—Poetry by Michael Ceraolo, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Rhony Bhopla, Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) and Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joe Nolan & Rhony Bhopla
October 7, 1849
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
(from his sequence, "Some Afternoons and Evenings")
It was a September dreary, I was frightened, worn, and weary,
heading to the aunt and mother-in-law I adore
Shabby clothes were my disguise, my itinerary a surprise
as I thought I was being wise; somehow it came to the fore
as did my sexual peccadilloes from before
And I soon would learn the score
I was not to be their sister's oyster, had decided the brothers Royster:
I would never see again the mother-in-law I adore
They would not make a public stink, but they would force-feed me drink
all while beating me to the brink Five days lost forevermore,
they dumped me back in Baltimore, where I would linger a few days more
And today I was nevermore
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
(from his sequence, "Some Afternoons and Evenings")
It was a September dreary, I was frightened, worn, and weary,
heading to the aunt and mother-in-law I adore
Shabby clothes were my disguise, my itinerary a surprise
as I thought I was being wise; somehow it came to the fore
as did my sexual peccadilloes from before
And I soon would learn the score
I was not to be their sister's oyster, had decided the brothers Royster:
I would never see again the mother-in-law I adore
They would not make a public stink, but they would force-feed me drink
all while beating me to the brink Five days lost forevermore,
they dumped me back in Baltimore, where I would linger a few days more
And today I was nevermore
ROUGH COUNT
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
(in response to Medusa’s Ekphrastic Challenge posted on
Friday, 2/25/22)
This mansion house, where beggars, steps,
outbid each other for a pitch,
want butter over dairy spread—
seek dignity in calories—
show better than the taxi cabs
the knowledge, long before the test.
Some fell from high, profession’s eye,
both lost their mortgage, upkeep wives,
the pinstripe for the stripes bare pinned,
with neither dime or home address,
cut from the health of safety net.
But who’s best bridge, powerless, power,
invests in voiceless, underground,
circle round the district, line that
no, these statistics do not lie
too well against officialdom?
‘Not sleeping rough unless on slabs’,
so under bush in park don’t count,
not street if doorway, shopfront, porch,
though owners less than key to door,
the shop, or Porsche—yet front for stall.
The architecture of the sky
may screen prizeworthy shaped designs—
but that’s not profile want to face
if, as high-rise, or guttersnipes.
Lived in, is best as cityscape,
above the shop, door, frontispiece,
the volume, those without a home.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
(in response to Medusa’s Ekphrastic Challenge posted on
Friday, 2/25/22)
This mansion house, where beggars, steps,
outbid each other for a pitch,
want butter over dairy spread—
seek dignity in calories—
show better than the taxi cabs
the knowledge, long before the test.
Some fell from high, profession’s eye,
both lost their mortgage, upkeep wives,
the pinstripe for the stripes bare pinned,
with neither dime or home address,
cut from the health of safety net.
But who’s best bridge, powerless, power,
invests in voiceless, underground,
circle round the district, line that
no, these statistics do not lie
too well against officialdom?
‘Not sleeping rough unless on slabs’,
so under bush in park don’t count,
not street if doorway, shopfront, porch,
though owners less than key to door,
the shop, or Porsche—yet front for stall.
The architecture of the sky
may screen prizeworthy shaped designs—
but that’s not profile want to face
if, as high-rise, or guttersnipes.
Lived in, is best as cityscape,
above the shop, door, frontispiece,
the volume, those without a home.
Enock Tshimanga
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Rhony Bhopla
AT THE MEDYKA CROSSING INTO POLAND
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento, CA
for Enock
It is true, if you are white, fleeing from Russian tanks,
Poland’s got hot coffee and food, no need for thanks.
Come over refugees, who are not like the others.
We are in this together with all of you, white mothers.
But, Congolese, Nigerian, or Indian students trying to pass?
Oh no, a lady said, just Ukrainians on the bus.
For Brown and Black folk, none of this is surprising to us.
