—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—And scroll down to Form Fiddlers’ Friday!
SMOKE
I’m crumpling old news for a woodstove fire—
some faded photo of a cow-camp meadow
already flaming as I strike the match.
It haunts, a landscape dulled by smoky glass.
I wonder if that meadow is the same
we knew. Our truck high-centered in the snow
and so we camped there, and coyotes stole
the dark with yip-howl at the moon. We woke
to ice, and then the meadow wild with bloom,
and willow thickets reaching for the breeze,
then, seed-pods brittling at the cusp of fall.
We left each campfire circle cold and dead,
and ended with a drive back home—too soon.
This ghost of chimney-smoke must be the moon.
I’m crumpling old news for a woodstove fire—
some faded photo of a cow-camp meadow
already flaming as I strike the match.
It haunts, a landscape dulled by smoky glass.
I wonder if that meadow is the same
we knew. Our truck high-centered in the snow
and so we camped there, and coyotes stole
the dark with yip-howl at the moon. We woke
to ice, and then the meadow wild with bloom,
and willow thickets reaching for the breeze,
then, seed-pods brittling at the cusp of fall.
We left each campfire circle cold and dead,
and ended with a drive back home—too soon.
This ghost of chimney-smoke must be the moon.
LINES BETWEEN SEASONS
Dawn’s a soft crimson between gray clouds,
and breeze causes a blue-oak leaf to fly.
Our little creek sloshes at the culvert mouth,
running not swift, colorless so long since rain,
a trace of perlage evaporating at the edges.
Field grass not tall enough to mow; that comes
soon enough. Upstream I find a green bottle
wash-down—decanter with its sediment of sand.
One dead leaf revolves, revolves in an eddy,
in love with the swirl as if it’s lost connection
with the universal flow. I’ll keep on walking,
collecting details—each color, texture, glimpse
of life I can gather before the next season—
already coming on another drift of breeze.
Dawn’s a soft crimson between gray clouds,
and breeze causes a blue-oak leaf to fly.
Our little creek sloshes at the culvert mouth,
running not swift, colorless so long since rain,
a trace of perlage evaporating at the edges.
Field grass not tall enough to mow; that comes
soon enough. Upstream I find a green bottle
wash-down—decanter with its sediment of sand.
One dead leaf revolves, revolves in an eddy,
in love with the swirl as if it’s lost connection
with the universal flow. I’ll keep on walking,
collecting details—each color, texture, glimpse
of life I can gather before the next season—
already coming on another drift of breeze.
BIKE-HIKING TRAIL
Come to the familiar trail again today, in
winter,
A great oak has fallen, and Queen Anne’s lace
becomes
skeleton-candelabra. Only coyote bush blooms.
The mood
catches like the stare of a feral cat, denizen
of this
berry bramble holding green by its thorn, this
lone path.
Come to the familiar trail again today, in
winter,
A great oak has fallen, and Queen Anne’s lace
becomes
skeleton-candelabra. Only coyote bush blooms.
The mood
catches like the stare of a feral cat, denizen
of this
berry bramble holding green by its thorn, this
lone path.
NAMES OF GREEN
Paint-chip colors of green: sage, Sherwood,
fern, pine, hunter, moss, backwoods, teal, grass,
forest, chartreuse, Kelly, lime, sea-glass,
guacamole, cress, lichen, apple,
mint, succulent, jade…. February’s
coming on March—weed-eating season.
I’ll pick some miner’s lettuce among
all the breeze-whispering yet-to-be
ID’d, live-pulsing forbs and grasses
outside my door. And the only word
that comes to me is green green green green.
MINERS LETTUCE FOR SALAD
It takes an ancient live-oak
bordering the next-door folk—
oak casting shade so loved by sheep
who chose that spot for cudding sleep
and by Nature’s recycling, grass grows
green and, in spring, miners lettuce glows.
I thank the live-oak, and sheep—now long gone—
who bless with salad fixins such a lawn.
