—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down to
Form Fiddlers’ Friday!!
THE DOOR IS OPEN
In the vestibule, a counter with a stack of booklets—
pictures from the exhibition. Down two steps
to the gallery, and I’m surrounded by Nature without
frames, sky and mountain composed in silhouette.
There must be valleys impossibly deep and
secret as wells: intuited, not seen.
Did I come for rehab from the city?
Imagine us free of factory colors, scents, sirens
over undercurrents of noise from the street.
At the far end of the room, they say,
is a vault of uncatalogued treasure. Seeds?
Raindrops? Stardust of dead worlds?
The door’s ajar. Dare I enter?
In the vestibule, a counter with a stack of booklets—
pictures from the exhibition. Down two steps
to the gallery, and I’m surrounded by Nature without
frames, sky and mountain composed in silhouette.
There must be valleys impossibly deep and
secret as wells: intuited, not seen.
Did I come for rehab from the city?
Imagine us free of factory colors, scents, sirens
over undercurrents of noise from the street.
At the far end of the room, they say,
is a vault of uncatalogued treasure. Seeds?
Raindrops? Stardust of dead worlds?
The door’s ajar. Dare I enter?
WAKING TO THE WORLD
Morning news: impending nuclear disaster?
are we in the first, the final, or a third world?
Beyond our doors, titmouse, goldfinch, jay
and nuthatch are waking to their bird world.
Our councils argue from opposing battle-
lines to prove this is an absurd world.
We’re in dog-day doldrums: can we wake
from this August-long deferred world?
You’re blind, in the dark, no hearing aid—
there’s more than the seen and heard world.
A poet walks stubble in cool before swelter,
plucking images of a newly stirred world.
SWIFT-HAWK?
I scout our hillside for what’s new.
It’s end of August—brittle, brown.
Look, a feather, white-barred. A clue!
I scout our hillside for what’s new—
a raptor molting? when and who?
A wing-feather’s come floating down
upon our hillside. Something new
at end of August’s brittle-brown.
WHAT’S HERE
How many times I’ve driven past,
not knowing the living wetlands—
beaver, muskrat, heron, quail; do they care
a whit for our city traffic
just out of sight?
Beaver, muskrat, heron, quail. Do they care
a whit for our city traffic
just out of sight? Oh,
how many times I’ve driven past,
not knowing the living wetlands.
How many times I’ve driven past,
not knowing the living wetlands—
beaver, muskrat, heron, quail; do they care
a whit for our city traffic
just out of sight?
Beaver, muskrat, heron, quail. Do they care
a whit for our city traffic
just out of sight? Oh,
how many times I’ve driven past,
not knowing the living wetlands.
IMPOSSIBLE ALLEYS
for S.S.
You send your postcards like a tease,
a riddle to solve—Where am I?—
a gothic spire requiring buttresses,
beautiful as your handwriting,
illegible.
A gothic spire requiring buttresses—
beautiful as your handwriting
but illegible.
You send your postcards like a tease.
A riddle to solve: Where am I?
AUGUST STOPS HERE
Sunday morning, nothing’s moving,
just jay & raven joshing the day
now stalled here in drought between earth and sky,
the weird fatigue you’ve had all month.
Your brain’s in fog.
Now stalled here in drought between earth and sky,
the weird fatigue you’ve had all month,
your brain’s in fog. But
Sunday morning, nothing’s moving—
just jay & raven joshing the day.
Sunday morning, nothing’s moving,
just jay & raven joshing the day
now stalled here in drought between earth and sky,
the weird fatigue you’ve had all month.
Your brain’s in fog.
Now stalled here in drought between earth and sky,
the weird fatigue you’ve had all month,
your brain’s in fog. But
Sunday morning, nothing’s moving—
just jay & raven joshing the day.
Today’s LittleNip:
WHERE DO THE GHOSTS GO?
—Taylor Graham
One year later is it time, after burn,
to return? Rooted in grime,
charred oaks in skeleton mime.
And does the wind grieve or boast? its chill cry
passing by the spirit host,
calling by name a girl’s ghost.
___________________
Taylor Graham is with us again today, bringing more poetry about the drought and the brainfog that August seems to bring. Forms she has sent include a Ghazal (“Waking to the World”); a Triolet (“Swift-Hawk?”); three LittleJoyces, one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges (“What's Here”, “Impossible Alleys”, “August Stops Here”); and an Englyn Penfyr, another Triple-F Challenge from last week (“Where Do the Ghosts Go?”).
This Monday (Labor Day, 9/5): the Sac. Poetry Center reading featuring Tom Meschery and Linda Jackson Collins has been postponed until October, due to hot weather. The heat also got last night’s Poetry in Davis postponed; Bill Gainer and Laura Martin will be reading on Oct. 13 instead. But you can console yourself today with the Mosaic of Voices reading in Lodi, featuring Linda Scheller and Stella Beratlis. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area.
And now it’s time for:
Form Fiddler’s Friday!
WHERE DO THE GHOSTS GO?
—Taylor Graham
One year later is it time, after burn,
to return? Rooted in grime,
charred oaks in skeleton mime.
