—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Sayani Mukherjee, Nolcha Fox,
Michael Ceraolo, Joe Nolan, and Caschwa
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan and Nolcha Fox
IN THE GARDEN
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Wondering how
your arms, chest, lips
would feel when pressed to mine
in this garden of wondering
as we wander along
an Amy Lowell pathway,
I pause beside a calla lily,
ease my hand deep in,
gather pollen for talcum powder
for our parched summer lips.
We kiss, pollen dust gilding
our shoulders.
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Wondering how
your arms, chest, lips
would feel when pressed to mine
in this garden of wondering
as we wander along
an Amy Lowell pathway,
I pause beside a calla lily,
ease my hand deep in,
gather pollen for talcum powder
for our parched summer lips.
We kiss, pollen dust gilding
our shoulders.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth,
Wrexham, Wales
One must be truly down a hole
to need use of such ugly phrase,
unless the quest has just begun.
It’s that old shop for curios,
but ‘need to know’ opens the door,
or turns front cover of the book.
Here’s pique and pry with feline pyre,
or busybodies’ gossip try,
with world explorers, learning’s prompt.
So Galileo must recant,
for hell more centric than the sun,
and mindset cannot be upset.
Inquisitive, Inquisition,
the test, unorthodox at stake,
an index of heretical.
But erotemes in global spin,
these the marks our prints need leave
as pilgrims walking in the dark.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth,
Wrexham, Wales
One must be truly down a hole
to need use of such ugly phrase,
unless the quest has just begun.
It’s that old shop for curios,
but ‘need to know’ opens the door,
or turns front cover of the book.
Here’s pique and pry with feline pyre,
or busybodies’ gossip try,
with world explorers, learning’s prompt.
So Galileo must recant,
for hell more centric than the sun,
and mindset cannot be upset.
Inquisitive, Inquisition,
the test, unorthodox at stake,
an index of heretical.
But erotemes in global spin,
these the marks our prints need leave
as pilgrims walking in the dark.
—Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Joe Nolan
AUTUMN
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
Mayhem of Autumn.
Soul expanding bliss
In evening hours
Grey waistcoats, lined seconds.
A silent peace
Seeing things as should be;
Borderlands of tingy maturity
The misshapen afterthought
Liberty passed a glance
As soft hours do,
Asking for chance.
Velvet purple glow
End of dripping down
Carrying the waste to the stream
Purging a clean slate
Coming ocean folded spasms
Evening sparrows
Grey twilight
Twinkling in a brown pot.
Unison and festivities
Erasing borders
Autumn, an old friend
Warm hospitality
Unzipped
Intimate snuggy goodness
As a big brother
A silent bliss of an evening
The purple zone.
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
Mayhem of Autumn.
Soul expanding bliss
In evening hours
Grey waistcoats, lined seconds.
A silent peace
Seeing things as should be;
Borderlands of tingy maturity
The misshapen afterthought
Liberty passed a glance
As soft hours do,
Asking for chance.
Velvet purple glow
End of dripping down
Carrying the waste to the stream
Purging a clean slate
Coming ocean folded spasms
Evening sparrows
Grey twilight
Twinkling in a brown pot.
Unison and festivities
Erasing borders
Autumn, an old friend
Warm hospitality
Unzipped
Intimate snuggy goodness
As a big brother
A silent bliss of an evening
The purple zone.
—Public Domain Photo
Courtesy of Joe Nolan
SACRIFICE
—Sayani Mukherjee
Skull cap of a hunger
Death beaten rusty
Polished Windows
Sitting under a safe door
Indulging big-brained self-entitlement
Can only imagine
As much as it stretches
Out of the door
Green barns Rocky fields
Whose silence is big
It thuds through the corridors
Bigger than the homefire
Security stability
Being at fringe
Can keep you warm
Under the pockets
Fold your rages within
A night suit
Sacrifice
Far deeper
Torrential downloads
Stream of an ennui
Strange of an era
Living in the heads
Sacrifice
Soul magic unseen.
