Poem-Finding

 

—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, 

Placerville, CA

 

—And then scroll down to  

FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!!

POEM HUNTING

I’m standing in line at the Dollar Tree
with my bag of plastic Easter eggs—the hollow
kind—six colors, for stuffing.
An Easter egg hunt for poems—poems
for whoever can find them. It’s April,
Poetry Month. A poem-a-day, Poem-in-your
pocket day, Finding the Poem-Eggs day.
Of course, every day is poem day,
as Easter might be every day.
It’s all in the heart and in the mind.
I stood in line at the Dollar Tree because
that’s how the material world works.
But poetry flows free on airwaves,
down creeks and blooming weeds beside
country roads. Poems for you to find.

 

 

 

 

BETWEEN ROCK AND OAK

The Muse's chair sits empty but for a few
twigs an oak let loose on the wind.
Muse finds her inspiration on the move, on foot.
The chair is nonsense, a verse before
the dream, before the imagining.
Her chair shares its rocky hilltop with a box
crafted of milled lumber by a workman
with his tools and materials. The box sits
empty, waiting for Wren and her art to weave
a nest of small sticks and twigs—waiting
for the tiny eggs she'll brood; waiting for her
bubbly song. For months the Muse's chair
has waited empty, collecting rain and leaf-fall.
One of these days the Muse will
pass on through, when least expected,
still on the move.

 

 

 

 

 

CASSANDRA IN APRIL

A scary dream last night, you say. It sticks
even now. You’re waking up to thunder
when it shouldn’t. You dreamed the river Styx
was flooding the driveway, pulling under
firm earth on every side, and rushing down
the cities’ toxic waste. It was a dream
and nothing more. No city and no town—
nothing but hills and woods and trees upstream.
Nothing but survey stakes, projected homes,
a new development. New neighbors soon,
where wild birds nest and the coyote roams
under constant stars and the changing moon.
A scary dream, you say, doom-laden views.
And now I’m turning on the morning news.

 

 

 

 

 

COCOON

now is crux:
a core, an acorn, axis, zone zero—

a narrow room, a voice unseen—
no sermon, no cue—a seismic sense:

vamoose? now? no sun no moon
no course or caravan, no wise mare—

run! an eerie view across
a crease, a seam, a source, an aerie—

crows, ravens, air

 

 

 

 

ONCE UPON TIME

She brought the prisoners
concealed weapons
that don’t set off alarms—
sheets of paper, books
of word song and metaphor
transforming cells
of mind & tongue & heart
to freedoms not to be
censored by their guards.

 

 

 

 

MARY’S GIFT

When I opened her gift I found
the lonely, empty, prairie sky
and a city cousin.
I found store candy and taco sauce,
dumb animals and an ordinary morning.
I found purple tulips and sandhill cranes.
I found reflection
and driving into a storm.
I found prophecy and planting peas.
I found what counts most.
Mary gave me a book of poems.

 

 

 

 

Today’s LittleNip:

DAISY-CHAIN FUNGUS
—Taylor Graham

What business has Fieldcap—
pert little mushroom in winter—
rising here at edge of lawn
now, so out of season I thought.
The plant-app identifies it
then thinks twice and
declines to list it as Observed.
Darn things don’t fit with my
yearning-to-catalog-and-know—
wild expectations.

________________________

Today is Earth Day, and no one’s poems and photos reflect love of this planet more than Taylor Graham; we thank her for sharing those with us today. TG and Katy Brown will be hosting another Capturing Wakamatsu Poetry Walk and Workshop at Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville on May 1 from 10am-12pm. See www.arconservancy.org/event/capturing-wakamatsu-a-poetry-walk-workshop for info and registration.

TG is talking to us in poetry forms again this week, using three Ars Poeticae (“Between Rock and Oak”; “Poem Hunting”; “Once upon Time”); the Prisoner's Constraint (“Cocoon”); a List Poem (“Mary's Gift”); a Sonnet (“Cassandra in April”); and a Daisy Chain (“Daisy-chain Fungus”). She writes, “I had to do a Prisoner's Constraint, considering this week's SOW”. [The recent Seed of the Week in Medusa’s Kitchen was “Prisoner/s”.]

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, there will be poems posted here from our readers using forms—either ones which were sent to 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 resources and for links to poetry terms used today.)


Claire Baker has sent us a Triolet this week—a very sunny one, indeed:


YOUNG SUNFLOWERS
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA  

Hey, sunflowers, I apologize
for nudging your petals apart:
they seem so tight, so in disguise.
Yet, sunflowers, I apologize
for wanting you open, to realize
your potency for painter’s art.
O, sunflowers, I apologize
for easing your petals apart. 

 

 

 

 Last Week’s Ekphrastic Challenge

Here is Stephen Kingsnorth’s response to last week’s Ekphrastic Challenge. Notice how he weaves the prisoner theme into the end, echoing the Medusa’s Kitchen Seed of the Week from last Tuesday (“Prisoner/s”):


STANCE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK

What viewpoint, standpoint makes our stance,
staring up or peering down,
open window, closed, shutdown,
some gossip shared or work prepared,
‘are there enough for dinner dear?’
Reading art, as so poetry,
can be presumed if we’re well versed
in mindset thinking, taking grants.

