—Poetry by Sue Daly, Claire J. Baker,
Nolcha Fox, Anissa Sboui,
Steven Kingsnorth, Caschwa, Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photos
Courtesy of Joe Nolan
Why am I surprised?
I’ll pay the charge for flying
too close to the sun.
Blazing sun causes
the dripping sweat on my brow—
June’s unwelcome gift.
—Sue Daly, Sacramento, CA
I’ll pay the charge for flying
too close to the sun.
Blazing sun causes
the dripping sweat on my brow—
June’s unwelcome gift.
—Sue Daly, Sacramento, CA
HOPE IS ALSO . . .
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
the summer child
gazing from a meadow
into her first sunset
just as a formation of
flamingos fade
into flamboyant shades
of pink and orange
that she will hold fast
against forgetting.
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
the summer child
gazing from a meadow
into her first sunset
just as a formation of
flamingos fade
into flamboyant shades
of pink and orange
that she will hold fast
against forgetting.
I stuffed my anger
into a glass marble
and stuck it in my pocket.
When it cooled off,
I buried that marble
in the garden.
I wait for it to grow
into a flower.
***
BLACK THUMB
I try again
in that same spot
to make my flowers bloom.
New soil, fertilizer,
music, nothing
seems to live.
But little dog,
you love that spot
to stretch out
in the sun.
One day I find you
cold and stiff
in that blighted spot.
I dig a hole
and plant you there.
I hope I grow you back.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
into a glass marble
and stuck it in my pocket.
When it cooled off,
I buried that marble
in the garden.
I wait for it to grow
into a flower.
***
BLACK THUMB
I try again
in that same spot
to make my flowers bloom.
New soil, fertilizer,
music, nothing
seems to live.
But little dog,
you love that spot
to stretch out
in the sun.
One day I find you
cold and stiff
in that blighted spot.
I dig a hole
and plant you there.
I hope I grow you back.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
WHAT IF
—Dr. Anissa Sboui, Sousse, Tunisia
What if the autist gets along
With the ill
What if the wheel-chaired
Stand still
Like a savage skyscraper or a
Corbelled dome
What if the female ignores
Snoring slumber,
Strikes the drum, hears the echo
What if politicians cease
Lying to us about the reduced
Prices, the economic stability
Or tax-free services…
What if Nobel Prize-winning
Figures come to terms with
Real estates
What if the war plotters
Furnish their tanks with
Jasmine
What if Jerusalem is set free
What if Arabs regain the
Distorted dignity
Of centuries plunged into
Acute stupidity
What if the west brakes to see
The seeds of consistent
Demonization, the world famine
The excavated mines, the
Overt diplomatic theft
The unending media race,
Fake views with nation cleft
—Dr. Anissa Sboui, Sousse, Tunisia
What if the autist gets along
With the ill
What if the wheel-chaired
Stand still
Like a savage skyscraper or a
Corbelled dome
What if the female ignores
Snoring slumber,
Strikes the drum, hears the echo
What if politicians cease
Lying to us about the reduced
Prices, the economic stability
Or tax-free services…
What if Nobel Prize-winning
Figures come to terms with
Real estates
What if the war plotters
Furnish their tanks with
Jasmine
What if Jerusalem is set free
What if Arabs regain the
Distorted dignity
Of centuries plunged into
Acute stupidity
What if the west brakes to see
The seeds of consistent
Demonization, the world famine
The excavated mines, the
Overt diplomatic theft
The unending media race,
Fake views with nation cleft
WAKE UP, AFRICA
—Dr. Anissa Sboui
Wake up, Africa
I see clouds are black
In the depth of summer time
I see stars are red
Like quick-tempered diamond dealers,
I see the moon is yellow
As furious as these featherbrained sealers …
Wake up, impoverished Africa
I know how rich you were
Alas, you are full of stealers
Wake up and listen to what I’m going to say:
It’s serious now as chaos ensues everywhere,
Your reputation is creeping to the well:
The scourge of famine
Amidst the revolutionary Jasmine,
Countries fight over the Nile,
Though lands have been fertile
Since the rule of Narmer,
The deep-rooted Sand war
A strained bond over the Western Sahara
And the Mediterranean Shore…
Let alone the African Cup,
A competition in disarray,
An upsurge in witchcraft
Covid tests trickery and more…
—Dr. Anissa Sboui
Wake up, Africa
I see clouds are black
In the depth of summer time
I see stars are red
Like quick-tempered diamond dealers,
I see the moon is yellow
As furious as these featherbrained sealers …
Wake up, impoverished Africa
I know how rich you were
Alas, you are full of stealers
Wake up and listen to what I’m going to say:
It’s serious now as chaos ensues everywhere,
Your reputation is creeping to the well:
The scourge of famine
Amidst the revolutionary Jasmine,
Countries fight over the Nile,
Though lands have been fertile
Since the rule of Narmer,
The deep-rooted Sand war
A strained bond over the Western Sahara
And the Mediterranean Shore…
Let alone the African Cup,
A competition in disarray,
An upsurge in witchcraft
Covid tests trickery and more…
SWELL
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
It’s heard as beak consumes the fruit,
as even breeze moves parachutes,
or copters spiral down from trees
and tides wash nut rafts palm drop freed—
long live the dead in unison,
for cycled seed renews itself.