It takes an ancient live-oak
bordering the next-door folk—
oak casting shade so loved by sheep
who chose that spot for cudding sleep
and by Nature’s recycling, grass grows
green and, in spring, miners lettuce glows.
I thank the live-oak, and sheep—now long gone—
who bless with salad fixins such a lawn.
FAMILY HISTORIES
When old dog Taco died, we buried his body next to Pattycake who came and left before him. Piper, his daughter, sniffed at newly broken earth, then shoved her nose into a young toyon leaning over the grave. Leaf by leaf she inhaled its ever-green—Taco’s scent lingering to redden winter berries. And when I started vacuuming his ever-shedding hair off hardwood, she planted herself between, as if to save those traces—
breath or spirit-drift
on air, old-dog-relics of
a life gone elsewhere
When old dog Taco died, we buried his body next to Pattycake who came and left before him. Piper, his daughter, sniffed at newly broken earth, then shoved her nose into a young toyon leaning over the grave. Leaf by leaf she inhaled its ever-green—Taco’s scent lingering to redden winter berries. And when I started vacuuming his ever-shedding hair off hardwood, she planted herself between, as if to save those traces—
breath or spirit-drift
on air, old-dog-relics of
a life gone elsewhere
SNOW MOON MORNING
One solitary egret—
vivid white against dark water
at pond’s edge.
Egret flies—count each
wing-feather
on winter-blue sky.
No. Two egrets
airborne—approaching, separating, a dance
of almost spring.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
BAT WINGS, MARCH
—Taylor Graham
Dark jacket flapping
across schoolyard in gusts of
her running so fast!
___________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for these poems of green and the changing season! She has brought us some forms, as well: a Smith Sonnet (“Smoke”); a Waltmarie (“Bike-Hiking Trail”); some Normative Syllabics (“Names of Green”); a Con-verse (“Miners Lettuce for Salad”); some Lunes (“Snow Moon Morning”); plus a Haibun and a Haiku.
Celebrate Women’s History Month tonight, 6pm, with a Women’s History Poetry Reading featuring 12 local poets reading their own work, as well as poetry by historical poets. Hosted by Bob Stanley and Random Lane Press on Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/j/87216654451/. No password needed.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
One solitary egret—
vivid white against dark water
at pond’s edge.
Egret flies—count each
wing-feather
on winter-blue sky.
No. Two egrets
airborne—approaching, separating, a dance
of almost spring.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
BAT WINGS, MARCH
—Taylor Graham
Dark jacket flapping
across schoolyard in gusts of
her running so fast!
___________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for these poems of green and the changing season! She has brought us some forms, as well: a Smith Sonnet (“Smoke”); a Waltmarie (“Bike-Hiking Trail”); some Normative Syllabics (“Names of Green”); a Con-verse (“Miners Lettuce for Salad”); some Lunes (“Snow Moon Morning”); plus a Haibun and a Haiku.
Celebrate Women’s History Month tonight, 6pm, with a Women’s History Poetry Reading featuring 12 local poets reading their own work, as well as poetry by historical poets. Hosted by Bob Stanley and Random Lane Press on Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/j/87216654451/. No password needed.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
In addition to Taylor Graham’s form-poems above, Claire Baker has popped in from Pinole with a Triolet, about which she says, “This form can serve well for both serious and lighter poems. And one can play with the refrain for variation, or extended meaning”:
FOR A NEW-AGE GURU
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Since you know ways to grow the soul,
when will you show us how?
Do you meditate on a knoll,
nurturing views to grow your soul
in ways that will not take a toll
and you can take a bow?
Since you know ways to grow one’s soul,
please teach us how and how?
The question of the ages, right, Claire?
Here’s Caschwa (Carl Schwartz), furiously fiddling with forms as always as he looks to make sense of the world—in this case, counting syllables—a practice which will drive you crazy if you try to do it in English. Here’s what he has to say about that:
“This poem follows Example #2 from the Shadow Poetry listing for the Con-Verse [last week’s Fiddlers’ Challenge]. In the last line of Example #3, the word “brilliant” is apparently given 3 syllables, though lexicons and common speech traits afford it only 2. Couldn’t find any hard authority for this on the Internet, just personal opinions which are all over the place.”