—Sayani Mukherjee
Skull cap of a hunger
Death beaten rusty
Polished Windows
Sitting under a safe door
Indulging big-brained self-entitlement
Can only imagine
As much as it stretches
Out of the door
Green barns Rocky fields
Whose silence is big
It thuds through the corridors
Bigger than the homefire
Security stability
Being at fringe
Can keep you warm
Under the pockets
Fold your rages within
A night suit
Sacrifice
Far deeper
Torrential downloads
Stream of an ennui
Strange of an era
Living in the heads
Sacrifice
Soul magic unseen.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
Curiosity
made me. Curiosity
and the purple-popping
morning glories
clinging to the fence.
A pounce on yarn,
a stretch in sun.
Heaven forbid that my skin
be raked by careless claws.
I have smelled the seasons
rotting on the ground.
I have stolen roses
from the garden.
Heaven forbid that I should bloom
and die.
made me. Curiosity
and the purple-popping
morning glories
clinging to the fence.
A pounce on yarn,
a stretch in sun.
Heaven forbid that my skin
be raked by careless claws.
I have smelled the seasons
rotting on the ground.
I have stolen roses
from the garden.
Heaven forbid that I should bloom
and die.
After “Etiology” by Linda Gregg
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
WHAT IS IT?
—Nolcha Fox
What is faith?
We pass on trauma as tradition
unto the third generation.
What is hope?
It is better
to be a warrior
than a fish.
What is love?
Mermaids swim
through mothers.
What is patience?
Collecting summer
sleet in cups.
What is the meaning of life?
A tuna-fish-and-ketchup sandwich.
—Nolcha Fox
What is faith?
We pass on trauma as tradition
unto the third generation.
What is hope?
It is better
to be a warrior
than a fish.
What is love?
Mermaids swim
through mothers.
What is patience?
Collecting summer
sleet in cups.
What is the meaning of life?
A tuna-fish-and-ketchup sandwich.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
SMOKE
—Nolcha Fox
You sit there
like you always do,
thoughts engulfed
in smoke that rises
from your cigarette.
I know you said
goodbye to her,
I saw her walk away.
Why does your shadow
dance with hers
in smoke that rises
from your cigarette?
—Nolcha Fox
You sit there
like you always do,
thoughts engulfed
in smoke that rises
from your cigarette.
I know you said
goodbye to her,
I saw her walk away.
Why does your shadow
dance with hers
in smoke that rises
from your cigarette?
—Public Domain Illustration
Courtesy of Joe Nolan
TIME WARP
—Nolcha Fox
A gap
in time,
a void,
sucking
deadlines
into
empty
gestures,
until
the time
we die.
—Nolcha Fox
A gap
in time,
a void,
sucking
deadlines
into
empty
gestures,
until
the time
we die.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
THREE POEMS FROM DUGOUT ANTHOLOGY
—Michael Ceraolo, South Euclid, Ohio
Effa Manley
Today I would be expected to make
a statement about my identity
Whatever I proclaimed, some
would be sure to criticize me
for my alleged offense
And I would be equally criticized
if I declined to make such a statement
While I was alive
there was considerable difference of opinion
concerning my identity
I didn't clear it up then,
and I have no intention
of doing so now or ever
If such distinctions are important to you,
you'll have to decide without my help
* * *
Tony Gwynn
It didn't matter that I was born
during his last season in the majors:
Ted and I, being Californians
with a passion for the science of hitting,
formed an intergenerational friendship
that lasted until his death
I thought it mattered
that I chewed instead of smoked,
but that turned out not to matter:
tobacco killed me just the same
* * *
Edith Houghton
I missed playing in the league when it started
because I was in the WAVES
After the War
I approached Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Pennock
about being a scout for the team,
and to their credit they hired me
as the first female scout
I regret that none of the players I signed
made it all the way to the majors,
but I don't regret leaving the job
to go back in the Navy during Korea
—Michael Ceraolo, South Euclid, Ohio
Effa Manley
Today I would be expected to make
a statement about my identity
Whatever I proclaimed, some
would be sure to criticize me
for my alleged offense
And I would be equally criticized
if I declined to make such a statement
While I was alive
there was considerable difference of opinion
concerning my identity
I didn't clear it up then,
and I have no intention
of doing so now or ever
If such distinctions are important to you,
you'll have to decide without my help
* * *
Tony Gwynn
It didn't matter that I was born
during his last season in the majors:
Ted and I, being Californians
with a passion for the science of hitting,
formed an intergenerational friendship
that lasted until his death
I thought it mattered
that I chewed instead of smoked,
but that turned out not to matter:
tobacco killed me just the same
* * *
Edith Houghton
I missed playing in the league when it started
because I was in the WAVES
After the War
I approached Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Pennock
about being a scout for the team,
and to their credit they hired me
as the first female scout
I regret that none of the players I signed
made it all the way to the majors,
but I don't regret leaving the job
to go back in the Navy during Korea
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
FRACTURED FUN-HOUSE MIRROR
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
The fun-house mirror fractured
Along the center-axis
Of its false reflection.
