Snickers
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
—Poetry by Vyacheslav (Slava) Konoval,
Nancy Haskett, Joe Nolan, Sayani Mukherjee,
Keith Snow, Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth
—Photos Courtesy of Michelle Kunert, Joe Nolan
and Stephen Kingsnorth
RICHARD’S CASTLE
—Vyacheslav (Slava) Konoval, Kyiv, Ukraine
On the sprawling mountain of Usypalnytsia,
the neo-Gothic wind built
a castle for the Lion Hearted,
below St. Andrew's Church,
the castle is a marvel of art!
An unknown architect
loved the pages of Walter Scott,
having built pointed spires,
laid his heart.
Moody mountain, sharp descent,
she let the towers in
through philanthropic help maybe sent,
neither royal funds, no sin.
The royal castle shines,
in yellow colors,
in the graceful contours and lines.
—Vyacheslav (Slava) Konoval, Kyiv, Ukraine
On the sprawling mountain of Usypalnytsia,
the neo-Gothic wind built
a castle for the Lion Hearted,
below St. Andrew's Church,
the castle is a marvel of art!
An unknown architect
loved the pages of Walter Scott,
having built pointed spires,
laid his heart.
Moody mountain, sharp descent,
she let the towers in
through philanthropic help maybe sent,
neither royal funds, no sin.
The royal castle shines,
in yellow colors,
in the graceful contours and lines.
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, 2013
Chalk It Up in Sacramento, CA
Chalk It Up in Sacramento, CA
DON’T BE A FREAK
—Vyacheslav (Slava) Konoval
I can’t be a freak,
I can’t play it,
I have nothing to speak.
From thought about it,
I want only to spit.
I’m not a freak,
I haven’t millions on account,
I’m not strong as beek,
which stands firmly on the ground or on the mount.
I was brought up with my mother’s milk,
it is precious like silk,
hey, artificial behavior is bilk.
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, 2013
Chalk It Up in Sacramento, CA
Chalk It Up in Sacramento, CA
NIGHT SINGER
—Vyacheslav (Slava) Konoval
Where missile strikes hit,
where the borders with Belarus are close,
I am asking for your consent, please, permit
to tell about the Ukrainian company,
I honor her, raise a glass, and toast.
In days of turmoil, in stormy days,
IKOC like a weapon took a thread and a needle,
IKOC has will, courage and actions,
not empty phrases.
Weavers, mechanics, accountants,
they are bees, buzzing in workshops,
IKOC flaunts its image and patents,
sews shoes and uniforms for the military,
sketches in laptops.
With style, taste, and quality
IKOC cares about defenders,
who grind the enemy in a meat grinder,
and like blenders.
May the company prosper
that IKOC had a pre-war profit,
an investor is waiting for him in line, a sponsor.
—Photo of Chinese Lion Dancers by Michelle Kunert
INTERFAITH THANKSGIVING
—Nancy Chisholm Haskett, Modesto, CA
When the imam stood on the bima
and began to chant from the Holy Quran,
there was a second of surprise—
like an imperceptible flicker
of the ner tamid
high on the wall behind him
and the synagogue members
may have held their breaths
just for those few first notes
until the verses carried clearly
echoing the Hebrew prayer read minutes before by the Rabbi—
two languages so similar in sounds and cadence,
the Arabic words filled the sanctuary,
touched the prayer books in pews,
sang to the large menorah on the wall,
found their way, even,
to the Torah scrolls hidden in the Ark,
and surrounded all of us who sat
listening
at this celebration of
Thanks-giving,
imbued with a
new understanding of an old truth:
that sometimes it takes
just as much courage
and risk
to remind us less of our differences
than what we have in common.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
MY LIFE AS AN EMOJI
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
My life as an emoji
Wasn’t all smiles and frowns.
There were colors, too,
And upside-downs,
Lots of zzzzz’s and
Emotional displays,
Set forth as though eager to please.