EGGS AMPLE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
one egg for millions of sperm
to share, early bird gets worm
take one noun, decline another
conjugate verbs if you ‘druther
bring out the old thesaurus rex book
all the synonyms your mind can cook
tubas oom-pah in the rear, drum major
sets the pace by looking at his pager
I will put you on my shoulders to see them
not you, Wimpy, I meant my toddler, ahem!
Last Friday, Taylor Graham introduced us to the Waltmarie [www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/waltmarie-poetic-forms], and Carl came up with a couple of them this week:
OFF THE CLOCK
—Caschwa
night owl dinner, cooking outside at—
midnight
wore coat with lots of pockets for—
monsters
to inhabit while I fire up the grill—
merry
flames dancing all about—
making
medium rare servings, our favorite
madness
OFF THE CLOCK
—Caschwa
night owl dinner, cooking outside at—
midnight
wore coat with lots of pockets for—
monsters
to inhabit while I fire up the grill—
merry
flames dancing all about—
making
medium rare servings, our favorite
madness
THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW
—Caschwa
we the people are no longer the lowest order of life—
we are
done with having an all-powerful ruler—
going
against every democratic principle—
to the
detriment of our core beliefs, chopping off the
head of
naysayers whom you say don’t belong in
the class
Then, mid-week, Carl was attacked by what he called “a veritable slew of Senryu” [www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-senryu-poems#quiz-0], some singly and some in chains. Here’s another one—chain, that is. Note the rhyming last lines of each stanza:
TOUGH ROAD
—Caschwa
ample consensus
that their treatment of us was
reprehensible
which escalated
into grievances fully
abominable
it took a big war
for us to form one nation
indivisible
any evidence
in opposition would be
inadmissible
in a court of law
as these are facts which are in-
controvertible
TOUGH ROAD
—Caschwa
ample consensus
that their treatment of us was
reprehensible
which escalated
into grievances fully
abominable
it took a big war
for us to form one nation
indivisible
any evidence
in opposition would be
inadmissible
in a court of law
as these are facts which are in-
controvertible
Speaking of slews [and I would definitely try to keep them chained up], Carl has likewise done a slew of Haibuns lately. Here’s one; see next Monday’s post for some more of that slew. Taylor Graham does indeed love the Haibun, sending us one almost every week. She tends toward the strict, traditional form; Carl likes—you guessed it—to fiddle. By the way, here’s a link to the journal, Haibun Today:
haibuntoday.com/pages/about.html/.
WALES WATCHING
—Caschwa
handy remote in hand, I was all
ready to click on the OK button
to record “Just this episode” when
I inadvertently pressed one of the
neighboring buttons
the picture froze, the audio left
town, and I spent the next frenzied
moments trying to figure out how
many times I had to push “Exit” to
resume the programming I had
chosen to watch
after a mini eternity in which I had
haphazardly pushed all the buttons
in no particular order, violating every
single rule of conducting a scientific
experiment…..
…..my high definition screen displayed
some weather forecast figures over the
background of some kind of topographical
map of Wales, trying to impart to my
empty head a few lessons from history
…a few more, solid pushes on the Exit
button and then my program resumed,
as normal as you please
I fear to check if
the recording did, in fact
make me a genius
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!
Tanaga: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tanag
__________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Con-Verse: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/converse.html
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Haiku: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Lune: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-lune-poetry#what-is-lune-poetry OR
www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/poetic-form-lune
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Senryu: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-senryu-poems#quiz-0
•••Smith Sonnet: 5-ft. pentameter, unrhymed except for final couplet
•••Tanaga: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tanag
•••Triolet: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/triolet-an-easy-way-to-write-8-lines-of-poetry
•••Waltmarie: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/waltmarie-poetic-forms
__________________
—Medusa
Dancing in Almost-Spring
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
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