And does the wind grieve or boast? its chill cry
passing by the spirit host,
calling by name a girl’s ghost.
___________________
Taylor Graham is with us again today, bringing more poetry about the drought and the brainfog that August seems to bring. Forms she has sent include a Ghazal (“Waking to the World”); a Triolet (“Swift-Hawk?”); three LittleJoyces, one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges (“What's Here”, “Impossible Alleys”, “August Stops Here”); and an Englyn Penfyr, another Triple-F Challenge from last week (“Where Do the Ghosts Go?”).
This Monday (Labor Day, 9/5): the Sac. Poetry Center reading featuring Tom Meschery and Linda Jackson Collins has been postponed until October, due to hot weather. The heat also got last night’s Poetry in Davis postponed; Bill Gainer and Laura Martin will be reading on Oct. 13 instead. But you can console yourself today with the Mosaic of Voices reading in Lodi, featuring Linda Scheller and Stella Beratlis. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area.
And now it’s time for:
Form Fiddler’s 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 challenges. Whaddaya got to lose… If you send ‘em, I’ll post ‘em! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for resources and for links to poetry terms used in today’s post.)
There’s also a newly dusted-off page at the top of Medusa’s Kitchen called, “FORMS! OMG!!!” which expresses some of my (take ‘em or leave 'em) opinions about the use of forms in poetry writing, as well as listing some more resources to help you navigate through Form Quicksand. Got any more resources to add to our list? Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com for the benefit of all man/woman/poetkind!
I thought the bear was just sleeping, but the issue of hunters also came up:
He can bearly make it
through the day.
It’s a tough job,
sprawled upon
the ground
to hold the earth
in orbit round the sun.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
* * *
Stephen Kingsnorth took a lighthearted approach to the photo, citing the ways that bears are woven in and out of our lives. Note the next-to-last line: Remember the old song, “Teddy Bears’ Picnic”? It was a part of my childhood, and Stephen writes that he, too, has some connections to it. Small world!
WHAT’S BRUIN?
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
What’s brewin’ when I see the bear?
Scene only in the zoo, I fear,
or in appeals by charities,
abuse, misuse, caged, dancing trained.
My sister, Little Women, cried
with Teddy, when Beth duly died,
though he was truly Theodore,
as Teddy named for Roosevelt.
Just then, recall, the bear was shot,
like plot of Arsenic and Old Lace;
I hope this trail will soon run cold,
or we’ll be bored as brown ted looks.
But there they prowl in fairy tales,
black forest wood. where grim growls drown—
or breakfast time with porridge bowls,
then stationed, here from dark Peru.
When others dancing to our tunes,
we’ve found the power pied piper led,
the picnic sung down in those woods—
how can wee toy yet have such hold?
* * *
HUNTING POSTURE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
open
carry
wins the
berry
* * *
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) responded to the Triple-F Challenge, the Welsh Englyn Penfyr:
NOT A HINT
—Caschwa
I hold in my hand the true answer key
that tells me nothing to do
with that new pen, red in hue
after all, it is a standardized test
at least correcting’s a whiz
nary an if or a because
when the daily coursework is sink or swim
chances are slim to give marks
to enlighten what is dark
* * *
—Caschwa
I hold in my hand the true answer key
that tells me nothing to do
with that new pen, red in hue
after all, it is a standardized test
at least correcting’s a whiz
nary an if or a because
when the daily coursework is sink or swim
chances are slim to give marks
to enlighten what is dark
* * *
Claire Baker has sent us a poignant Sliding Fiver: 5 stanzas, 5 lines, 5 syllables per line;
first line slides down a line 5 times, to finally become the last line. (Martha Bosworth, via Claire J. Baker)
BORDER CROSSING
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
All the lost children,
who trudged far and long—
families fleeing
violence, gangs, war,
begging asylum,
nos rescataras.
All the lost children
arriving worn-out
at guarded border,
pulled from sad parents—
por que y donde,
like quarantined sheep!
All the lost children
shipped off or caged in
tents, the heat intense—
innocent victims:
twenty-three hundred
suffering traumas.
All the lost children
left to cope alone;
love still remembers
these migrant martyrs;
Many will weep for
political pawns—
all the lost children.
(prev. pub. in Blue Unicorn,
Spring Issue, 2022)
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
All the lost children,
who trudged far and long—
families fleeing
violence, gangs, war,
begging asylum,
nos rescataras.
All the lost children
arriving worn-out
at guarded border,
pulled from sad parents—
por que y donde,
like quarantined sheep!
All the lost children
shipped off or caged in
tents, the heat intense—
innocent victims:
twenty-three hundred
suffering traumas.
All the lost children
left to cope alone;
love still remembers
these migrant martyrs;
Many will weep for
political pawns—
all the lost children.
(prev. pub. in Blue Unicorn,
Spring Issue, 2022)
* * *
Here is a lovely Triversen from Joyce Odam:
MONTAGE
—Joyce Odam
All night, the unseen mockingbird
shared its lyric singing,
making sleep impossible.
All night, the slow red moon
rose through the smoky sky
and became a white moon.
