______________________
Our favorite elf, Joyce Odam, has also dropped by today, bringing us two poems. The first is a French Sonnet, which is in iambic tetrameter and rhymed as aa bab cdcd efe gg. Joyce says this version of the form was originated by Robert DeWitt as a new sonnet form:
I LISTEN TO THE SIGHING TREES
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
What sound is this that stretches thin
like some old anguished violin
holding some note that stirs the air
and searches out the mood I’m in
and finds me, finds me everywhere.
I listen, though I put my hands
tight to my ears to filter out
whatever memory demands
of something that I cared about
and lost, and oh, these moaning trees
can hear it too, they shudder so,
as if to lose some sorrow-breeze
that tortures them, that will not free
this sound, acute with misery.
(prev. pub. in Hidden Oak, 2003)
_____________________
The second poem Joyce has sent is a Rondelet. “And time is spent…” she says:
DENOMINATION
—Joyce Odam
And time is spent
without reclaim; it trickles by,
and time is spent—
and we bewilder where it went—
how much it cost—but didn’t buy,
time on the run… time on the fly…
and time is spent.
_____________________
And now we close FFF for 2020 with a poem by Carol Louise Moon. This poem was posted in yesterday’s Kitchen, but I thought I’d post it again, first because (a) it’s so lovely (“on pew of branches”), and also because I’m wondering if you can tell what form it is…
CHRISTMAS CHOIR
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
Even and uneven clouds glide,
ingress and egress the winter blue.
Eager birds, landing side by side
in holy assembly on pew
of branches, sing their hymns on cue.
_____________________
Anyway, many thanks to our SnakePals for their brave fiddling! Would you like to be a SnakePal? 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!
_____________________
FIDDLERS’ CHALLENGE!
_____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Alouette: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/alouette.html
•••Ekphrastic: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Found Poem: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/found-poetry-converting-or-stealing-the-words-of-others OR poets.org/glossary/found-poem
•••French Sonnet (Robert DeWitt): iambic tetrameter and rhymed as aa bab cdcd efe gg
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Kyrielle: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/kyrielle.html
•••List Poem: clpe.org.uk/poetryline/poeticforms/list-poem
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Rannaigecht: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/rannaigecht-poetic-forms
•••Rondelet: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/rondelet-poetic-forms
For information about Lewis Turco, go to:
•••Biography: www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lewis-turco
•••Purchase (be sure to get 2020): www.amazon.com/Lewis-Turco/eB001K7LAUQ%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share
_____________________
—Medusa 😇
•••Rondelet: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/rondelet-poetic-forms
For information about Lewis Turco, go to:
•••Biography: www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lewis-turco
•••Purchase (be sure to get 2020): www.amazon.com/Lewis-Turco/eB001K7LAUQ%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share
_____________________
—Medusa 😇
—Public Domain Photo
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