MYSTICAL JOURNEY
This train stops for lunch.
On the last food break
a passenger
found a silver dollar
worth a fortune.
At one station platform
an elderly robed man
pushed a flower cart.
When he waved,
all of us waved back:
is this the mystic who
adds white sand
to each hourglass,
who gives away
flowers from Eden?
ACCIDENTAL PARADISE
Rowing a canoe for two,
we reach & hope to sustain
this reckoning terrain;
you even christen it The Isle
of Outlived Pain. I offer
Isle of a Flower’s Refrain…
Back to earth, we grow
roses, reap bushels of grain,
maintain an easy balance
between seasons of our
luxuriant reaping
& winter’s isolating rain.
PALEO WOMAN
Wearing
animal skins
or woven straw
she pressed
her hand
firmly
against
a cave wall
as color blown
through
a hollow reed
outlined
her hand
in rosy umber
Was she
a princess
a new mother
matriarch
heroine
her imprint
still fresh
magnetic . . .
OUR PRODIGAL SON
After years in the Peace Corps,
Freddy drifts out of the sky, lands
on our doorstep, a fallen angel,
wings frayed; we feed him veggie
spaghetti, soups, salads, tuna &
cheese casseroles. But he prefers
beef jerky, Twinkies, Snickers.
He raids the lottery jar, bungles
simple carpentry, locks house
keys in our loaned car; taps outside
our bedroom window at 3AM, edgy.
Two months pass.
Today we all hike in the hills.
While gazing into billowy clouds,
Freddy raves about quaint villages,
rare temples, huge caves, jungles,
shaman, primitive tribes. . .
Now each night he eagle-soars
over cliffs of wild adventure,
returning at dawn, a spent dove,
sleeping past noon, waking restless—
now a familiar scenario.
So, we begin, yet again, to let go.
MOTHER, THEY SAY
that one day people will live
under the sea.
Meanwhile, a virus variant makes
human closeness a danger:
no handshakes, no hugging, pass jail,
passs the buck, then go back to no-nos!
Meanwhile, science & med-tech
hearten the masses by pledging eventual
victory over the current scourge!
Mom,
besides pandemic and climate change
there’s social injustice, gross imbalance
on several sad, long-failing fronts . . .
I address your photo, never a reply.
So now I start to believe in Tarot cards,
tea leaves, crystal balls. And surely
in an oiled search-engine of intuition.
MAY PEACE BE SUSTAINABLE
As brought back by popular demand,
Sustainable Peace would be grand!
No uniforms, boots, caps lined up
for patriots to fill, then grab a weapon!
No 100-plus heat in alien deserts
for soldiers living in tents—
tense while loved ones
wait their return . . .
What even to write
to make war assignments
appear humane,
routine in disguise—lies?!
Soldiers, at ease?
Never that easy anymore:
hidden roadside bombs,
two or more tours of duty;
return home, rest up, fly back—
war, a blasted boomerang!
Let’s hold an election in heaven
so warmongers will be proven
miserably out of step,
leaving dovelike passions
of the mild majority,
waiting so long to be heard!
(prev. pub. in Benicia-Herald,
February 9, 2022)
WRITTEN ON
THE MIST TRAIL
Yosemite
Challenge us,
rock and water,
dwarf us
to sand size,
yet we will rise
as on wings of wind,
to conquer ifs
of incomparable cliffs—
to prove that with
granite desire,
mankind
can
climb
higher.
Today’s LittleNip:
POND IN LIGHT RAIN
—Claire J. Baker
When
droplets
land on a
dragonfly’s
wings
iridescence
pulsates
as she darts
off
dripping
moonstones.
_____________________
Our thanks to Claire Baker and Katy Brown for another shining photo/poem collaboration! So many gems…. Tomorrow night (Thurs. 3/17, St. Patrick’s Day), 7pm: Poetry in Davis presents Jabez Churchill and Irish Poet/Photographer Lass Katy Brown, plus open mic (4 min. or 2 items). John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis, CA. Host: Dr. Andy Jones. Please mask your vaccinated selves before entering the Gallery.
Of you're having a sense of déjà vu, thinking you've already read this post, that's because you have—if you checked into the Kitchen yesterday before 10 or so. I posted this early on Tuesday, thinking it was already Wednesday... Never mind... it's a long story...
______________________
—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
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!