Now morning bristles
with raucous bursts
from the numerous crows.
* * *
And, finally, an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth, all about getting your story on paper—stealing what’s around you, like a magpie: attend! engage! identify:
—Joyce Odam
All night, the unseen mockingbird
shared its lyric singing,
making sleep impossible.
All night, the slow red moon
rose through the smoky sky
and became a white moon.
Now morning bristles
with raucous bursts
from the numerous crows.
* * *
And, finally, an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth, all about getting your story on paper—stealing what’s around you, like a magpie: attend! engage! identify:
CAPTIVATED
—Stephen Kingsnorth
How gain attention, ear attend,
engage the senses, know applies,
identify your story told,
and own this flock is of your fold,
so undertake to face the crowd?
The poet’s task, identity;
dispatch the magpie, couple, eight—
though one is frequent, two more rare—
but take the stuffing out of them
and study taxidermy fears.
The theft to capture what is near,
identikit from artist’s chair,
to plumb the depths if only dare,
and reach what unaware is there,
and pose the questions, stay awhile.
So ring a bell, toll rhythm chimes,
intone the empathetic air,
ensure the echo, shadow here,
so where you go, this note is there—
and if it’s not, then write your own.
Try out the checklist, overview,
tick a box, e, i, o, and u,
attend, engage, identify,
the matter owned, now undertake;
a global oyster, maybe pearl.
____________________
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!
—Stephen Kingsnorth
How gain attention, ear attend,
engage the senses, know applies,
identify your story told,
and own this flock is of your fold,
so undertake to face the crowd?
The poet’s task, identity;
dispatch the magpie, couple, eight—
though one is frequent, two more rare—
but take the stuffing out of them
and study taxidermy fears.
The theft to capture what is near,
identikit from artist’s chair,
to plumb the depths if only dare,
and reach what unaware is there,
and pose the questions, stay awhile.
So ring a bell, toll rhythm chimes,
intone the empathetic air,
ensure the echo, shadow here,
so where you go, this note is there—
and if it’s not, then write your own.
Try out the checklist, overview,
tick a box, e, i, o, and u,
attend, engage, identify,
the matter owned, now undertake;
a global oyster, maybe pearl.
____________________
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 CHALLENGES!
See what you can make of this week’s poetry forms, and send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com! (No deadline.) This week it’s another Sonnet, the Curtal Sonnet (Curtailed). The Prepscholar website says: “The curtal sonnet rhyme scheme is abc abc followed by dbcdc or dcbdc. What's more, this sonnet form uses a type of meter called sprung rhythm, which differs from iambic pentameter in that each line starts with a stressed instead of unstressed sound and (usually) contains four stressed syllables.” Check out the wonderful Gerard Manley Hopkins example on that page.
•••Sonnet, Curtal: blog.prepscholar.com/what-is-a-sonnet-poem-form (and scroll down)
•••And/or you could try another Welsh form, the Cyhydedd Hir: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/cyhydedd-hir-poetic-forms
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic Photo.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Choices”.
•••Sonnet, Curtal: blog.prepscholar.com/what-is-a-sonnet-poem-form (and scroll down)
•••And/or you could try another Welsh form, the Cyhydedd Hir: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/cyhydedd-hir-poetic-forms
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic Photo.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Choices”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Cyhydedd Hir: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/cyhydedd-hir-poetic-forms
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Englyn Penfyr: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/englyn-penfyr-poetic-forms
•••Ghazal: poets.org/glossary/ghazal AND/OR poetryschool.com/theblog/whats-a-ghaza AND/OR www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ghazal AND/OR
www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/ghazal.html •••LittleJoyce (Joyce Odam): 4-ft/4-ft/5-ft/4-ft/2-ft
•••Sliding Fiver: 5 stanzas, 5 lines, 5 syllables per line. First line slides down a line 5 times, to finally become the last line. (Martha Bosworth, via Claire J. Baker)
•••Sonnet, Curtal: blog.prepscholar.com/what-is-a-sonnet-poem-form (and scroll down)
•••Sprung Rhythm: Differs from iambic pentameter in that each line starts with a stressed instead of unstressed sound and (usually) contains four stressed syllables.
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
•••Triolet: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/triolet-an-easy-way-to-write-8-lines-of-poetry
•••Sonnet, Curtal: blog.prepscholar.com/what-is-a-sonnet-poem-form (and scroll down)
•••Sprung Rhythm: Differs from iambic pentameter in that each line starts with a stressed instead of unstressed sound and (usually) contains four stressed syllables.
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
•••Triolet: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/triolet-an-easy-way-to-write-8-lines-of-poetry
For more about meter, see:
•••www.studiobinder.com/blog/what-is-iambic-pentameter-definition-literature •••www.pandorapost.com/2021/05/examples-of-iambic-pentameter-tetrameter-and-trimeter-in-poetry.html
•••nosweatshakespeare.com/sonnets/iambic-pentameter
•••www.thoughtco.com/introducing-iambic-pentameter-2985082
•••www.nfi.edu/iambic-pentameter
____________________
—Medusa
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
See what you can make of the above
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
***
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
***
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