Its duty was to entertain
With sundry distortions,
Amusing to those passing by—
Just another distraction,
From bad luck
That would follow,
As a course of nature,
Resulting from bisection
Of that already false.
Rampaging over borders
Of a nation that was stolen
Just eight years ago,
At Maidan.
Now, ten-million driven out
And tens of thousands slaughtered—
Foreseeable from national theft—
Prelude to expansion of NATO.
Fractures over borderlines
Won’t leave
Well-enough alone.
Glass is fragile.
Propaganda is distortion.
We only stop awhile
To stand and gawk,
As through circus, we walk.
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
The fun-house mirror fractured
Along the center-axis
Of its false reflection.
Its duty was to entertain
With sundry distortions,
Amusing to those passing by—
Just another distraction,
From bad luck
That would follow,
As a course of nature,
Resulting from bisection
Of that already false.
Rampaging over borders
Of a nation that was stolen
Just eight years ago,
At Maidan.
Now, ten-million driven out
And tens of thousands slaughtered—
Foreseeable from national theft—
Prelude to expansion of NATO.
Fractures over borderlines
Won’t leave
Well-enough alone.
Glass is fragile.
Propaganda is distortion.
We only stop awhile
To stand and gawk,
As through circus, we walk.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
WAYS OUT OF MAZES
—Joe Nolan
There must be wayzes
To get through mazes
That haven’t yet been found,
Like how to bring
Our armies home
After they’ve won ground.
—Joe Nolan
There must be wayzes
To get through mazes
That haven’t yet been found,
Like how to bring
Our armies home
After they’ve won ground.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
POINT OF VIEW
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
senior, fixed income
insurance company POV:
buy our plan
my POV:
get by with what I have
older house
real estate agent POV:
trade in old to buy new
my POV:
get by with what I have
older car
car dealer POV:
trade in old to buy new
my POV:
get by with what I have
older teeth
dentist POV:
we don’t take trade-ins, buy new
my POV:
wait till I win the Lottery
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
senior, fixed income
insurance company POV:
buy our plan
my POV:
get by with what I have
older house
real estate agent POV:
trade in old to buy new
my POV:
get by with what I have
older car
car dealer POV:
trade in old to buy new
my POV:
get by with what I have
older teeth
dentist POV:
we don’t take trade-ins, buy new
my POV:
wait till I win the Lottery
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
CURIOUS DREAMS
—Caschwa
we all have dreams
some too personal to share
some like spice, where different measures
of it
suit different
people differently
the American Dream
being all of these things,
melted together,
although political
spokespersons will
attempt to define it with
one or another spin that
will surely appeal to their base
We
complain
that only a
handful of people
have all the money,
millions upon millions
but then pride
ourselves on designing
a structure for campaigns whereby
only a
handful of
candidates
get all the votes,
millions upon millions
then we awaken from
these dreams and count
our one dollar
our one vote
and go back to sleep
—Caschwa
we all have dreams
some too personal to share
some like spice, where different measures
of it
suit different
people differently
the American Dream
being all of these things,
melted together,
although political
spokespersons will
attempt to define it with
one or another spin that
will surely appeal to their base
We
complain
that only a
handful of people
have all the money,
millions upon millions
but then pride
ourselves on designing
a structure for campaigns whereby
only a
handful of
candidates
get all the votes,
millions upon millions
then we awaken from
these dreams and count
our one dollar
our one vote
and go back to sleep
—Public Domain Photo
Courtesy of Joe Nolan
SOMNOLENT PERCUSSION
—Caschwa
(following Joyce Odam’s
“In the Waning”, Medusa’s Kitchen,
September 21, 2022)
the wait was endless
years of draught, fires,
lost crops, desolation
we lay awake each night
with unanswered prayers
for rain, precipitation, drips
and then we hear it….
thundershowers!!
a few days in a row
how relaxing, now, that
somnolent percussion
of water falling from the sky
not enough to erase a
draught, but a welcome
gesture, nonetheless
good night
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
HOBO HEART
—Nolcha Fox
My hobo heart
drags a knapsack
full of moonlight
neatly folded
into a blanket
of leaves.
