—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
ANCIENT, NEW
walking under oaks
as I might have as a child,
for solace, for grace
after in-house confinement—
out into the open air
*
First encounter
with telephone—
where do I speak?
where are these words coming from?
Even now, unseen voices ask
for my passcode.
*
Phone:
robo-
options mis-
heard, garbled with
wireless distance; un-human, en-circuiting Earth.
*
walking under oaks
as I might have as a child,
for solace, for grace
after in-house confinement—
out into the open air
*
First encounter
with telephone—
where do I speak?
where are these words coming from?
Even now, unseen voices ask
for my passcode.
*
Phone:
robo-
options mis-
heard, garbled with
wireless distance; un-human, en-circuiting Earth.
*
From that world
of wrong choices unwhirled
I walk out under live oak, released
to November sun climbing a ridge in the east,
and first song of bird and flight of night-beast
back to rimrock, leaving not a clue
but sky electric blue
ancient, new.
of wrong choices unwhirled
I walk out under live oak, released
to November sun climbing a ridge in the east,
and first song of bird and flight of night-beast
back to rimrock, leaving not a clue
but sky electric blue
ancient, new.
COMING BACK TO ITSELF
Thump of bird on window glass—
is that a titmouse
knocked from flight?
Cradle it in your hands—look!
has it a tree-twig
clutched so tight?
Set it gently out of harm—
does it keep blue sky
in dazed eyes?
Give it time to find the world—
and must we let it
so soon fly?
Thump of bird on window glass—
is that a titmouse
knocked from flight?
Cradle it in your hands—look!
has it a tree-twig
clutched so tight?
Set it gently out of harm—
does it keep blue sky
in dazed eyes?
Give it time to find the world—
and must we let it
so soon fly?
LAST OF NOVEMBER
breeze
lifts the
canopy
of oaks, letting
a summer’s leaves—blue and valley oaks, wild-
plum
fall at
discrete
velocities,
vectors and shifting angles of sun-fall
light.
No storm
of dead leaves,
but a soft leave-
taking from lofting boughs to welcome earth.
breeze
lifts the
canopy
of oaks, letting
a summer’s leaves—blue and valley oaks, wild-
plum
fall at
discrete
velocities,
vectors and shifting angles of sun-fall
light.
No storm
of dead leaves,
but a soft leave-
taking from lofting boughs to welcome earth.
JOY
In the dream I was to recite “Joy,”
a poem by someone I never heard of.
But there were no words, just an empty basket
that glowed like flame wavering, crinkling,
translucent in the blue dark.
In one corner of the dream, our storage shed
hovered—framed of native pine with all
its secrets, and filled with old things we have
no place for: odd ends of linoleum,
iridescent dead turkey feathers, a scale
for weighing newborn puppies,
a book of gargoyles, map of a lost continent….
The shed’s no poem but a treasure chest—
a casket of things we loved and put
out of our sight. And the title, “Joy,”
without its poem.
In the dream I was to recite “Joy,”
a poem by someone I never heard of.
But there were no words, just an empty basket
that glowed like flame wavering, crinkling,
translucent in the blue dark.
In one corner of the dream, our storage shed
hovered—framed of native pine with all
its secrets, and filled with old things we have
no place for: odd ends of linoleum,
iridescent dead turkey feathers, a scale
for weighing newborn puppies,
a book of gargoyles, map of a lost continent….
The shed’s no poem but a treasure chest—
a casket of things we loved and put
out of our sight. And the title, “Joy,”
without its poem.
SECRETS IN THE PINES
How they long to travel north, to snow-land where life seems to laze under a cold comforter until the sudden weeks-long breakup, ice melting into rivulets and floods washing winter’s dirty laundry downstream to the sea. Rooted here, our native pines would follow the wild geese north at spring’s first untimely burst. Summer’s grown too hot here. The pines are dying, and wildfire season lasts year-long. PG&E cuts down trees if they’re too close to powerlines, wildfire hazard. How our tall Gray Pine once danced in a Delta breeze! Now it’s a brief flaming ghost in our wood-stove. Grandfather Ponderosas on the north slope are gone. No more screening between us and neighbors across the way.
No more secrets—pines
are on the move, leaving their
dead root crowns behind.
How they long to travel north, to snow-land where life seems to laze under a cold comforter until the sudden weeks-long breakup, ice melting into rivulets and floods washing winter’s dirty laundry downstream to the sea. Rooted here, our native pines would follow the wild geese north at spring’s first untimely burst. Summer’s grown too hot here. The pines are dying, and wildfire season lasts year-long. PG&E cuts down trees if they’re too close to powerlines, wildfire hazard. How our tall Gray Pine once danced in a Delta breeze! Now it’s a brief flaming ghost in our wood-stove. Grandfather Ponderosas on the north slope are gone. No more screening between us and neighbors across the way.
