—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down to
Form Fiddlers’ Friday!!
SURVIVING SUMMER
I’d been waiting for September.
By picking-time, blackberries shriveled
to hard little beads, even birds left them
in the bramble. With no credentials
for surviving summer, I scuff and scrape
along the trail of dry stubble, picking
stickers from my laces. I rise in the dark,
when, wildfires willing, the air is crisp,
fresh as peppermint. By breakfast
time it starts to simmer; roasting already
by noon. I’m waiting for equinox;
waiting for rain.
I’d been waiting for September.
By picking-time, blackberries shriveled
to hard little beads, even birds left them
in the bramble. With no credentials
for surviving summer, I scuff and scrape
along the trail of dry stubble, picking
stickers from my laces. I rise in the dark,
when, wildfires willing, the air is crisp,
fresh as peppermint. By breakfast
time it starts to simmer; roasting already
by noon. I’m waiting for equinox;
waiting for rain.
114°F?
It’s
become
easy to
personify
weather. We must have
piqued the sky past reason.
“Inclement” is too polite.
A new heat record every day.
The power grid is threatened; turn up
your thermostat. But I don’t understand
AC—disorienting to what goes
on outside. Shut the blinds at daylight;
throw windows open-wide at night.
Undress by the table-fan,
flap your arms to let fresh
moving air cool your
armpits. Flap, flap,
you’re ready,
set, flap,
fly!
It’s
become
easy to
personify
weather. We must have
piqued the sky past reason.
“Inclement” is too polite.
A new heat record every day.
The power grid is threatened; turn up
your thermostat. But I don’t understand
AC—disorienting to what goes
on outside. Shut the blinds at daylight;
throw windows open-wide at night.
Undress by the table-fan,
flap your arms to let fresh
moving air cool your
armpits. Flap, flap,
you’re ready,
set, flap,
fly!
BEDFELLOW FLEX
Cat sprawls
on work table
till wood
gets too hot
Cat moves to tile
by front door
Dog must un-
sprawl
to make room
for Cat—
not enough tile for
humans
we sweat
under ceiling fan
wishing for
rain
Cat sprawls
on work table
till wood
gets too hot
Cat moves to tile
by front door
Dog must un-
sprawl
to make room
for Cat—
not enough tile for
humans
we sweat
under ceiling fan
wishing for
rain
SAVING ON ELECTRIC
Today’s too hot for cooking on the woodstove.
We’ll eat cold store-bought tonight.
I’ll set out a bowl of fruit and crisp golden baguette
as still life, a photo to send you,
who sent me the postcard of your morning market
on the cathedral square. Almost spiritual, you wrote—
the colors, the happenstance of bounty, beauty
set out to sustain body and soul.
Alas, my photo lacks fresh sunshine giving shades
and hues, contours, textures of a true hunger.
You who returned back home there,
still trying to find your home.
Today’s too hot for cooking on the woodstove.
We’ll eat cold store-bought tonight.
I’ll set out a bowl of fruit and crisp golden baguette
as still life, a photo to send you,
who sent me the postcard of your morning market
on the cathedral square. Almost spiritual, you wrote—
the colors, the happenstance of bounty, beauty
set out to sustain body and soul.
Alas, my photo lacks fresh sunshine giving shades
and hues, contours, textures of a true hunger.
You who returned back home there,
still trying to find your home.
IF I’D WONDERED
about Jurgens Townsite, I might have gone
past the school and the upscale homes-with-views
over the Valley, to the very end
of a road dwindling out of sight. And there
I’d leave my car, start walking with the dawn
behind me. In my face, the westwind strews
bits and pieces of the past, trails that wend
into underbrush and disappear. Where
is the rutty route for a stagecoach drawn
by four- or six-in-hand bearing old news
to this frontier? What messages might I send
of exploration here, now. If I dare
to stand and let my fancy fill the gaps,
some teasing detail lying beyond maps
till past and future out of clock-time lapse.
about Jurgens Townsite, I might have gone
past the school and the upscale homes-with-views
over the Valley, to the very end
of a road dwindling out of sight. And there
I’d leave my car, start walking with the dawn
behind me. In my face, the westwind strews
bits and pieces of the past, trails that wend
into underbrush and disappear. Where
is the rutty route for a stagecoach drawn
by four- or six-in-hand bearing old news
to this frontier? What messages might I send
of exploration here, now. If I dare
to stand and let my fancy fill the gaps,
some teasing detail lying beyond maps
till past and future out of clock-time lapse.