‘Rustic Courtship’, the Winslow boy,
fits my recent bucolic verse,
and there’s me thinking, sunflowers, cat—
or maybe dog by lie of tail—
this long-term couple, partnership.
Is this a clash of social class,
employer and employee pash?

The strata of the walls observed,
above, below and in-between,
held shoulders braced, that two-tined fork,
the pitch of roof assumed as red,
and is that straw wrapped round his head,
brim, binding trim, elastic blue,
wound-russet shirt, electric hue?

With quite expected trouser crease,
slight slant, clenched grip in anglepoise,
those lines and piping, shabby chic—
though will those joints expose the leaks?
There’s surely undergirding path—
if not a catwalk, maybe fox—
gap, not the grass laid to the sill?

I sense a hint of questions posed.
Inside the gloom, grey, laced-capped hair,
are darker pains beneath, ground floor?
There’s more within to know about,
surrounded by those blades without.
Do windows look like prison bars?
And whose portrait, of them or me?
Or do I see too much here framed?

* * *

This is Caschwa’s (Carl Schwartz’s) take on the same photo:


DIDN’T SAY SMILE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

the different roles of
she and he
are entirely unique
pictures with their own
custom frames

the supervisorial she
looking down on a fellow
whose trousers betray
that he was deprived of
having any more than
skinny canes for legs

grand ideas inside the
house took shape as
abundant starter plants
lined up like wannabe
actors waiting to get a
chance to develop into
marvelous spectacles

she wants him to grab
the cat and come back
inside, submitting to
her every beck and call

and he will do that because
her agent has more pull
than his, so he has no choice 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is a Daisy Chain from Caschwa, about which he writes, “I enjoyed Joyce Odam’s ‘Misgivings At Twilight’ poem [medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2022/04/poetry-primavera.html and scroll down], but decided to forego the last-letter-first-letter structure in favor of the Poets Collective’s last-word-first-word example, which I found more sonorous.

 

MASONRY  
—Caschwa

much poetry is like stacking
stacking bricks, one onto the other
other resembling the first

first in multiples makes a wall
wall that holds back all
all impressions of art

art mimicking reality
reality the pinnacle of confusion
confusion having general appeal

appeal to the senses
senses shining the light
light of not so very much 

 

 

 

 

 

One of the Triple-F Challenges last Friday was the “Wordy 30”, and here is one of those from Carl:


FESS UP
—Caschwa

doesn’t
anyone
regret
honest
errors 

 

 

 

 

Joe Nolan had some Ars Poetic thoughts about punctuation:


PARENTHESES AND APOSTROPHES
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

Life within parentheses
Seems a bland and dull disease—
To rules, follow
And masters, please.

Meanwhile,
Light apostrophes,
Float above!

Somehow,
Unbound by
Hard, dry ground—
Because of love?

What is it that keeps them up?
Not falling down,
Into line
Like all the other letters~~~~~

Somehow, they’re
Ascended-hyphens
Linking things together
In possession,
Outside boundaries
Of conformity. 

 

 

 

 

 

And Stephen Kingsnorth ends our post today with an Ars Poetica about the same, arguing that we can’t do without it:


PATTERNS
—Stephen Kingsnorth

I freely think roaming
without punctuation in my
mind but when translate it into
speech I pause I
reach concluding
end the patterns read or
heard I used in
teaching shadow words so
from the list whatever
depth all can
recognise the intent for
whats the point if
those at shallow
end are stranded on a
sandbank beached whale
and Hebrew good at
parallel

But, for all who read,
find punctuation an access guide,
blue-badge parking when required,
that’s how I need to write.
With marks my speech more clearly voiced,
I make my points,
the comma changing sense, unseen without,
challenging assumed conclusion,
ambivalence and ambiguity
handing to my surveyor choices
we should face, ought contemplate.
Starting capital to launch account,
question mark to infer voice,
colon or semi valued friends, loitering
without intent to lower tone—
even dashed hopes.

My version not in what I state
but in questions confusing me.
When unsettled, disturbing thought,
may I, slow, saunter by your gate?

_____________________

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!

______________________

TRIPLE-F 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:

•••Verbless Poetry: poets.org/glossary/verbless-poetry

And see the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one!

_______________________

RESOURCE OF THE WEEK:

Grammarly.com is a relaxed way to talk to your grammer—grammar, I mean. Most of us could use brushing up on our use of the mighty metaphor; check out what Grammarly has to say at:

•••www.grammarly.com/blog/metaphor

_______________________

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

•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Daisy Chain: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/daisy-chain
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••List Poem: clpe.org.uk/poetryline/poeticforms/list-poem
•••Prisoner’s Constraint/Restriction/Multiple Lipogram: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lipogram

•••Sonnet Forms: blog.prepscholar.com/what-is-a-sonnet-poem-form
•••Triolet: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/triolet-an-easy-way-to-write-8-lines-of-poetry
•••Verbless Poetry: poets.org/glossary/verbless-poetry
•••Wordy 30: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/wordy-30-poetic-games

________________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Today's Ekphrastic Challenge~

A poetic celebration of Earth Day!
—Public Domain Photo
 
* * *

See what you can make of the above


photo, and send your poetic results to 


kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)











 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.