But damn! The tanks are coming, we ain’t part of this mess.
Did you know some dude pushed a Black man off a train?
Then told him: stay back, get a gun, and do your thing.
He responded, I have never used a gun in my life!
But the train rolled on, and he was left outside.
And what about Enock, standing in a cold field?
His picture’s in Time, his expression’s so real.
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento, CA
for Enock
It is true, if you are white, fleeing from Russian tanks,
Poland’s got hot coffee and food, no need for thanks.
Come over refugees, who are not like the others.
We are in this together with all of you, white mothers.
But, Congolese, Nigerian, or Indian students trying to pass?
Oh no, a lady said, just Ukrainians on the bus.
For Brown and Black folk, none of this is surprising to us.
But damn! The tanks are coming, we ain’t part of this mess.
Did you know some dude pushed a Black man off a train?
Then told him: stay back, get a gun, and do your thing.
He responded, I have never used a gun in my life!
But the train rolled on, and he was left outside.
And what about Enock, standing in a cold field?
His picture’s in Time, his expression’s so real.
TABLES TURNED
—Caschwa
(response to the Public Domain
photo that appears above Stephen
Kingsnorth’s poem, “In Class”,
Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/28/22)
sitting at my assigned desk
in class, less than prepared
for the upcoming task assigned
by the headmaster, to sketch
a credible image of where we
would like to be, otherwise than
sitting in class
all I had was one tangelo crayon,
sharpened well, and two wooden
pencils with erasers that had
obviously seen much duty before,
so I turned the creative element
over to my writing tools and let
them draw me a picture
the result of which was an adorable
country house, each window had
a view, and was itself part of a view;
and there, near the top of the frame,
were my crayon and pencils, rising
above the rooftops to answer the
invitation
—Caschwa
(response to the Public Domain
photo that appears above Stephen
Kingsnorth’s poem, “In Class”,
Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/28/22)
sitting at my assigned desk
in class, less than prepared
for the upcoming task assigned
by the headmaster, to sketch
a credible image of where we
would like to be, otherwise than
sitting in class
all I had was one tangelo crayon,
sharpened well, and two wooden
pencils with erasers that had
obviously seen much duty before,
so I turned the creative element
over to my writing tools and let
them draw me a picture
the result of which was an adorable
country house, each window had
a view, and was itself part of a view;
and there, near the top of the frame,
were my crayon and pencils, rising
above the rooftops to answer the
invitation
PARALYZED AND ENTRANCED
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Drowning swimmers
Scratch the surface,
Clinging to anything
That might
Keep them breathing.
Paralyzed
And entranced,
Modern man
May be enhanced
By microchips
And implanted daydreams.
Dreams you dream
Are not your own,
Into your sleep,
Messages sewn,
From the great dispenser,
Of things
They want you to feel,
Whether or not,
They are real—
Especially, their creations.
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Drowning swimmers
Scratch the surface,
Clinging to anything
That might
Keep them breathing.
Paralyzed
And entranced,
Modern man
May be enhanced
By microchips
And implanted daydreams.
Dreams you dream
Are not your own,
Into your sleep,
Messages sewn,
From the great dispenser,
Of things
They want you to feel,
Whether or not,
They are real—
Especially, their creations.
Sleeping off a rye-bread high
SHORTAGES
—Joe Nolan
Okay,
So, yesterday,
Try, though we might,
We could not get
What we needed,
Such a horrible fright!
This may be
What may come,
More often,
Day-to-day,
As we wait
In long lines,
Wasting all our days.
We all know who's the boss here ~
FAILED NEGOTIATIONS
—Joe Nolan
At the negotiation table,
Something said
Cannot be heard.
Disappearing,
Every word,
Into a steady hum
Of crashing cymbals,
Conflicting symbols–
Clashing creeds,
Diverging breeds,
Warring nations;
It seems it might be time,
For World War Three.
WINTER POST-CARD FROM NEW YORK
—Joseph W. Nolan
Exploding indigo!