My hobo heart
hitches a ride
on midnight
train whistles,
cross-country buses,
and truck-stop coffee.
My hobo heart
has pockets full
of rainbows.
A ticket to anywhere,
anywhere but here,
is stuffed inside her shoe.
___________________
Good morning, all ye poets with hobo hearts, as we drink the rest of September and crack open a bottle of October this week. Many thanks to our poets today, and to Joe and Nolcha for finding us fine pix. Our Seed of the Week is Curiosity; some of our poets explored the idea that our world keeps getting, well, curiouser and curiouser… Be sure to check each Tuesday for the week’s Seed of the Week.
And hello, Jupiter! (www.npr.org/2022/09/25/1124167790/jupiter-closest-earth-opposition-nasa?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&fbclid=IwAR0UFs9LFyRwYjn88PT1WRF_OMhbqAuASX4VOThAistCfEJrFgZG3nzNmKw)
Today is the deadline for Sac Poetry Day submissions; click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future poetry events in the NorCal area. This week includes Norelyn Parker and Matthew Mitchell on Sac. Poetry Center Zoom tonight; Deborah Shaw Hickerson and Leanne Grabel at The Write Place in Stockton on Wednesday; Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento on Thursday; the big Voices: 2022 release party and reading (Poetry in Locke) on Saturday; and a Capturing Wakamatsu workshop in Placerville on Sunday, co-hosted by Katy Brown and Taylor Graham. Details for all of these may be had at UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS, the link at the top of this column. Lots to do as Fall comes upon us!
___________________
—Medusa
—Caschwa
(following Joyce Odam’s
“In the Waning”, Medusa’s Kitchen,
September 21, 2022)
the wait was endless
years of draught, fires,
lost crops, desolation
we lay awake each night
with unanswered prayers
for rain, precipitation, drips
and then we hear it….
thundershowers!!
a few days in a row
how relaxing, now, that
somnolent percussion
of water falling from the sky
not enough to erase a
draught, but a welcome
gesture, nonetheless
good night
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
HOBO HEART
—Nolcha Fox
My hobo heart
drags a knapsack
full of moonlight
neatly folded
into a blanket
of leaves.
My hobo heart
hitches a ride
on midnight
train whistles,
cross-country buses,
and truck-stop coffee.
My hobo heart
has pockets full
of rainbows.
A ticket to anywhere,
anywhere but here,
is stuffed inside her shoe.
___________________
Good morning, all ye poets with hobo hearts, as we drink the rest of September and crack open a bottle of October this week. Many thanks to our poets today, and to Joe and Nolcha for finding us fine pix. Our Seed of the Week is Curiosity; some of our poets explored the idea that our world keeps getting, well, curiouser and curiouser… Be sure to check each Tuesday for the week’s Seed of the Week.
And hello, Jupiter! (www.npr.org/2022/09/25/1124167790/jupiter-closest-earth-opposition-nasa?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&fbclid=IwAR0UFs9LFyRwYjn88PT1WRF_OMhbqAuASX4VOThAistCfEJrFgZG3nzNmKw)
Today is the deadline for Sac Poetry Day submissions; click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future poetry events in the NorCal area. This week includes Norelyn Parker and Matthew Mitchell on Sac. Poetry Center Zoom tonight; Deborah Shaw Hickerson and Leanne Grabel at The Write Place in Stockton on Wednesday; Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento on Thursday; the big Voices: 2022 release party and reading (Poetry in Locke) on Saturday; and a Capturing Wakamatsu workshop in Placerville on Sunday, co-hosted by Katy Brown and Taylor Graham. Details for all of these may be had at UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS, the link at the top of this column. Lots to do as Fall comes upon us!
___________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
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!