This winter’s song through ice and wind,
vice clamping freeze, sting blizzard whipped,
brown kernels where gene life is celled,
the core of morrow’s growth is stored
in patient waiting for the call—
the sun is up, so now the swell.
SWIFT THE AIR
—Stephen Kingsnorth
“No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn”
—Hal Borland
Who says that death has won the day
when spirit simply takes to wing?
For dance in shadows, shades revealed,
generated face in space,
offspring shoot in sapling host,
from common soil, shared clay to boot,
shaped and modelled, those thought lost.
It echoes in the brushing pine,
the candelabra, would-be cones,
those mammals calling resin home,
glue sticky buds and syrup veins,
hang heavy vapour pheromones.
Frozen seed of cedar, spruce,
that must lie dormant to produce,
a wasteland till the spring announced
and water tap, sun-rising trope
declares stir, wake-up imminent.
So long hard days have given way,
crack brittle chrysalis must break,
releasing magic in the air—
see sail and swoop of swallowtails,
swift the air, throng wings as prayer.
—Stephen Kingsnorth
“No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn”
—Hal Borland
Who says that death has won the day
when spirit simply takes to wing?
For dance in shadows, shades revealed,
generated face in space,
offspring shoot in sapling host,
from common soil, shared clay to boot,
shaped and modelled, those thought lost.
It echoes in the brushing pine,
the candelabra, would-be cones,
those mammals calling resin home,
glue sticky buds and syrup veins,
hang heavy vapour pheromones.
Frozen seed of cedar, spruce,
that must lie dormant to produce,
a wasteland till the spring announced
and water tap, sun-rising trope
declares stir, wake-up imminent.
So long hard days have given way,
crack brittle chrysalis must break,
releasing magic in the air—
see sail and swoop of swallowtails,
swift the air, throng wings as prayer.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth
SHELTER
—Stephen Kingsnorth
There is a forgotten cabin,
in open field, not woods,
of timber, tacks, outlandish,
designed, not storage barn?
Who is it, once invested,
intestate did they pass?
It must have been well founded,
to make its stand, still bold.
Though early mist hangs round it,
the surge, wind high to low,
has bellowed round its corners,
tried lift its lofty roof.
Its sentries, winter uniform,
have leafed through seasons’ change—
was stock or grain once held there,
retreat for weekend break?
Where does this landscape take me,
wood, nails on a green hill,
set between two other trees,
work, carpenter displayed?
It’s stood against the skyline
through fevered weathers flung,
too often disregarded,
but testament as well.
Wandering from my beaten track,
I found it as by chance,
yet feel that it’s been waiting,
a shelter found at last.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth
THE MOMENT
—Stephen Kingsnorth
To sum for seekers, keyword clues,
‘forest, path, tree and fog’;
but this prosaic summary
is data fit, but not for ode—
analysis, ignores the mood,
the season mists, but russet rusts
of leaf mould path, spring’s mellow hope,
with patient wrest as work is done.
Think on thrive, activity,
sleek worms and bugs, nuthatchery,
and pastel walkers with the air,
discovery that all is well.
The fall is not forlorn at all,
but promise of the future stored,
a preparation, dormant stage,
where scene is set for burst of life.
So glory, not that sun is hid,
that shoddy boots will gather mud,
spin whippets craze may paw dirt home
and change may portend storms ahead.
But in this moment, blessed by weeks,
rejoice for oxides of the eye,
and know the range, chromatic flair,
as look, then see, and listen, hear.