My soul calling
From broom-swept sidewalks, paved in light!
Winter spent with memory-cards, painted white,
Evenings spent out howling, through the night;
But it’s New York, so it’s all right,
Energy is thick;
It’s hard to sleep at night.
Waving silently!
Hello, good-bye, good day,
Nighty-night!
From New York,
With love!
S/ Just me~
—Joseph W. Nolan
Exploding indigo!
My soul calling
From broom-swept sidewalks, paved in light!
Winter spent with memory-cards, painted white,
Evenings spent out howling, through the night;
But it’s New York, so it’s all right,
Energy is thick;
It’s hard to sleep at night.
Waving silently!
Hello, good-bye, good day,
Nighty-night!
From New York,
With love!
S/ Just me~
Today’s LittleNip:
LAPSE OF SUBSCRIPTION
—Joe Nolan
How long did you think it would last?
It didn’t come with a lifetime-warranty
Or an expiration date.
It was a speculative venture,
Invest at your own risk—
Caveat emptor,
Let the buyer beware.
Life is full of surprises.
That’s the way it goes.
______________________
Monday it is, greeting us in this area with an ominous amount of sunshine, but a cheery number of poems from pals near and far. Not to mention photos from Joe Nolan, funny/interesting/creepy/and occasionally naughty ones which Medusa has been able to pin up in the Kitchen as further edification for all—many thanks, Joe! (By the way, what DOES one call an upside-down icicle? A stal-ice-mite?)
Recently it came to my attention that there’s some confusion as to who does what in the Kitchen, photo-wise. The truth is that Medusa still curates every post herself, including selecting/editing photos. Many of these have been sent in by poets, intended to illustrate their poems, and I publish these on their post as submitted. But Joe Nolan has been so kind these past few years—choosing and sending me public domain photos he finds on the Internet—that I have a big folder of them which I burrow into when I feel the need for a dandy picture or two. In other words, he sends me ones he finds interesting, and I in turn use some of these that I want to use use or that seem to fit. So if you don’t like the photos on a post, blame me, not poor generous Joe! I'll try to credit such things better in the future.
LAPSE OF SUBSCRIPTION
—Joe Nolan
How long did you think it would last?
It didn’t come with a lifetime-warranty
Or an expiration date.
It was a speculative venture,
Invest at your own risk—
Caveat emptor,
Let the buyer beware.
Life is full of surprises.
That’s the way it goes.
______________________
Monday it is, greeting us in this area with an ominous amount of sunshine, but a cheery number of poems from pals near and far. Not to mention photos from Joe Nolan, funny/interesting/creepy/and occasionally naughty ones which Medusa has been able to pin up in the Kitchen as further edification for all—many thanks, Joe! (By the way, what DOES one call an upside-down icicle? A stal-ice-mite?)
Recently it came to my attention that there’s some confusion as to who does what in the Kitchen, photo-wise. The truth is that Medusa still curates every post herself, including selecting/editing photos. Many of these have been sent in by poets, intended to illustrate their poems, and I publish these on their post as submitted. But Joe Nolan has been so kind these past few years—choosing and sending me public domain photos he finds on the Internet—that I have a big folder of them which I burrow into when I feel the need for a dandy picture or two. In other words, he sends me ones he finds interesting, and I in turn use some of these that I want to use use or that seem to fit. So if you don’t like the photos on a post, blame me, not poor generous Joe! I'll try to credit such things better in the future.
•••Tonight (Mon. 3/7), 7:30pm: Sac. Poetry Center Socially Distant Verse features Paul Willis and Mic Ting plus open mic. Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. (Meeting ID: 763 873 3462 / pass: r3trnofsdv/.) Info: www.facebook.com/sacpoetrycenter/.
•••For more about El Dorado County poetry events, check Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/.
______________________
—Medusa
•••For more about El Dorado County poetry events, check Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/.
______________________
—Medusa
It's not easy being King...
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!
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!
