Grand Central Concourse Clock
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Stephen Kingsnorth
—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Joseph Nolan,
Michelle Kunert, Carl Schwartz (Caschwa)
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Stephen Kingsnorth, Joseph Nolan
MEETING PLACE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wales
Discrete acanthus, crowning piece,
as if new-mounted, spear of mint,
to roof sharp-rising piercing point,
fall frieze, the frozen craftsmen’s style;
this meeting base, Grand Central place,
when travel plans need coincide—
under the face, Time Lord in space,
high analogue, brass light to guide.
Mewl crawling baby, on all paws,
add two and two when count at school;
type family, tetrad point four—
foursome suggests polygamy?
Six less than ten, quadrumvirate,
negotiation, table shape,
one more than three—synoptic view—
the canon fired as martyrs queued.
Quartet for strings when tied to score,
beats to the bar, a common stave,
my metronome that rhythms pace,
craft corners, square dance on the floor.
For compass, bearing guide for life,
a welcome north, east, south and west,
to greet those from a stranger race—
magnetic pull, direction gives.
When numbers marked, four season zones,
quadruple corners of the globe,
equate quadratic points of view,
then comes the time when peace observed.
So gather, different dials met,
shared inner workings, harmony.
Beyond our power is midnight set—
hold hands, catch train, world’s end arrives.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wales
Discrete acanthus, crowning piece,
as if new-mounted, spear of mint,
to roof sharp-rising piercing point,
fall frieze, the frozen craftsmen’s style;
this meeting base, Grand Central place,
when travel plans need coincide—
under the face, Time Lord in space,
high analogue, brass light to guide.
Mewl crawling baby, on all paws,
add two and two when count at school;
type family, tetrad point four—
foursome suggests polygamy?
Six less than ten, quadrumvirate,
negotiation, table shape,
one more than three—synoptic view—
the canon fired as martyrs queued.
Quartet for strings when tied to score,
beats to the bar, a common stave,
my metronome that rhythms pace,
craft corners, square dance on the floor.
For compass, bearing guide for life,
a welcome north, east, south and west,
to greet those from a stranger race—
magnetic pull, direction gives.
When numbers marked, four season zones,
quadruple corners of the globe,
equate quadratic points of view,
then comes the time when peace observed.
So gather, different dials met,
shared inner workings, harmony.
Beyond our power is midnight set—
hold hands, catch train, world’s end arrives.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Stephen Kingsnorth
CLAN
—Stephen Kingsnorth
It seems it’s annual photo time,
the gathered members of the clan,
obvious likeness in the genes,
but each an individual framed.
A compass dial for every face,
a petal stretch, turned petiole,
the larger grown or smaller scrawn,
some neatly dressed and vagabonds.
And what of mirrorwork of scene,
both glassy stare, embarrassment,
more faded, for the ancestors,
though not the age of sepia.
We trace progress through nursery,
suggestive struggle, eager boom,
potential nurtured in the seed,
though somewhere, serendipity.
Their offspring centred, seedbed core,
promise fulfilled as future dawns,
for now hoarfrost pervades the air—
birds hold their harvest festival.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Michelle Kunert
BARE FACTS
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Tracking stories, sheep hours filled,
protectors, flocks from wolves’ maraud,
nightwatchmen, camel caravans,
the zodiac, some future guide,
from asterism’s picture book.
Ursa Major, Polaris line,
plough point to point on image map,
this scene of spotlights maybe there,
though light years’ past, each history,
as Great Bear now might white dwarf die.
Black holes evade astronomers—
are little bears lost, hidden there?
But now I see one in such space
with grizzled face as waking up
from taking winter, autumn past.
It found bare route to vacant lot,
tumbled weeds down, crumbled soil,
took squatter’s rites, long overhaul,
mixed mycorrhiza as its bed,
ahead, emerge, as chrysalis.
I wonder, did he miss that fall
of seeds from pods in wailing song,
scaled gales that spread plant offspring crèche,
broom sprung in airlift overland,
swung sycamore from heliport?