HE ELUDES THE SNARE
This black cat,
at home in our
habitat,
plays feline tricks
without our knowing,
so nothing sticks—
all the pens he steals….
all his catrobatics….
crumbs he makes of meals….
always a leap ahead
of us, famished for mayhem,
then purring on the bed—
this black cat,
at home in our
habitat.
This black cat,
at home in our
habitat,
plays feline tricks
without our knowing,
so nothing sticks—
all the pens he steals….
all his catrobatics….
crumbs he makes of meals….
always a leap ahead
of us, famished for mayhem,
then purring on the bed—
this black cat,
at home in our
habitat.
Today’s LittleNip:
ESSENTIALS 9.9
—Taylor Graham
Sometimes it just takes
Evacuation Warning
to re-set your brain.
_____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham today for her musings on our continued drought and summer’s end up here in the Sierra Nevada foothills. She was closer to the Mosquito Fire evacuation area than we were; she packed up her car just in case, and lived between car and house for awhile.
But, trouper that she is, Taylor still sent us poems and photos today. Some of them are in forms: a Word-Can Poem (“Surviving Summer”); a Double Etheree (“114°F”); Medusa's Ekphrastic Challenge from last week (“Saving on Electric”); a Senryu (“Essentials 9.9”); and last week’s two Triple-F Challenges: a Snare (“He Eludes the Snare”) and the Vivianne Sonnet (“If I'd Wondered”). Thank you, TG!
Saturday will be a busy day in Sacramento poetry; click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about poetry events in the NorCal area.
And now it’s time for…
Form Fiddler’s Friday!
ESSENTIALS 9.9
—Taylor Graham
Sometimes it just takes
Evacuation Warning
to re-set your brain.
_____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham today for her musings on our continued drought and summer’s end up here in the Sierra Nevada foothills. She was closer to the Mosquito Fire evacuation area than we were; she packed up her car just in case, and lived between car and house for awhile.
But, trouper that she is, Taylor still sent us poems and photos today. Some of them are in forms: a Word-Can Poem (“Surviving Summer”); a Double Etheree (“114°F”); Medusa's Ekphrastic Challenge from last week (“Saving on Electric”); a Senryu (“Essentials 9.9”); and last week’s two Triple-F Challenges: a Snare (“He Eludes the Snare”) and the Vivianne Sonnet (“If I'd Wondered”). Thank you, TG!
Saturday will be a busy day in Sacramento poetry; click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about poetry events in the NorCal area.
And now it’s time for…
Form Fiddler’s Friday!
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!
Last Week’s Ekphrastic Challenge
Both Nolcha Fox and Stephen Kingsnorth answered the Ekphrastic call last week:
After a year of eating only meat and dairy
I dream
I am granola
in a raisin oatmeal
cookie bowl.
I want more.
I take more.
After I eat
the last sweet bite
of myself
I am gone.
And so is this crappy diet.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
* * *
You’re just popcorn
from a bag,
stale and cheesy.
You say you’re stuck on me,
and you are right.
I find you everywhere:
hidden under cushions,
lodged in sofa cracks,
trapped between my teeth.
Even though I crunch you
into pieces with my socks,
you grab hold of the carpet,
you won’t let go.
No vacuum, no floss,
can make you go away.
I’ll introduce you
to my girlfriend.
Stick to her instead.
—Nolcha Fox
* * *
DISPLAY CASE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
This is of texture, colour, shape,
blacked range, blue shine, baked brown white crust,
aged mortar, cheap gloss, candle wax,
with shine of pipe, pine strip, rough brick;
strange bulbous hint of samovar,
pips, even oven, silver bright,
that burn-stained pan—what’s mix in dish—
meatballs with peppers, hash red green?
Cast iron, kettle, coffee pots,
when time hangs heavy, overcast,
in later years—or last appear—
though hanker for the homely past,
those cherished memories seen, but
out of place, balance, ornament,
case of display, museum piece,
this golden age in retrospect?
