—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—And scroll down for FORM FIDDLERS' FRIDAY!!
CALDOR FIRE
I’ve never seen smoke like that,
two tall towers rising from the cloud-
anvil taller—by worlds of pyro-convection—
than posts you set for the house
you built us on that ridge so many years ago.
Yesterday the house was standing, still.
Today? I try to read the portent
of smoke that’s built to tower-cloud
by fire-weather of its own.
I’ve never seen smoke like that,
two tall towers rising from the cloud-
anvil taller—by worlds of pyro-convection—
than posts you set for the house
you built us on that ridge so many years ago.
Yesterday the house was standing, still.
Today? I try to read the portent
of smoke that’s built to tower-cloud
by fire-weather of its own.
PRAISE ON THE EDGE OF FIRESTORM
Praise my black cat Latches
who weaves between my face and laptop screen,
weaves my lap, my fingers on keyboard and mouse,
weaves herself into my searching cyberspace
for news, acreage on the map, how far/
how close to home—hoping for hope
in the dark before dawn
she weaves warm black fur
against televised early morning updates
ghosts of fire-illuminated smoke,
evacuations, spot fires, road closures—
though I push her away
she curves back as cats will, knowing
what they know, back & forth warp & weft
weaving spells of purr
black as 4 a.m. promise of dawn cloaked in smoke,
our human knowing/not knowing.
WAITING OUT SUMMER
Fields are August-brittle, brown
and flammable, waiting for a tinder-spark
in wild oats and thistledown—
lightning or electric arc
or—oh pray no shooting stars ignite the dark.
Two counties south are burning.
Giant fire-heads above the summit. Smoke
settles, lifts—winds are turning.
We breathe it, so thick we’d choke
to walk among our woods. Our beloved oak.
Fields are August-brittle, brown
and flammable, waiting for a tinder-spark
in wild oats and thistledown—
lightning or electric arc
or—oh pray no shooting stars ignite the dark.
Two counties south are burning.
Giant fire-heads above the summit. Smoke
settles, lifts—winds are turning.
We breathe it, so thick we’d choke
to walk among our woods. Our beloved oak.
PRAISE FOR THE UPPER SHELF
Angel on Home Depot ladder
descends with more N95s.
I pay and, mask fit to my face,
I can sing thanks outdoors.
Angel on Home Depot ladder
descends with more N95s.
I pay and, mask fit to my face,
I can sing thanks outdoors.
PRANK FOR THE UPPER SHELL-BEAN
Angelus on home depth-charge lading
descends with more niobium.
I pay and, mason-wasp fit to my face-off,
I can sing thaumaturgist outdoors.
Angelus on home depth-charge lading
descends with more niobium.
I pay and, mason-wasp fit to my face-off,
I can sing thaumaturgist outdoors.
ARTICHOKE DANCE
You’d think it’s thrill of a lifetime
in the stale of not quite evening,
dog released from doors and rooms
of pent-up air, dashing out
to catch a strand of breeze
above the malingering garden—
a withered artichoke frond he found,
grabbed it, leaped & bowed,
brandished like a sword
or banner, dancing across dry stubble.
What sort of epiphany, such glory
of a desiccated, dying day?
You’d think it’s thrill of a lifetime
in the stale of not quite evening,
dog released from doors and rooms
of pent-up air, dashing out
to catch a strand of breeze
above the malingering garden—
a withered artichoke frond he found,
grabbed it, leaped & bowed,
brandished like a sword
or banner, dancing across dry stubble.
What sort of epiphany, such glory
of a desiccated, dying day?
Today’s LittleNip:
FOR CATHY AT OES
—Taylor Graham
Stone angel tends your koi pond.
I’m here to tend your dogs. You’re away, who knows
how long? mapping the beyond—
smoke and fire, what flares and glows,
spots, re-ignites as our future comes and goes.
______________________
Living where she does, Taylor Graham has plenty of examples of our Seed of the Week, “Smoke”, and she has sent fine poems and photos about it to the Kitchen today, and many thanks for that. Taylor writes in forms, too: the Lira (“Waiting Out Summer” & “For Cathy at OES”); a Word-Can Poem (“Artichoke Dance”); a Ryūka (“Praise for the Upper Shelf”) and an N+7 [sometimes S+7], another of “those weird Oulipo constraints”, she says (“Prank for the Upper Shell-Bean”).
