—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
ALICE’S WONDERLAND DOOR
She walked past sleep into a new world,
the edge of forest filtered by nightly spiderwebs.
The old way evolved, involved, revolved
and unexpectedly ended in a cul-de-sac.
Thickets—no, here’s a narrow way, thin
as a straw, a cannula disappearing in dark,
and then a chamber of clear sunlight
out of shadow, a space where she might freely breathe.
If she should wake, she knows she’ll never
find this place again, no street signs—the forever green.
She walked past sleep into a new world,
the edge of forest filtered by nightly spiderwebs.
The old way evolved, involved, revolved
and unexpectedly ended in a cul-de-sac.
Thickets—no, here’s a narrow way, thin
as a straw, a cannula disappearing in dark,
and then a chamber of clear sunlight
out of shadow, a space where she might freely breathe.
If she should wake, she knows she’ll never
find this place again, no street signs—the forever green.
Basque arborglyph
STORIES WITH FEW WORDS
Marking Their Trail (Exhibition of Basque Arborglyphs)
Country couple holding hands—
sheepherder’s remembrance
of family he left across the ocean?
From Pyrenees or Andes to our high Sierra—
he carves a skier smiling
into a distance, mountain homes away.
On the gallery wall, aspen sketch
of Miss U.S.A.—and here, a nude stares
pointedly at us staring at her.
Herder E. must have caught this fish
for supper, 88 summers ago—preserved
in aspen-art still fresh on the hook.
Crescent moon converses
with a star—a herder eavesdrops,
so Sierra-close to the heavens.
Marking Their Trail (Exhibition of Basque Arborglyphs)
Country couple holding hands—
sheepherder’s remembrance
of family he left across the ocean?
From Pyrenees or Andes to our high Sierra—
he carves a skier smiling
into a distance, mountain homes away.
On the gallery wall, aspen sketch
of Miss U.S.A.—and here, a nude stares
pointedly at us staring at her.
Herder E. must have caught this fish
for supper, 88 summers ago—preserved
in aspen-art still fresh on the hook.
Crescent moon converses
with a star—a herder eavesdrops,
so Sierra-close to the heavens.
Basque arborglyph
ANOTHER ULYSSES
for GWG
You had no quarrel with the epic hero,
absent lord of house and land.
You too were wanderer far and wide
over any water, drinking life by the bowl
full. Is travel a panacea? You knew Fate
severe as storm in the straits, fragile
and uncertain as newborn fawn.
You unraveled a waterfall into river,
then the pirate sea. And after all
the errant adventures, your tale proved
circular, leading back home to find
how much had changed in your absence.
for GWG
You had no quarrel with the epic hero,
absent lord of house and land.
You too were wanderer far and wide
over any water, drinking life by the bowl
full. Is travel a panacea? You knew Fate
severe as storm in the straits, fragile
and uncertain as newborn fawn.
You unraveled a waterfall into river,
then the pirate sea. And after all
the errant adventures, your tale proved
circular, leading back home to find
how much had changed in your absence.
IN THE FIRE’S PATH
The town’s been there the longest time
under pines, full of history.
The town’s been there the longest time
under pines, full of history.
Under pines full of history
the town was there the longest time.
You might have heard the steeples chime
with early morning mystery.
Under pines full of history,
the town’s been there the longest time.
They watched the wildfire leap and climb
the hills around. Some wouldn’t flee
until the street was ashy grime
and not a rooftop left to see.
The town was there the longest time
under pines, full of history.
Under pines full of history
the town was there the longest time.
the town was there the longest time.
You might have heard the steeples chime
with early morning mystery.
Under pines full of history,
the town’s been there the longest time.
They watched the wildfire leap and climb
the hills around. Some wouldn’t flee
until the street was ashy grime
and not a rooftop left to see.
The town was there the longest time
under pines, full of history.
Under pines full of history
the town was there the longest time.
HERE COMES THE DUMP TRUCK
This row of trash cans by a country road
under oak woods standing forever there—
and who produces all this garbage-load?
A quiet neighborhood that one might swear
inhabited by hawk and owl, by frog and toad;
this natural place just now with sunrise glowed
for fox and squirrel and maybe cougar, bear—
but look, such refuse in its ordered row
was made by humans prone to use and throw.