* * *
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) responded to both of last week’s Triple-F Challenges. First his Snare, then his Vivianne Sonnet:
WHATNOT
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA spice with haste
put in some more
suit to taste
meatballs and sauce
positioned just right
shredded cheese tossed
right into the mix
it’s quite an easy meal
and so quick to fix
use an uncovered bowl
heat to a low boil, simmer
use spoon to dish out whole
spice with haste
put in some more
suit to taste
* * *
STUMBLE BUMBLE
—Caschwa
I lost my footing, fell and bashed my brain
a crowd appeared and helped me to my feet
they were so kind I knew not what to say
not knowing things became my specialty
it did not happen when I took the train
nor marching in the band quite strict on beat
somehow all senses were on holiday
my birds of wisdom, one and all, set free
there was no feeling, thankfully no pain
was told to treat with ice, then switch to heat
advice like that made tougher dues to pay
at least my limbs weren’t burdened like a tree
a photographic image could explain
my gyroscopic mishap sharp and neat
but paparazzi failed to film the fray
so I am left with gaps in memory
a part of me could well have died right there
bestowing me the gift of empty stare
to go along with all my “I don’t care!”
* * *
Caschwa has also written a Sestina, with a bit of a twist at the end (no three-line Envoy). The Sestina is a challenge in itself, and Carl has done his first one proud, with end-words that are unusual, indeed:
WHEN IN THE COURSE OF HUMAN EVENTS
—Caschwa
laws of immediate and pressing importance
to the people’s representation
were suspended while the King utterly neglected
to attend to them in any way, shape, or form
though the assent of the King was required,
but the King could not be bothered
nor could he be in the least way bothered
to pass other laws of great importance
to the colonies, so instead he required
that the people relinquish their rights to such representation
and accept only laws in the form
of the King’s arbitrary will, leaving the people’s will neglected
here, any hint of fairness has been neglected,
legality now an issue with which judges can’t be bothered
relying rather on the King’s will for law in any form,
making the American colonists’ wishes of zero importance
leaving no hope at all for fair representation—
again, the assent of the King was what was required
there arose a giant issue over whose law was required
as the Parliament’s Board of Trade neglected
any constitutional right to representation
electing to impose their foreign authorities, unbothered
by the colonists’ own rankings of importance,
the crown’s “pretended legislation” was the approved form
the crown also altered the Massachusetts Charter in form
to make judicial subservience to the crown required,
the governor could appoint sheriffs, whose importance
in choosing jurors could not be neglected
making trial by jury not hardly worth the bother,
colonists’ right to select juries ended without representation
the crown made the blatant representation
that the Indian Savages’ rule of warfare takes the form
of destroying all ages, sexes, and conditions, not bothered
by any of the rules that other cultures have required;
domestic insurrections amongst us neglected,
only the crown’s whims and fancies were of importance
a quarter-century later, we still fight for representation,
holding elections, doing whatever may be required
we have united the several states to accept one form
of government that will not leave the people neglected
knowing that our path will cause some to be bothered
because freedom and liberty are of prime importance
* * *
Bravo, Caschwa! Now, here is a wee Wavelet from Joyce Odam:
—Caschwa
laws of immediate and pressing importance
to the people’s representation
were suspended while the King utterly neglected
to attend to them in any way, shape, or form
though the assent of the King was required,
but the King could not be bothered
nor could he be in the least way bothered
to pass other laws of great importance
to the colonies, so instead he required
that the people relinquish their rights to such representation
and accept only laws in the form
of the King’s arbitrary will, leaving the people’s will neglected
here, any hint of fairness has been neglected,
legality now an issue with which judges can’t be bothered
relying rather on the King’s will for law in any form,
making the American colonists’ wishes of zero importance
leaving no hope at all for fair representation—
again, the assent of the King was what was required
there arose a giant issue over whose law was required
as the Parliament’s Board of Trade neglected
any constitutional right to representation
electing to impose their foreign authorities, unbothered
by the colonists’ own rankings of importance,
the crown’s “pretended legislation” was the approved form
the crown also altered the Massachusetts Charter in form
to make judicial subservience to the crown required,
the governor could appoint sheriffs, whose importance
in choosing jurors could not be neglected
making trial by jury not hardly worth the bother,
colonists’ right to select juries ended without representation
the crown made the blatant representation
that the Indian Savages’ rule of warfare takes the form
of destroying all ages, sexes, and conditions, not bothered
by any of the rules that other cultures have required;
domestic insurrections amongst us neglected,
only the crown’s whims and fancies were of importance
a quarter-century later, we still fight for representation,
holding elections, doing whatever may be required
we have united the several states to accept one form
of government that will not leave the people neglected
knowing that our path will cause some to be bothered
because freedom and liberty are of prime importance
* * *
Bravo, Caschwa! Now, here is a wee Wavelet from Joyce Odam:
SLEEP BREAK
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
The rain is streaming . . .
or else I’m dreaming . . .
that almost-sound upon the pane—
that soft wet sound that wakens me
to such relief—it must be rain.