It’s Roosevelt to blame I’m told,
for tears and tantrums, teddy lost,
and Pooh Sticks floating under bridge;
I once bought Winnie, from his shop—
Christopher Robin shelved his own.
Does Goldilocks taste porridge near,
while cousin, polar, think it fuss?
How Yogi, Huggy found his hutch—
ever Baloo, Paddington there,
suspended animation rôle?
Tracking stories, sheep hours filled,
protectors, flocks from wolves’ maraud,
nightwatchmen, camel caravans,
the zodiac, some future guide,
from asterism’s picture book.
Ursa Major, Polaris line,
plough point to point on image map,
this scene of spotlights maybe there,
though light years’ past, each history,
as Great Bear now might white dwarf die.
Black holes evade astronomers—
are little bears lost, hidden there?
But now I see one in such space
with grizzled face as waking up
from taking winter, autumn past.
It found bare route to vacant lot,
tumbled weeds down, crumbled soil,
took squatter’s rites, long overhaul,
mixed mycorrhiza as its bed,
ahead, emerge, as chrysalis.
I wonder, did he miss that fall
of seeds from pods in wailing song,
scaled gales that spread plant offspring crèche,
broom sprung in airlift overland,
swung sycamore from heliport?
It’s Roosevelt to blame I’m told,
for tears and tantrums, teddy lost,
and Pooh Sticks floating under bridge;
I once bought Winnie, from his shop—
Christopher Robin shelved his own.
Does Goldilocks taste porridge near,
while cousin, polar, think it fuss?
How Yogi, Huggy found his hutch—
ever Baloo, Paddington there,
suspended animation rôle?
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
THE THIN LIGHT OF OCTOBER
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
Yes,
It is
October.
Daylight’s
Wearing thin.
We feel the weight
Of shorter days,
As cold
Is moving in.
We feel it
In the morning
When we
Take our walks.
We worry over
Taking time,
To call
Each other
To talk.
Maybe we
Are interfused
With calumny
Or past abuse,
That lingers,
Though, forever?
Such things
Make us worry
In the thin light
Of October.
Yes,
It is
October.
Daylight’s
Wearing thin.
We feel the weight
Of shorter days,
As cold
Is moving in.
We feel it
In the morning
When we
Take our walks.
We worry over
Taking time,
To call
Each other
To talk.
Maybe we
Are interfused
With calumny
Or past abuse,
That lingers,
Though, forever?
Such things
Make us worry
In the thin light
Of October.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
HIBERNATION
—Joseph Nolan
What would hibernation
Mean to you
If we were too many
Or we were too few?
If you had
Nothing else to do,
Would you choose to “sleep it off,”
Hoping not to awaken
With a troubling cough?
What if the world were put to sleep?
You had to close your
Non-essential business,
Go home,
Let cobwebs creep,
Over everything you knew,
Avoid your friends and lovers, too?
Would you feel bearish
In your mornings?
Would you
Go into mourning?
For a life that was not led,
For all the dreams stuck in your head
Living life like you were dead
Because of a disease,
For you, as yet, unborn?
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
BODY CONCEPTIONS
—Joseph Nolan
I prefer to think of my body
As composed of feathers and light.
The thought of decomposition,
After death, seems somehow not right.
I know that it will happen
But never, I hope, to me;
Maybe just to my body,
After my soul’s been set free,
From its mortal
Cage of bones,
With spirit to merge
And never, alone,
To anymore, be,
Like an old
Suit of clothes,
Offloaded and discarded,
Stripped away,
Separated from me.
—Joseph Nolan
I prefer to think of my body
As composed of feathers and light.
The thought of decomposition,
After death, seems somehow not right.
I know that it will happen
But never, I hope, to me;
Maybe just to my body,
After my soul’s been set free,
From its mortal
Cage of bones,
With spirit to merge
And never, alone,
To anymore, be,
Like an old
Suit of clothes,
Offloaded and discarded,
Stripped away,
Separated from me.