BALANCING, MAYBE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
on one side of the scale
are personal items:
hope there’s enough money to pay
car repairs, house repairs,
food bills, medical bills, bills, bills,
taxes, insurance, more taxes
hope what we cook turns out well
hope our garden yields good fruit
hope our tools don’t break;
…things like that
On the other side of the scale
are greater challenges:
WW-III
global pandemics
the fall of democracy
climate change
weaponizing anyone with a grudge
another civil war
after deftly proving that Russia
interfered in our election,
Russia deftly proves that they
couldn’t care less what we prove;
…things like that
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
on one side of the scale
are personal items:
hope there’s enough money to pay
car repairs, house repairs,
food bills, medical bills, bills, bills,
taxes, insurance, more taxes
hope what we cook turns out well
hope our garden yields good fruit
hope our tools don’t break;
…things like that
On the other side of the scale
are greater challenges:
WW-III
global pandemics
the fall of democracy
climate change
weaponizing anyone with a grudge
another civil war
after deftly proving that Russia
interfered in our election,
Russia deftly proves that they
couldn’t care less what we prove;
…things like that
A BIGGER PLAN
—Caschwa
there’s this black and white cat
that visits the shady spots of
our back yard regularly
all it takes is for me to slide the
patio door to step outside and
the cat darts for an exit
it doesn’t appear to be particularly
afraid of me, and I have never
advanced toward it with ill will
but it could just be playing a game
like sharpening its claws to be ready
and it will always win the game
—Caschwa
there’s this black and white cat
that visits the shady spots of
our back yard regularly
all it takes is for me to slide the
patio door to step outside and
the cat darts for an exit
it doesn’t appear to be particularly
afraid of me, and I have never
advanced toward it with ill will
but it could just be playing a game
like sharpening its claws to be ready
and it will always win the game
ROUGH COMPARISON
—Caschwa
Richard M. Nixon was an educated
president who deviated from the course
and pursued criminal goals
Donald J. Trump was a born and raised
deviant who was handed the presidency
and pursued criminal goals
these are not two jigsaw puzzle pieces
that fit together in any way, shape, or form
—Caschwa
Richard M. Nixon was an educated
president who deviated from the course
and pursued criminal goals
Donald J. Trump was a born and raised
deviant who was handed the presidency
and pursued criminal goals
these are not two jigsaw puzzle pieces
that fit together in any way, shape, or form
WHO’D’VE THUNKIT?
—Caschwa
we saw an overwhelming need
to slip out of the grasp of an evil
king, and so we got out our own
pens and scrolls and drafted a
Declaration of Independence
at least that’s what it was for
some of us, but not those Indian
savages, or black slaves, or any
women or children who were
regarded as chattel by the men
who kept them around as help
that evolved to the Constitution,
which has bit by bit been amended
to erode the original dream, giving
freedom and the right to vote to blacks,
and even to women, oh what next?
now, as before, we have lurking
in the background a collective of
stake holders, landowners, geared
to strike us with “beyond unimaginable”
monetary penalties if we don’t yield
to their every wish
they own the nation, all documents ever
committed to print, from aged parchment
to the finest stationary bond, they own
every piece, and they will charge us rent
we cannot pay until we are too broken
and feeble to take a position of resistance
we are kept busy like baby starlings in
the nest, hungry for morsels of any size,
thankful for any quantity, reminded
constantly of our pecking order contract,
oh, aren’t we happy now!
—Caschwa
we saw an overwhelming need
to slip out of the grasp of an evil
king, and so we got out our own
pens and scrolls and drafted a
Declaration of Independence
at least that’s what it was for
some of us, but not those Indian
savages, or black slaves, or any
women or children who were
regarded as chattel by the men
who kept them around as help
that evolved to the Constitution,
which has bit by bit been amended
to erode the original dream, giving
freedom and the right to vote to blacks,
and even to women, oh what next?
now, as before, we have lurking
in the background a collective of
stake holders, landowners, geared
to strike us with “beyond unimaginable”
monetary penalties if we don’t yield
to their every wish
they own the nation, all documents ever
committed to print, from aged parchment
to the finest stationary bond, they own
every piece, and they will charge us rent
we cannot pay until we are too broken
and feeble to take a position of resistance
we are kept busy like baby starlings in
the nest, hungry for morsels of any size,
thankful for any quantity, reminded
constantly of our pecking order contract,
oh, aren’t we happy now!
ADJUSTED FOR INFLATION
—Caschwa
somehow I can’t remember anyone
using this expression when I was
younger and my dad would share
his 1908 Sears Catalog with me
now today it casually rolls off one’s
lips like talking about an outfielder
adjusting his sun shades
we have a variety of inflatable products
like car and bike tires, life rafts, and
balloons, so why don’t they mention
anything about adjusted for inflation?
looking at my tummy, which has grown
at a faster pace than my age, I guess
I could just say it is “adjusted for inflation”
AND YET WE HAVE HOPE
—Caschwa
every moment we age,
confronting forces that
work against our frail,
little bodies and spirits;
today a new sore in a
new place, as if we were
just ripped off the cross
as we trust our well being
to our Primary Care Alchemist,
our local, neighborhood, state
certified drug pusher, who
measures us with all kinds of
expensive medical devices,
only to end the exercise by
asking, “How do you feel today?”
our response, “Everything hurts”
—Caschwa
every moment we age,
confronting forces that
work against our frail,
little bodies and spirits;
today a new sore in a
new place, as if we were
just ripped off the cross
as we trust our well being
to our Primary Care Alchemist,
our local, neighborhood, state
certified drug pusher, who
measures us with all kinds of
expensive medical devices,
only to end the exercise by
asking, “How do you feel today?”
our response, “Everything hurts”
THE McDONALD’S GREASE GHETTO
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
The grease-ghetto has
Resolved to be more greasy.