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Living where she does, Taylor Graham has plenty of examples of our Seed of the Week, “Smoke”, and she has sent fine poems and photos about it to the Kitchen today, and many thanks for that. Taylor writes in forms, too: the Lira (“Waiting Out Summer” & “For Cathy at OES”); a Word-Can Poem (“Artichoke Dance”); a Ryūka (“Praise for the Upper Shelf”) and an N+7 [sometimes S+7], another of “those weird Oulipo constraints”, she says (“Prank for the Upper Shell-Bean”).
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Joyce Odam has sent us an Unrhymed Villanelle, which, as she says, is “after Carol Frith's modification of the Villanelle, away from the rhyme requirement of the original form”.
Villanelle, original form:
A1, x, A2; x, x, A1; x, x, A2; x, x, A1; x, x, A2; x, x A1, A2
FIRE SEASON
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
Walking outside to another caustic evening,
stifling edges of the night close in.
We and our shadows slowly lose importance.
The red moon climbs another smoky sky.
'Is summer really over,' we ask—derisive,
checking outdoors on another fire-scorched evening.
We smell the stubborn fires of a nearby county—
estimate the distance—sniff the air,
we and our shadows losing our importance
to the larger tragedies we try to fathom.
'When do you think it will rain', we ask—wishing
for overdue relief on this fire-thick evening,
our house becoming a vague dark shape behind us.
'It’s cooling down a bit', we say, for comfort
as we and our shadows gradually lose importance.
Small breezes start to build. The hard day softens.
'Let’s not go in just yet', we say, and shiver,
walking outside through another smoke-filled evening
where we and our shadows slowly lose importance.
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) sent us a Lira; to me, this one is reminiscent of Russell Edson (www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/russell-edson), whose poetry I have, out of deep respect, posted many times in the Kitchen:
OFF THE SCALE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
took him hours to find his shoes
after that ordeal, he could not find his feet
either one could yield some clues
must be his, not wonder whose
after that ordeal, he could not find his feet
Then Carl tackled the Landay, but, as he says, “This poem started out in the form of a Landay, then went off to follow only some of the rules some of the time.” That happens a lot at my house; poems have lives of their own, and sometimes, off they go into worlds of their own. And if I’m lucky, sometimes they’ll take me with them . . .
THE DAY AFTER
—Caschwa
each morning I slice an “everything“
bagel in half, put one half in the toaster oven
leave the room to go write poetry
until I hear the chiming bell tone call me over
or was that the carriage return bell’s
helpful hint from my manual typewriter of old?
those typewriters from yesteryear sit
far off, out of sight, but the sound of their bells remains
THE DAY AFTER
—Caschwa
each morning I slice an “everything“
bagel in half, put one half in the toaster oven
leave the room to go write poetry
until I hear the chiming bell tone call me over
or was that the carriage return bell’s
helpful hint from my manual typewriter of old?
those typewriters from yesteryear sit
far off, out of sight, but the sound of their bells remains
And here is a Senryu Chain, again with those shoes:
MATCHED PAIR
—Caschwa
they are a couple
who wear each other like shoes
that are broken in
sharing memories
of some moments together
laughing or crying
family fun like
getting splashed by the dolphins
and meeting mascots
it’s not the same now
physical limitations
warranty expired
climate is crumbling
democracy in peril
global pandemic
insurrectionists
part of a marathon of
mortal challenges
they lay themselves down
peaceful slumber through the night
dreams will seed high hopes
__________________
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:
•••Decuain: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/decuain.html
__________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Decuain: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/decuain.html
•••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
•••N+7 [or S+7]: heregoesheather.wordpress.com/2009/04/12/n-7-poetry
•••OULIPO Movement: poets.org/text/brief-guide-oulipo
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Senryu: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-senryu-poems#quiz-0
•••Villanelle (rhymed; may be done unrhymed): www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-forms-villanelle
•••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
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:
•••Decuain: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/decuain.html
__________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Decuain: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/decuain.html
•••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
•••N+7 [or S+7]: heregoesheather.wordpress.com/2009/04/12/n-7-poetry
•••OULIPO Movement: poets.org/text/brief-guide-oulipo
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Senryu: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-senryu-poems#quiz-0
•••Villanelle (rhymed; may be done unrhymed): www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-forms-villanelle
•••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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