Anthony Bourdain, Top Chef
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
TOP CHEF
—Joseph Nolan
(with a nod to Anthony Bourdain)
Completely lost,
Completely wasted,
Completely raw,
The man
In the chef’s hat
Walks the kitchen’s
Galley floor.
He’s been there
Far too long
To know what
It’s been for.
He only knows
The show
Must keep going,
He hollers
Orders out
Above the din
Of shouting
Waitresses
Who’d never
Let him in;
They know where
He’s been.
It isn’t pretty.
He just goes on and on
Since he is now
The Top Chef
And the restaurant’s destiny
Is tied to his apron strings.
—Public Domain Artwork Courtesy of Michelle Kunert
INSECT COLLECTION
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento, CA
One of the stupid and utterly useless things I had to do in junior high school was make an “insect collection”
It was along with other exercises in the defilement of being in awe of God’s creation in nature, such as dissecting frogs
Like trophy hunting, insect gathering for “science” can also remove otherwise healthy, functioning animals from the ecosystem
I had no problems with capturing and killing “pests” such as flies, cockroaches, mosquitos, fleas, and moths
but after watching a butterfly I caught slowly suffocate in a poisoned jar, I just couldn’t do that again
and it saddened me to figure out how to open up the dead butterfly’s closed wings to pin it flat for mounting
I’ve figured since that those who enjoy killing butterflies just to display their bodies on shelf cases have a sort of mental illness
I also figured insect collecting is a “gateway” to lead to kids to later shoot and kill animals for “taxidermy"
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento, CA
One of the stupid and utterly useless things I had to do in junior high school was make an “insect collection”
It was along with other exercises in the defilement of being in awe of God’s creation in nature, such as dissecting frogs
Like trophy hunting, insect gathering for “science” can also remove otherwise healthy, functioning animals from the ecosystem
I had no problems with capturing and killing “pests” such as flies, cockroaches, mosquitos, fleas, and moths
but after watching a butterfly I caught slowly suffocate in a poisoned jar, I just couldn’t do that again
and it saddened me to figure out how to open up the dead butterfly’s closed wings to pin it flat for mounting
I’ve figured since that those who enjoy killing butterflies just to display their bodies on shelf cases have a sort of mental illness
I also figured insect collecting is a “gateway” to lead to kids to later shoot and kill animals for “taxidermy"
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Michelle Kunert
After The Smith’s Morrisey song, “Girlfriend in a Coma”, 1987
—Michelle Kunert
I have to thank Morrisey of The Smiths for an extreme turn on the “sleeping beauty myth" with his song, “Girlfriend in a Coma”
Somehow the woman in this tale has been possibly cursed or cast into an "unresponsive hibernation” state, possibly from the man!—
It’s not an evil witch who put her into “sleep”, but the man in this story who regrets not being a heroic prince to her
the coma may be, also, the woman’s own doing, in response to how he was to her in waking life
and now the man struggles with his conscience as to whether he wants to wake her, even though he misses her
—Public Domain Artwork Courtesy of Michelle Kunert
THIS IS A HOLDUP
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
behold the American flag
waving proudly to
celebrate an insurrection
behold the marriage certificate
the first prerequisite to
celebrate getting a divorce
behold the Constitution
and its Amendments
to celebrate freedoms we allow ourselves
behold the Sheriff’s shiny star
accompanied by deadly force
to celebrate my way or the highway
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
WE THE PERSONA NON GRATA
—Caschwa
were once a collective of people with
common needs who consented to be
governed by a system of rules that
addressed those needs
now our very needs are seen as a dire
threat to the money stream that feeds
the super rich, top one percent, and so
we are now regarded as a liability to big
business, so much so that we have been
demoted to a level far below mere, human
“people” to that of disposable chattel, like
tissues that are used once and then
thrown away
it is as if all of the temerity and self-
righteousness our ancestors mounted to
abolish slavery and win a Civil War is
now being deflected back to us by a small
minority of contemptuous, gluttonous
