—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—And scroll down for Form Fiddlers' Friday!!
SAFE
Driving upcountry, sunglare through windshield, hard to see centerline. 5 crosses in a row—family totaled years ago. Slow down for curves, don’t end up in a tree or down the canyon. Off highway, dirt roads eroding; don’t get lost in maze of unmarked tracks. Which way to the meadow?
Once a sheepherder
carved his name in aspen bark
while his sheep grazed near—
coyote, cougar, bear—how
keep his bearings, keep his sheep?
I wander the grove looking for carvings in bark. A pair of juncos jitting up a storm—at me! I might trample their nest. I keep wandering. Where’s the car? I could be lost—
lost in a grove of
tower delphinium, safe
in quake of aspen
Driving upcountry, sunglare through windshield, hard to see centerline. 5 crosses in a row—family totaled years ago. Slow down for curves, don’t end up in a tree or down the canyon. Off highway, dirt roads eroding; don’t get lost in maze of unmarked tracks. Which way to the meadow?
Once a sheepherder
carved his name in aspen bark
while his sheep grazed near—
coyote, cougar, bear—how
keep his bearings, keep his sheep?
I wander the grove looking for carvings in bark. A pair of juncos jitting up a storm—at me! I might trample their nest. I keep wandering. Where’s the car? I could be lost—
lost in a grove of
tower delphinium, safe
in quake of aspen
GOOD OLD DAYS
Beyond the paved and gated city, behind the last
quick stop—just out of sight—a dirt track rutted,
overgrown. I stopped. A clearing, some stones
set not quite naturally. For furniture, a weathered
stump. One board dangling by rusty nails
from a stunty oak, frayed length of rope over what
used to be creek before the great drought. As if
kids kept secrets here, best kind of fun, games
grownups never knew or else forgot. Otherwise,
not a trace of humans ever being here.
Just a living presence in this clearing taken
by wild. Sky overhead. Nothing more.
Beyond the paved and gated city, behind the last
quick stop—just out of sight—a dirt track rutted,
overgrown. I stopped. A clearing, some stones
set not quite naturally. For furniture, a weathered
stump. One board dangling by rusty nails
from a stunty oak, frayed length of rope over what
used to be creek before the great drought. As if
kids kept secrets here, best kind of fun, games
grownups never knew or else forgot. Otherwise,
not a trace of humans ever being here.
Just a living presence in this clearing taken
by wild. Sky overhead. Nothing more.
MARKING THE TRAIL
In a quivering
grove of aspen I search for
letters scratched in bark—
this smooth, white, living paper
for a lone sheepherder’s name.
In a quivering
grove of aspen I search for
letters scratched in bark—
this smooth, white, living paper
for a lone sheepherder’s name.
CONSTANCY
This aspen grove of quiver-leaves—
you come again as in the past
as if it might forever last.
You say it whispers as it grieves
its weather-worn and fallen trees,
the scars of carvings on its knees.
You come in boots, with rolled-up sleeves
to read the parchment of the bark
where people passed and left their mark.
You wouldn’t carve your name, your peeves
and longings, but you listen close—
wind in aspen’s a healing dose
as under-foot each rootlet weaves
into the root-web of its kind.
Such peace is what you hope to find,
remembering the dawns and eves,
this place of grasses and of stone
and bark that shines like living bone.
This aspen grove of quiver-leaves—
you come again as in the past
as if it might forever last.
You say it whispers as it grieves
its weather-worn and fallen trees,
the scars of carvings on its knees.
You come in boots, with rolled-up sleeves
to read the parchment of the bark
where people passed and left their mark.
You wouldn’t carve your name, your peeves
and longings, but you listen close—
wind in aspen’s a healing dose
as under-foot each rootlet weaves
into the root-web of its kind.
Such peace is what you hope to find,
remembering the dawns and eves,
this place of grasses and of stone
and bark that shines like living bone.
HOW MANY ACRES
Blaze the fire spoke
as it torched the oak
for fun.
Up the ridge—bad joke—
its banner is smoke.
Not done!
Its business: to cloak
this mountain, to choke
and run.
Blaze the fire spoke
as it torched the oak
for fun.
Up the ridge—bad joke—
its banner is smoke.
Not done!
Its business: to cloak
this mountain, to choke
and run.
A GOOD OLD LIFE
She taught her daughters
dexterity of rope and wire, how to staple
field-fence tight to keep the cattle in;
the swirl of lasso; how to shoulder whatever
needed to be done. Favorite photo:
She taught her daughters
dexterity of rope and wire, how to staple
field-fence tight to keep the cattle in;
the swirl of lasso; how to shoulder whatever
needed to be done. Favorite photo:
in bandanna, riding a cloud of dust, not a man-
made thing in sight.
Another lesson: how to be alone.
Today’s LittleNip:
INDUSTRIAL PARK
—Taylor Graham
Mobile Dream Center
parked
waiting
for
dreams—
parked
at
road’s
end
parked
Mobile Dream Center.