No more secrets—pines
are on the move, leaving their
dead root crowns behind.
NOCTILUCENT
Is it the gibbous moon, or night-lit cloud
out the bedroom window I keep uncloaked
in the dark? Dark of winter night-sky ploughed
and seeded with stars, mythic beasts unyoked
to wander the heavens and roam our dreams.
This year the Long Night Moon has been revoked,
this bandit year that laughs at human schemes.
And yet this light, furtive in secret pines
and all about our house—a house that seems
to mask and hermit me in its confines—
now draws me to translucent night designs.
Is it the gibbous moon, or night-lit cloud
out the bedroom window I keep uncloaked
in the dark? Dark of winter night-sky ploughed
and seeded with stars, mythic beasts unyoked
to wander the heavens and roam our dreams.
This year the Long Night Moon has been revoked,
this bandit year that laughs at human schemes.
And yet this light, furtive in secret pines
and all about our house—a house that seems
to mask and hermit me in its confines—
now draws me to translucent night designs.
 |
Today’s LittleNip:
ASPEN LETTERS
—Taylor Graham
Far from our homeland
across ocean and mountains
I drive my sheep-band—
and think of you without me
and carve our names in tree bark.
I walk each morning
breathing wind that blows from far,
I listen to sky—
and I hear your voice in breeze
and how the home trees whisper.
____________________
Many thanks to Taylor Graham for her vivid snapshots and Autumn poems about the Sierra Foothills this morning! December is almost half-way through, praise be—I thought 1/1 would never get here!
David Anderson is inviting you to a Zoom Lincoln Poets Club meeting this Sunday, December 13th, from 3-4:30pm. Please RSVP your intention to David to read or to listen at dcajla80@gmail.com/. Zoom Meeting: us02web.zoom.us/j/82816858339#success Meeting ID: 828 1685 8339 Passcode: 401798
And now it’s time for…
ASPEN LETTERS
—Taylor Graham
Far from our homeland
across ocean and mountains
I drive my sheep-band—
and think of you without me
and carve our names in tree bark.
I walk each morning
breathing wind that blows from far,
I listen to sky—
and I hear your voice in breeze
and how the home trees whisper.
____________________
Many thanks to Taylor Graham for her vivid snapshots and Autumn poems about the Sierra Foothills this morning! December is almost half-way through, praise be—I thought 1/1 would never get here!
David Anderson is inviting you to a Zoom Lincoln Poets Club meeting this Sunday, December 13th, from 3-4:30pm. Please RSVP your intention to David to read or to listen at dcajla80@gmail.com/. Zoom Meeting: us02web.zoom.us/j/82816858339#success Meeting ID: 828 1685 8339 Passcode: 401798
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Today’s forms which Taylor has sent us (see above) are: Somonka (“Aspen Letters”); Carl's Crazy Quilt (“Ancient”, “New”); Quinzaine (“Coming Back to Itself”); Tetractys (“Last of November”); Terza Rima (“Noctilucent”) and a Haibun (“Secrets in the Pines”). I guess Carl’s Crazy Quilt is an “official” form now, since both Carl Schwartz and Taylor have sent us one! I’ve decided to describe it as “several different forms used to treat the same subject”. You can find Carl's prototype at medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2020/11/thanksgiven-and-many-more-in-return.html/.
Joyce Odam sent a wistful poem today which is in Normative Syllabics (hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse); in other words, every line has the same number of syllables:
STAND OF BLUE TREES
After a painting by Anselm Liefer
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
These thin blue trees, all
we have to go by—
too inelastic
to withstand the storms
that we imagine—
too lonely in this
washed-out winter light.
We study them for
secrets—anything
to praise endurance.
They huddle. Maybe
that is part of their
resilience, their
branches twined in a
way that holds them braced.
What makes an artist
love such thinned-out blue,
too cold to match to
one’s own life—or love
—examples like that.
So far these spindly
trees have lent themselves
to mercy, envy
in a sense, as of
just holding there. We
clasp hands and shiver
and decide to quit
this painted winter—
this admonition
to surrender—and
seek a warmer wall.