stakeholders whose only goal is to amass
a bigger and bigger stake
—Caschwa
were once a collective of people with
common needs who consented to be
governed by a system of rules that
addressed those needs
now our very needs are seen as a dire
threat to the money stream that feeds
the super rich, top one percent, and so
we are now regarded as a liability to big
business, so much so that we have been
demoted to a level far below mere, human
“people” to that of disposable chattel, like
tissues that are used once and then
thrown away
it is as if all of the temerity and self-
righteousness our ancestors mounted to
abolish slavery and win a Civil War is
now being deflected back to us by a small
minority of contemptuous, gluttonous
stakeholders whose only goal is to amass
a bigger and bigger stake
—Public Domain Artwork Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
ICY DISPASSION
—Caschwa
(prompted by Joyce Odam’s “Boat
With Crows”, Medusa’s Kitchen,
October 19, 2021)
a giant, overloaded container ship,
crowded with hopes of freedom, justice,
fairness, and peace, sits just beyond
the breakwater, hibernating while
awaiting the signal to forge ahead and
unload its cargo of keenly benumbed
passengers, and return empty, to the
homeland that had abused them and
denied them basic human rights
this is the docket being tabled by our
esteemed Congress, each immaculate
member frozen in the fear that breaking
the ice might interrupt their warm and
cozy revenue stream, gobs of old money
endowments, generations in the making
a crow enters and joins the silence…..no
matter what it says, its voice is not welcome
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
IT TAKES YOU AWAY
—Caschwa
(after reading Jean Jones’ wonderful
treatment of how people respond to
other people, Medusa’s Kitchen,
October 20, 2021)
what is the age when kids become
overwhelmed by the feeling that they
really, truly, must be taken to some
amusement park or else life is over
for them?
with that in mind, it is all the sudden
no big coincidence that the marketing
divisions of giant corporations reach
out to that age to bring in whole new
generations of customers for their
alcohol, tobacco, firearms, drugs,
gambling, prostitution, etc. ...the whole
product line of vices and addictions
reinforced, of course, by the daily
exercise of watching one’s elders
devote their entire fame and fortune
to the pursuit of those questionable
activities
until the only remaining choice they
have is to storm through those “adults
only” doors and announce their little
selves all grown and ready
—Caschwa
(after reading Jean Jones’ wonderful
treatment of how people respond to
other people, Medusa’s Kitchen,
October 20, 2021)
what is the age when kids become
overwhelmed by the feeling that they
really, truly, must be taken to some
amusement park or else life is over
for them?
with that in mind, it is all the sudden
no big coincidence that the marketing
divisions of giant corporations reach
out to that age to bring in whole new
generations of customers for their
alcohol, tobacco, firearms, drugs,
gambling, prostitution, etc. ...the whole
product line of vices and addictions
reinforced, of course, by the daily
exercise of watching one’s elders
devote their entire fame and fortune
to the pursuit of those questionable
activities
until the only remaining choice they
have is to storm through those “adults
only” doors and announce their little
selves all grown and ready
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
RANDOM THOUGHTS
—Caschwa
(after reading the poetry of
Mike Hickman, particularly
“Back Today?” and “Arcs”
in Medusa’s Kitchen,
October 23, 2021)
There I was, an account holder
in quite good standing, back today
bickering with an ATM about how
that financial institution, ANY financial
institution, should make it easier for
the customer to communicate
his wishes
of course my request was denied,
the damn machine only spitting up
a crumpled receipt stating “funds
not available” with all the heart and
compassion of a pay phone demanding
“exact change only” when it knew or
should have known folks need that
change for the toilet
***
I am a star on the big screen, but you
probably know me better from my day
job as a brake drum in your left rear
wheel; it is very tiring to endure those
continuous arcs of sparks that occur
from metal on metal, and they don’t
allow me a stunt double, so I have to
just do what I can until I fall apart…
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
EMERGING
—Joseph Nolan
There’s no point
Being abstract
In a schism.