I lie, half-sleeping,
my soul in keeping,
and feel some movement whisper by . . .
some breeze that rustles in some tree . . .
dry lightning-crackle in dry sky . . .
and d i s t a n t t h u n d e r . . .
I go back under.
(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, 1997-98)
* * *
And Joyce sends us a Petrarchan (Italian) Sonnet:
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
The rain is streaming . . .
or else I’m dreaming . . .
that almost-sound upon the pane—
that soft wet sound that wakens me
to such relief—it must be rain.
I lie, half-sleeping,
my soul in keeping,
and feel some movement whisper by . . .
some breeze that rustles in some tree . . .
dry lightning-crackle in dry sky . . .
and d i s t a n t t h u n d e r . . .
I go back under.
(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, 1997-98)
* * *
And Joyce sends us a Petrarchan (Italian) Sonnet:
AFFAIR OF THE HEART
—Joyce Odam
It is seduction that they understand,
though it be folly, precursive to despair;
they yield to its addiction; they declare
themselves clairvoyant, yet go hand in hand
with Fate and Blindness, those misleaders. And
for passion that they always knew was there,
they wear whatever mask they need to wear
to keep illusion’s face. Their flame is fanned.
Wretched with love now, hopelessly confessed,
oh, they are tragic—they are tragic, true—
nor do they care. They are both cursed and blessed.
They grow possessive, and they grow afraid.
Too young to suffer less than others do,
they settle back into the beds they’ve made.
(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, 1997)
* * *
And here is an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth, a muse-ment on where best to submit (always a quandry):
—Joyce Odam
It is seduction that they understand,
though it be folly, precursive to despair;
they yield to its addiction; they declare
themselves clairvoyant, yet go hand in hand
with Fate and Blindness, those misleaders. And
for passion that they always knew was there,
they wear whatever mask they need to wear
to keep illusion’s face. Their flame is fanned.
Wretched with love now, hopelessly confessed,
oh, they are tragic—they are tragic, true—
nor do they care. They are both cursed and blessed.
They grow possessive, and they grow afraid.
Too young to suffer less than others do,
they settle back into the beds they’ve made.
(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, 1997)
* * *
And here is an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth, a muse-ment on where best to submit (always a quandry):
CITE
—Stephen Kingsnorth
A first, my choice not to submit—
the norm, my style not a good fit—
but unease, the content of the site—
at home with form, but not content?
The listing of the themes they seek—
topping the list, the dangers of
western socialists, China second;
beauty in general being fourth.
Is this a site I feel at home,
one voice amongst the right-wing cant,
the worst-dressed in religious garb—
assumed that God is on their side—
a moral choice, wish publish there?
____________________
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!
—Stephen Kingsnorth
A first, my choice not to submit—
the norm, my style not a good fit—
but unease, the content of the site—
at home with form, but not content?
The listing of the themes they seek—
topping the list, the dangers of
western socialists, China second;
beauty in general being fourth.
Is this a site I feel at home,
one voice amongst the right-wing cant,
the worst-dressed in religious garb—
assumed that God is on their side—
a moral choice, wish publish there?
____________________
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.) Back to the Welsh forms—here is another brain-buster:
•••Byr a Thoddaid: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/byr-a-thoddaid-poetic-form
And/or you could do another Wavelet, a form which we did before, but heck—who can write just one!?!
•••Wavelet: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/wavelet
•••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 “Compassion”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Byr a Thoddaid: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/byr-a-thoddaid-poetic-form
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Envoy (Envoi, Tornada): www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/envoi AND/OR pennyspoetry.fandom.com/wiki/Envoi
•••Etheree: www.thepoetsgarret.com/2008Challenge/form22.html
•••Senryu: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-senryu-poems#quiz-0
•••Sestina: poets.org/glossary/sestina AND/OR www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sestina
•••Snare: Rhymed: AXA, bxb, cxc, dxd, AXA
Syllables: 343 454 565 676 343
•••Sonnet, Italian (Petrarchan): www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sonnet AND/OR poemanalysis.com/poetic-form/petrarchan-sonnet
•••Sonnet, Vivianne: 15-line Rimas Dissolutas Sonnet incorporating iambic pentameter, and rhyming abcd,abcd,abcd,eee, for ‘subtle rhyming’ ending with a strong rhyming triplet. (Pattern created by Marianne Logan).
•••Wavelet: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/wavelet
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them.
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
See what you can make of the above
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
***
—Public Domain Photo
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.