This row of trash cans by a country road
under oak woods standing forever there—
and who produces all this garbage-load?
A quiet neighborhood that one might swear
inhabited by hawk and owl, by frog and toad;
this natural place just now with sunrise glowed
for fox and squirrel and maybe cougar, bear—
but look, such refuse in its ordered row
was made by humans prone to use and throw.
LANDAY UNRAVELING
On this back-way road the hills are gone—
a hundred hungry earth-movers have locust’ed the land.
The way ends with barricades, detour
taking me to 6-lane highway where used to be fields.
News is a climate unraveling.
The TV reports more houses, more cars, and more more.
Is this progress, to lay down pavement
so no soil can breathe, and who counts the worms and beetles?
Firestorm and flood, growth exponential;
mayhem and disaster, mankind making itself war.
On this back-way road the hills are gone—
a hundred hungry earth-movers have locust’ed the land.
The way ends with barricades, detour
taking me to 6-lane highway where used to be fields.
News is a climate unraveling.
The TV reports more houses, more cars, and more more.
Is this progress, to lay down pavement
so no soil can breathe, and who counts the worms and beetles?
Firestorm and flood, growth exponential;
mayhem and disaster, mankind making itself war.
Today’s LittleNip:
HAWK OR OWL
—Taylor Graham
A downy feather on dry grass—
I lift it high and let it drift
slow and softly down, down, as slow
as loath to leave the sky.
_________________
Living near the Sierra Nevada these days means we all hold our breaths while Mother Nature frees her house of dried brush and timber. Unfortunately, our local residents include Taylor Graham, who lives south of Placerville, almost to the small town of (appropriately enough) Rescue. Her locale is quite a ways from the fires (so far), but Taylor tends to be a poet-reporter, writing about what’s going on around her., so those events are woven into her poetry today. And Medusa's Seed of Last Week was "Unraveling", and that's sure what it feels like up here . . .
As usual, TG includes forms in her writing today: the Landay (“Alice's Wonderland Door” & “Landay Unraveling”); Rondel Double (“In the Fire's Path”); Ottava Rima (“Here Comes the Dump Truck”); Word-Can Poem (“Another Ulysses”) and a Ryūka (“Hawk or Owl”). For more about Basque arborglyphs, go to www.atlasobscura.com/articles/basque-sheepherders-arborglyphs-aspen-trees/.
A note that tonight’s reading at the Avid Reader on Broadway in Sac. has been CANCELLED—that’s Speak Up: The Art of Storytelling and Poetry, Avid Reader, 1945 Broadway, Sac. Watch for notice of future readings.
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Fiddle-Cat
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
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.)
Here is a lovely Lira from Joyce Odam:
LIRA: (A Spanish form)
Syllables: 7, 11, 7, 7, 11
Rhymed: a b a a b
HEALING TIME
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
You are vague . . . extend this thought :
memory releases you . . . I let you go.
Stop your trembling—as if caught
on some confusion. It’s not
too late to stay if you must. Healing is slow.
Here is a lovely Lira from Joyce Odam:
LIRA: (A Spanish form)
Syllables: 7, 11, 7, 7, 11
Rhymed: a b a a b
HEALING TIME
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
You are vague . . . extend this thought :
memory releases you . . . I let you go.
Stop your trembling—as if caught
on some confusion. It’s not
too late to stay if you must. Healing is slow.
And Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) sent us a Landay, the Fiddlers’ Challenge from last week:
WONDER WHO
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
someone is knocking on our front door
but we always check the peephole first, just to be sure
the answering machine will handle
Restricted, Name Unavailable, other such calls
a little café near the college
had fresh-ground coffee, owner said the best was at home
a tall-hat chef deserves some credit
so do the fieldworkers, and most hourly employees
a match made in Heaven can be no
more than teenagers receiving their marching orders
I used to be a renowned artist
murals hung in school hallway, that was before homework
________________________
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!
See what you can make of this week’s poetry form, and send it to kathykieth@hotmail.com! (No deadline.) This week's challenge:
Lira: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/lira
________________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Landay: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/landay-poetic-form OR www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms?category=209&page=2
•••Lira: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/lira
•••Ottava Rima: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/ottava-rima-poetic-form
•••Rondel Double: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/rondel-double-poetic-forms
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them.
________________________
—Medusa
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