___________________
Friday brings the end to another week, as well as a passel of fine poems and photos from Taylor Graham, who writes: “Here are… several poems inspired by trips to the high country and the Marking Their Trail exhibition at Arts & Culture El Dorado's Confidence Firehouse Gallery (Basque tree carvings)”. This week’s poetry forms from her include a Lai (“How Many Acres”); two Word-Can poems (“A Good Old Life” & “Good Old Days”); the Skinny (“Industrial Park”); a Constanza (our recent Fiddlers’ Challenge: “Constancy”); a Tanka (“Marking the Trail”) and a Haibun (“Safe”). Our thanks to her as always!
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
INDUSTRIAL PARK
—Taylor Graham
Mobile Dream Center
parked
waiting
for
dreams—
parked
at
road’s
end
parked
Mobile Dream Center.
___________________
Friday brings the end to another week, as well as a passel of fine poems and photos from Taylor Graham, who writes: “Here are… several poems inspired by trips to the high country and the Marking Their Trail exhibition at Arts & Culture El Dorado's Confidence Firehouse Gallery (Basque tree carvings)”. This week’s poetry forms from her include a Lai (“How Many Acres”); two Word-Can poems (“A Good Old Life” & “Good Old Days”); the Skinny (“Industrial Park”); a Constanza (our recent Fiddlers’ Challenge: “Constancy”); a Tanka (“Marking the Trail”) and a Haibun (“Safe”). Our thanks to her as always!
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Today we are starting with a Cinquain (5 lines, syllables 2,4,6,8,2) from Claire Baker, with our thanks! The Cinquain was “invented” by Adelaide Crapsey back at the turn of the 20th century; see www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/adelaide-crapsey for info about her poetry, her study of metrics, and her short life.
ONE STAR
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
May we
feel one star choose
us as its own, then float
slowly toward us, for rest in
our eyes.
Joyce Odam has sent a Welsh Englyn, specifically an Englyn Unodl Union (èen-glin éen-oddlel èeen-yon—see www.volecentral.co.uk/vf/englyn.htm OR www.poetrybase.info/forms/001/117.shtml). The Welsh forms are exceedingly difficult, and bravo to Joyce for wrassling this one to the ground. Here is its skeleton:
1st line: 10 syllables (b) rhyme on 7th syllable (x) rhyme on 10th syllable
2nd line: 6 syllables (b) rhyme on 2nd syllable (a) rhyme on 6th syllable
3rd line: 7 syllables (a) rhyme on 7th syllable
4th line: 7 syllables (a) rhyme on 7th syllable
AN OLD NIGHT-CRY
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
1st line: 10 syllables (b) rhyme on 7th syllable (x) rhyme on 10th syllable
2nd line: 6 syllables (b) rhyme on 2nd syllable (a) rhyme on 6th syllable
3rd line: 7 syllables (a) rhyme on 7th syllable
4th line: 7 syllables (a) rhyme on 7th syllable
AN OLD NIGHT-CRY
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
An old night-cry—sounding thin, sounding far
I've been that far, that old—
reached—with nothing there to hold.
But why this night . . .? Why this bold . . . /
Carl Schwartz tackled last week’s Fiddlers’ Challenge, the Constanza, and here is what his muse came up with:
BATTLE STATIONS
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
went through the whole house and put spray
on everything resembling ants
stopped them still while doing their dance
that worked, still counting, half a day
then their reinforcements surged back
determined to cut us no slack
can’t believe they are here to stay
getting to be quite a nuisance
not one has a guilty conscience
it is the queen who’ll have to pay
for her atrocities, a crime
sending soldiers to march and climb
over food we had put away
until called by our appetite
did they come first? you got that right
set poison out, the queen to slay
the theory is, they’ll take it back
maybe that works, we can’t keep track
__________________
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:
Englyn Unodl Union: (www.volecentral.co.uk/vf/englyn.htm OR www.poetrybase.info/forms/001/117.shtml): see Joyce’s poem [above]
_________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Cinquain: poets.org/glossary/cinquain OR www.poewar.com/poetry-in-forms-series-cinquain/. See www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/adelaide-crapsey for info about its inventor, Adelaide Crapsey.
•••Constanza: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/constanza.html
•••Englyn Unodl Union: a Welsh form: www.volecentral.co.uk/vf/englyn.htm OR www.poetrybase.info/forms/001/117.shtml
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Lai: www.baymoon.com/~ariadne/form/lai.htm
•••Skinny: duotrope.com/listing/20565/skinny-poetry-journal
•••Tanka: poets.org/glossary/tanka
•••Welsh Poetic Forms: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/welsh-poetic-forms
•••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
_________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Cinquain: poets.org/glossary/cinquain OR www.poewar.com/poetry-in-forms-series-cinquain/. See www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/adelaide-crapsey for info about its inventor, Adelaide Crapsey.
•••Constanza: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/constanza.html
•••Englyn Unodl Union: a Welsh form: www.volecentral.co.uk/vf/englyn.htm OR www.poetrybase.info/forms/001/117.shtml
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Lai: www.baymoon.com/~ariadne/form/lai.htm
•••Skinny: duotrope.com/listing/20565/skinny-poetry-journal
•••Tanka: poets.org/glossary/tanka
•••Welsh Poetic Forms: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/welsh-poetic-forms
•••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
—Public Domain Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
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