Our Fiddlers’ Challenge last week was the Terza Rima, which Taylor Graham and Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) both sent in this week. Here are two from Carl; see above for Taylor's:
FIXING IT
(Terza Rima)
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
removing a nail from an inflated tire
is just one step in resolving the problem
as the hole left behind is even more dire
leaving it that way, more issues will blossom
such as distorting the round shape of the wheel
while all air will escape at a minimum
it’s important to make a very good seal
so re-inflation can correct what is wrong
imagine how relieved everyone will feel
using the right approach, which should not take long,
or is this all metaphor, framed in a song?
* * *
I DON’T HAVE ALL THE ANSWERS
(Terza Rima)
—Caschwa
I play Lotto because I believe in luck
once in a while fortune favors me quite well
and maybe it will again, so here’s my buck
got all the questions right on a test! do tell
it happened once long ago and far away
usually my memory’s short one cell
I responded with just the right thing to say
in the company of men of high letters
who smiled and praised my words, then went their own way
Lady Luck has keys to unlock my fetters
so I will then stand among winning bettors
And to put the icing on the Terza Rimas, Carl has sent us a Terza Rima Sonnet:
WE SING THE BLUES
(Terza Rima Sonnet)
—Caschwa
wore my mask for the shopping expedition!
as it turns out, their dress code and local laws
impose other requirements in addition
you need to cover your bottom, just because
other shoppers don’t want to see your package
so whatever you do, someone will find flaws
my grandparents used to say this old adage
Shakespeare: “Set not thy sweet heart on proud array”
(or, don’t wear your finery to the steerage)
if lucky enough to shop another day
I have learned my lessons and paid all my dues
right sizes, right colors, one must always pray
a path and a flashlight are our only clues
if it doesn’t turn out right, we sing the blues
Chair Potato
Here’s a wee EIO from Carl. This form was devised by Carol Louise Moon:
THE BIG DIG
(EIO form)
—Caschwa
Ever dig potatoes with a trowel?
It’s as if that keeps them smaller
Endless effort makes one howl
I’m more than ready to cry foul
Or try to stack them taller…
THE BIG DIG
(EIO form)
—Caschwa
Ever dig potatoes with a trowel?
It’s as if that keeps them smaller
Endless effort makes one howl
I’m more than ready to cry foul
Or try to stack them taller…
And finally, we have a Sestina from Carl:
OUT OF THE BAG
(Sestina)
—Caschwa
The one thing every musician needs is practice
as a trombone player I can tell you straight
off, purse your lips into the mouthpiece cup
remember to empty the water key into the bucket
and don’t forget to bring along a plunger
if you are good, they’ll put a tip in your hat
whatever you do, you don’t want to get stuck by a hat
pin, then see a doctor who’s out of practice
push hard on that diaphragm, like on a plunger
direct that column of air straight
out into the horn’s empty bucket
that was sweet, now enjoy another cup
of fresh ground coffee, not too late, last cup
served at 9:00 PM, put that in your hat
and step around the bucket
now is not the time to study the practice
of law, or all the ways to go straight
that bell on your horn is crying for a dirty dancing plunger
do what you want with the stick, just grab the plunger
business end and squeeze a penny into the cup
now see those notes with the straight
lines over them? smooth the sound with your hat
yes, that will take some practice
now how full is that bucket?
older communities used to have a bucket
brigade to carry water to a fire, a plunger
to empty the drains, and a practice
range for shooting, winner gets a cup
and a fancy, smancy hat
all for shooting straight
I like my lime with bourbon straight
shaved ice, not cubes from the bucket
to save my place I’ll leave my hat
go easy with that plunger
down to the last drop in my cup
all it takes is practice
I ran straight for the plunger
the drip bucket was no more than a cup
a big tip of the hat to the inventor of practice
_____________________
Many thanks to our SnakePals for their brave and competent 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:
•••Carl’s Crazy Quilt: several different forms used to treat the same subject; see medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2020/11/thanksgiven-and-many-more-in-return.html (Carl Schwartz)
•••EIO (or EIEIO): a five-line poem where the ends of lines rhyme in the scheme of A,B,A,B,B. The beginning words of each line begin with E,I,E,I,O. (Carol Louise Moon)
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Quinzaine: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/quinzaine.html
•••Sestina: www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Sestina
•••Somonka: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/somonka-poetic-forms
•••Terza Rima/Terza Rima Sonnet: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/terzarima.html
•••Tetractys: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/tetractys.html
•••Tyburn: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/tyburn.html
______________________
—Medusa
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Quinzaine: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/quinzaine.html
•••Sestina: www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Sestina
•••Somonka: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/somonka-poetic-forms
•••Terza Rima/Terza Rima Sonnet: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/terzarima.html
•••Tetractys: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/tetractys.html
•••Tyburn: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/tyburn.html
______________________
—Medusa
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