Pastels
Fail to shine
On a hazy day.
Summer slips away,
Leaving you to deal
With all that’s Fall!
—Public Domain Artwork Courtesy of Michelle Kunert
_________________________
Here we are, last week before Halloween, with our playful-yet-serious poets and photo-givers helping us along on what is, here, a stormy Monday. Our Seed of the Week is Hibernation—though, I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve been in hibernation for several years, now… and intend to stay there, like a grumpy old bear.
Playing on our on-going “snake” theme, Michelle Kunert has sent us a recipe for snake repellent: balconygardenweb.com/natural-snake-repellent-plants-that-repel-snakes/?fbclid=IwAR2bkbYK9xAL3cgeUlVU5gsKph0nTUTbK4JpNEQ5tNJAynEEcUMvTIkJi_E/. *sigh* Our snake theme, in case you weren’t around back in the early ‘oughts, originated from Rattlesnake Press’s motto, “Poetry With Fangs”, and all its spin-off characters, including LittleSnake who appears at the bottom of each Kitchen post. When I started Medusa’s Kitchen in 2004, Medusa came about because of all the snakes (publishing ideas) coming out of my head. (And, of course, my personality is pretty much Medusa-esque…) So, Michelle—repel those snakes? I think not—though, as I used to say, the only thing that scares me more than poetry is snakes…
—Public Domain Artwork Courtesy of Michelle Kunert
In terms of our current Seed of the Week, Hibernation, Michelle reminds us of Anne Sexton’s “Briar Rose” (www.poemhunter.com/poem/briar-rose-sleeping-beauty), and she has sent us some lovely paintings of the “hibernating” Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty). Michelle also sent a quote from Wikipedia: “Researchers have studied how to induce hibernation in humans. The ability to hibernate would be useful for a number of reasons, such as saving the lives of seriously ill or injured people by temporarily putting them in a state of hibernation until treatment can be given. [Star Trek does this all the time.] For space travel, human hibernation is also under consideration, such as for missions to Mars. Archaeologists are also studying whether hibernation was possible in early hominid species.” See also: Suspended Animation (www.theguardian.com/science/2019/nov/20/humans-put-into-suspended-animation-for-first-time), which Stephen Kingsnorth mentions in one of his poems today. Thank you, Michelle, for sending photos and other riffs on our Seed of the Week, and thanks to today’s other poets for sending poems on hibernation—and everything else—including Stephen Kingsnorth and Joseph Nolan for his tribute to Chef Anthony Bordaine, and Carl Schwartz for his riffs on three of our recent poets.
Tuesday (tomorrow) is Sacramento Poetry Day, as proclaimed 35 years ago by then-Mayor Anne Rudin, bless her heart! See: www.facebook.com/events/201435748767913?ref=newsfeed for info, and note:
•••Mon. (10/25): Sac. Poetry Center’s Monday reading is MOVED to tomorrow—see below:
•••Tomorrow (10/26), 7pm, in-person and online (note change of day): Sacramento Poetry Center presents Viola Spencer, Patrick Grizzell and Andru Defeye plus open mic to celebrate the 35th Sacramento Poetry Day. 25th & R Sts., Sac. This event is free but seating is limited. Attendance in-person requires a ticket (reservations). See sacramentopoetryday2021.brownpapertickets.com/. Or attend online in the usual way: us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. Meeting ID: 763 873 3462/; password: r3trnofsdv/. To comply with Covid protocol standards (and to help protect immuno-compromised participants and audience), admission will require presentation of Covid Vaccine card, no-contact temperature taken at door, masks worn inside, and as much distance as possible kept in the theater.