Trying to be healthful
Cut into the bottom line.
Everything is fine
If we give them what they want—
Layers of grease and white-bread buns.
Who could blame us
For trying to be profitable?
When many
Around us
Are falling down?
It’s just a question
Of survival—
Us or them,
Us,
Or
Our customers,
Who may not survive
Very long,
If they consume
Whatever it is we serve.
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
The grease-ghetto has
Resolved to be more greasy.
Trying to be healthful
Cut into the bottom line.
Everything is fine
If we give them what they want—
Layers of grease and white-bread buns.
Who could blame us
For trying to be profitable?
When many
Around us
Are falling down?
It’s just a question
Of survival—
Us or them,
Us,
Or
Our customers,
Who may not survive
Very long,
If they consume
Whatever it is we serve.
CATCH ME UP THE NEXT TIME
—Joe Nolan
E-mails and text-messaging
Provide additional ways
We can
Ignore each other.
Nothing need be sent
In response.
Your message or email
Is treated just like spam.
Do you wonder who I am
Or why I do ignore you?
Are we still
On the same page
Or have we drifted off
Into other web-sites?
Catch me up
The next time
You are passing by
In the Universe
—Joe Nolan
E-mails and text-messaging
Provide additional ways
We can
Ignore each other.
Nothing need be sent
In response.
Your message or email
Is treated just like spam.
Do you wonder who I am
Or why I do ignore you?
Are we still
On the same page
Or have we drifted off
Into other web-sites?
Catch me up
The next time
You are passing by
In the Universe
SALVATION SEEKING SUPPLICANTS
—Joe Nolan
Madness runs in
Concentric spirals,
Circling toward
The center,
Where nothingness
Ricochets
Out through fire-hoses
Into a burning Universe—
Salvation Seeking Supplicants
To undergo a
Baptism of Salvation.
—Joe Nolan
Madness runs in
Concentric spirals,
Circling toward
The center,
Where nothingness
Ricochets
Out through fire-hoses
Into a burning Universe—
Salvation Seeking Supplicants
To undergo a
Baptism of Salvation.
Hope is all around us~
WHISPERS OF PERMISSION
—Joe Nolan
Whispers came,
But few could listen,
Speaking of
Soul’s permission
To enter Heaven
While still here on Earth.
Wisdom’s pearls
Could be found,
Scattered all
Across the ground,
But few would
Bend to fetch them.
Sky is blue.
Grass is green.
Human beings
Live between
The Earth and
Sky-blue Heaven.
That is what it means
To be human.
—Joe Nolan
Whispers came,
But few could listen,
Speaking of
Soul’s permission
To enter Heaven
While still here on Earth.
Wisdom’s pearls
Could be found,
Scattered all
Across the ground,
But few would
Bend to fetch them.
Sky is blue.
Grass is green.
Human beings
Live between
The Earth and
Sky-blue Heaven.
That is what it means
To be human.
Today’s LittleNip:
BULLFROG
—Joe Nolan
Bullfrog,
In small pond,
Croaks to warn
Its enemies and friends,
Its mouth is large
And it can swallow
Nearly anything,
Twice its size.
__________________
Today’s poets are brimming with wonderful thoughts wonderfully expressed on this Juneteenth, writing about everything from politics to McDonald’s to our Seed of the Week, Hope. Be sure to check in the Kitchen on Tuesdays for Seeds of the Week. Your SOW poems will be posted on Mondays.
Joe Nolan’s “McDonald’s” poem is based on a recent news article which can be seen at www.zerohedge.com/markets/mcdonalds-shrinks-menu-gives-healthier-foods-drive-profit/.
The truth is, though, that threads of hope run through many poems that I see. Poets pretend to be cynics and pessimists, but I think there’s a deeper river of optimism that runs through lots of poetry—which is one of the things that keeps me going in these troubled times.
A reminder that tomorrow, 6/21, is the deadline for the Lincoln Poetry Contest. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other poetry happenings in the NorCal area; details for the contest are listed at the bottom of the UPCOMING post.
__________________
—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!
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!
