Follow the Raven

 

—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

—And scroll down for Form Fiddlers’ Friday!!

 

DARK-EYES   

Once upon a time those years ago
           I’d say goodbye to the juncos
                   as they headed for high country.

Now the parched land breathes
          through its facemask of dust,
                  stirring fire-flakes as they fall.

Crow cawing through the smoke
         calling a way out for those birds
                  black as char, ash on their wings.

 

 

 

 

 

REST YE MERRY

It’s no Victorian Christmas card, this image
dark as evening snow, shiver to the bone.
But realize, it’s midday August. Pastoral scene
viewed through haze: one old smoke-blue
willow shipwrecked on a dry creek sandbar.
Trees can’t evacuate. Smoke has journeyed
high and far, the cloud towering to cruising
altitude, broadcasting embers as it goes.
Snug your respirator mask. The air we breathe
is full of particulates—the particulars of
people’s lives and homes burning. Don’t ask
the morality or justice of it. Some blame
climate change, some claim natural cycle.
Hope for mercy. All the while the fire grows. 

 

 

 

 

 

ESCAPE ROUTE

A maze of old logging roads
forest tinder dry
the way out north south east west
gray-quilted in smoke
one road-fork’s like another
a broken compass
bird of char flies overhead—
follow the Raven.

 

 

 

 

 

TEN DAYS AND COUNTING

We wake to smoke as smoke drifts in our dreams.
It pools in coffee cups and unwashed spoon.
We can’t believe the heaven’s what it seems—
a winding-sheet for earth and this full moon.
Remember how we sailed a kite in June?
No one walks unmasked now. Are we to blame
for smoke, for fire, for drought? Is there a rune
for smoke that keeps on rising from its flame,
a tower-cloud still building as it streams,
dispersing sparks and embers? How it gleams….

 

 

 

 

 

(DIS) CONNECTED   

Too smoky to see
closest neighbors—we must be
alone in the world.

Hot & smoky—can’t
open windows, and the cat
cuddles close for warmth.

Midnight, the dog woke
me to your post—couldn’t it
wait till tomorrow?

 

 

 

 

 

NEWS ITEM DISGUISED AS EKPHRASIS

In this painting you sent me off the internet,
the bride runs wild, alone through birch woods.
She wasn’t meant for public spectacle. Wind-
in-the nostrils free on long slim legs, eyes focused
on her distances, her future, her life. A crowd
gathered for the great event; her partner ready—
but she flipped him off
and bolted. Cheers behind her turned to disbelief.
Out the gate, down the street, interstate, memorial
parkway. Didn’t they name her Bold and Bossy?
inscribed in the registry, from Barb and Arab stock,
centuries of running in her blood. Today,
her very first race. Forget jockey and groom,
filly flies solo.

 

 

 

 

Today’s LittleNip:

OPEN MIC AT LOVE BIRDS
—Taylor Graham

We meet here indoors, inside the red zone engulfed in smoke.
Those two fire evacuees sit sipping poems with their coffee.
We’ll walk back out into the smoky world, lightened by words.

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Taylor Graham sends us poetry of this smoky country today, and we thank her for that! Her snapshots show the forest Before, when there were blue skies and green trees.

Taylor’s poems are in forms: a Triversen (“Dark-Eyes”); a Word-Can Poem (“Rest Ye Merry”); an Imayo (“Escape Route”); a Decuain, last Friday’s Fiddlers’ Challenge (“Ten Days and Counting”); a Senryu Chain (“Dis) Connected”) and a Sijo (“Open Mic at Love Birds”).

And now it’s time for . . .

FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY! 

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.)

Joyce Odam has sent us two poems today: first, a Rainis Sonnet (nine lines, rhymed  a b a b   c a c   e e):


ANOTHER DAY
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA

You ask me why the windows go so dark;
I tell you there is no more light to lose.
You pull the shades to their old measure-mark,
I watch the night take on its somber hues

as one last flock of doves flies from the trees
with flutterings of white that seem to spark
and then go out. We feel the moment freeze.

This is the day we entered with such praise.
It dwindles down like all the other days. 

 

 

  

 

 And also an Espinella:


ALZHEIMER’S LAMENT
—Joyce Odam

Oh, to remember the sweet tones
of all the music that I’ve heard—
of each dear voice—of every bird—
of all my emptied mind bemoans.

To be aware of how life hones
the layerings around the soul.
But I perfect the silent role.
Here, I endure an awful lack . . .
here, silence has a certain knack
to fragmentize all memory . . .

Here, I have set all meanings free.
Here, nothing ever echoes back.

 

 

 

Carl Schwartz sent a Rispetto about breaking the rules:


BREAKING ALL THE RULES  
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

my difficulty with poetry is this:
allergic to iambic pentameter
directions and intentions I’m sure to miss
such as don’t sit too closely to the heater
two clumsy left feet bump harshly when they meet
allure to cheat, wave baton to count the beat
I’ll use some chewing gum to blow a bubble
pop, pop, chew, chew, oh what a mess of trouble 

 

 

 

And Carl also sent a Decuain, last Friday’s Fiddlers’ Challenge:


PLANNING COMMITTEE
—Caschwa

I had a poem looking for a rhyme
it needed one to make the whole thing work
t’was all too soon I would run out of time
and stay the lowly, humble, soda jerk
just didn’t care, by Google or by quirk
the Bard of Avon would have shook it off
what is this swamp, this ugly pool of murk
pretending it’s a dark and hearty quaff?
now bring to me all words that are sublime 

police are near to stifle any crime

__________________

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:

Rainis Sonnet: poetscollective.org/everysonnet/rainis-sonnet

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MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:

•••Decuain: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/decuain.html
•••Espinella: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/espinela-poetic-forms
•••Imayo: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/imayo-poetic-forms
•••Sonnet, Rainis: poetscollective.org/everysonnet/rainis-sonnet
•••Rispetto: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-forms-rispetto
•••Senryu: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-senryu-poems#quiz-0
•••Sijo: www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/sijo-poetic-form
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
•••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 Photo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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