•••Mon. (10/25): Sac. Poetry Center’s Monday reading is MOVED to tomorrow—see below:
•••Tomorrow (10/26), 7pm, in-person and online (note change of day): Sacramento Poetry Center presents Viola Spencer, Patrick Grizzell and Andru Defeye plus open mic to celebrate the 35th Sacramento Poetry Day. 25th & R Sts., Sac. This event is free but seating is limited. Attendance in-person requires a ticket (reservations). See sacramentopoetryday2021.brownpapertickets.com/. Or attend online in the usual way: us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. Meeting ID: 763 873 3462/; password: r3trnofsdv/. To comply with Covid protocol standards (and to help protect immuno-compromised participants and audience), admission will require presentation of Covid Vaccine card, no-contact temperature taken at door, masks worn inside, and as much distance as possible kept in the theater.
And check out the Sacramento Bee article in today’s edition at www.sacbee.com/news/local/sacramento-tipping-point/community-voices/article255191557.html/.
•••Wed. (10/27), 6-7:30pm: City Lights Booksellers & Publishers (www.facebook.com/CityLightsBooks) presents Diane di Prima Memorial Tribute, marking one year since her passing in Oct. 2020. Readers include Hanif Abdurraqib, Garrett Caples, Cedar Sigo, Sunnylyn Thibodeaux, Wendy Trevino and more guests to be announced. 201 Columbus Av., San Francisco. Info/(registration required): citylights.com/events-category/diane-di-prima-memorial-tribute/.
•••Thurs. (10/28), 4:30pm: Sac. Poetry Alliance Literary Lectures presents Sarah Browning, who will speak about activist poetry. The ZOOM link for ALL Literary Lectures is us02web.zoom.us/j/81872835469/.
•••Sat. (10/30), 2pm: Poetry of the Sierra Foothills features Lucille Lang Day plus open mic, Love Birds Coffee & Tea Co., 4181 Hwy 49, Diamond Springs, CA (where Hwy 49 meets Pleasant Valley Rd.). Host: Lara Gularte.
The Poetry Box (up in Portland) reminds us that there are only SEVEN days left until 10/31, the end of this submission period for poetry and art for this issue of The Poeming Pigeon. Info: thepoetrybox.com/the-poeming-pigeon?mc_cid=b86a8230e8&mc_eid=b02a0f9fa2/.
•••Wed. (10/27), 6-7:30pm: City Lights Booksellers & Publishers (www.facebook.com/CityLightsBooks) presents Diane di Prima Memorial Tribute, marking one year since her passing in Oct. 2020. Readers include Hanif Abdurraqib, Garrett Caples, Cedar Sigo, Sunnylyn Thibodeaux, Wendy Trevino and more guests to be announced. 201 Columbus Av., San Francisco. Info/(registration required): citylights.com/events-category/diane-di-prima-memorial-tribute/.
•••Thurs. (10/28), 4:30pm: Sac. Poetry Alliance Literary Lectures presents Sarah Browning, who will speak about activist poetry. The ZOOM link for ALL Literary Lectures is us02web.zoom.us/j/81872835469/.
•••Sat. (10/30), 2pm: Poetry of the Sierra Foothills features Lucille Lang Day plus open mic, Love Birds Coffee & Tea Co., 4181 Hwy 49, Diamond Springs, CA (where Hwy 49 meets Pleasant Valley Rd.). Host: Lara Gularte.
The Poetry Box (up in Portland) reminds us that there are only SEVEN days left until 10/31, the end of this submission period for poetry and art for this issue of The Poeming Pigeon. Info: thepoetrybox.com/the-poeming-pigeon?mc_cid=b86a8230e8&mc_eid=b02a0f9fa2/.
Also deadline: Oct. 31: Finishing Line Press Open Chapbook Competition: $1500 and publication for a chapbook-length poetry collection, perfect-bound print. Info: finishinglinepress.submittable.com/submit/199003/2021-open-chapbook-competition?fbclid=IwAR2FXppHW8F3yif7FQDF9dK03-qHyGi_jPl_HdGNXfnDjUeMXIzHu1Zzx_w/.
___________________
—Medusa
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
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work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