The artists
Must have
Had a list
From which to paint-up
And portray,
Almost any emotion,
Texters could use to say,
So much more,
With a push of a button,
And even to give-away,
Something within,
Not meant to convey,
But emojis
Have too much
Such!
My life as an emoji
Was rich with meaning
Beyond the ken
Of ordinary men—
It was art making life more real.
How much more....
With a wink, blink or nod,
Than the tongue-tied
Could ever hope for.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
RUST
—Joe Nolan
...Is the enemy of longevity.
...Never sleeps.
...Starts on the surface,
But burrows in deep.
...Is hard to remove
Once it gets started.
...Is why I
And old clunkers have parted.
At its final rusting-place,
A junk-yard,
I mourn an old heap.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
THE LETTING LOOSE OF THE BEAST
—Joe Nolan
Sharks are in the water.
Wolves are in the woods.
Hansel and Gretel
Are putting down bread-crumbs
To find their way back home.
We hope we are not alone...
But a sneaking, evil feeling
Suggests we must beware
Of hostile things
That prowl around
Thirsting for our blood.
War is afoot in Europe—
A contest of West against East.
The thing we all must fear—
The letting loose of the beast.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
RECOVERY
—Joe Nolan
Is there a way
To slip back
Out of a ditch,
Once you’ve come to rest?
To drift across
A barrier wall?
To right yourself,
Once wronged?
To feel a little bliss
While singing a sad song,
Even though you’re lost,
In the place you most belong?
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
NESTLE
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
Brisk walking around the citylanes
People's lives choices
Where houses become homes
Pulling over my rose-glassed vision
Chasing Atlantic coast cry faraway
A seagull hawks in
Moorland of giggling girls
Paintbrushes underneath
Uncover an artist's phrase
Greenspanned across
Acronyms of wordthings
Kindness expressed interesting factoids
Kitchen sink cabinet dramas
In television screen
A city dapples in homeboy land
Young-eyed Peas pots kites nestled
Baby-eyed blue things
It holds nestled in casement cases
Parrots squeak through
The reel of cinematic universe
A journey to seek a pair of
Ballerina shoes
It holds many escapades
Brisk walking tower merchandise
Fairyland of open-case library
It nestles.
—Quilt Photo by Michelle Kunert, 2014
VESSEL
—Sayani Mukherjee
Kites of uneventful evenings
In the middle ground
Of a sun-soaked deadline
Loopholes and pigeonholed
Bricks, cements, chimney-sweep brush
Petite heads that surface
Moon-phased inner-city lights
Log-brimmed night-towered watch brim
Dainty arrows that come down
Boils into a frightful secrecy
What appears is a vessel
Underneath a giant submarine
Depths deaths numerous tunnels
A cool icy maiden voyage
Angelic frequencies of musing tickets
Law business of stockings and paperwork
Her world, swimming puddles
Cabins are smudges smitten by a car-crash ride
Twin towers bin bucket
Of lake-house high
Mornings are chimney-swept
Parrots stricken blue tapestry
Leftist rights and insights
Just a vessel of an innocence personified.
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
ALARMED
—Keith Snow, Harrisburg, PA
My cat wants out, fed, rubbed.
I am awake, up.
He still meows, hisses
beeps, rings and scratches.
This cat is unplugged…
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
IF O’MALLEY HAD A CELL PHONE
—Keith Snow
Would the screen would be scratched?
Would he play Fishdom, hissing, when stuck?
Would he ask you to hold the phone
while he rubbed against it?
Would he order catnip from Amazon?
If O'Malley had a cell phone
I would call right now as he stares
at the phone and it rings
and rings.
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
DO IT ALREADY
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
paid to enter a strip club
and see some strippers…
don’t want to hear them
opine about which wine
pairs best with which food,
whose autographs they
have obtained, or what
political agenda they favor
—Quilt Photo by Michelle Kunert
CLAWS ANALYSIS
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Macavity, the first I met—
Old Possum, not on West End stage;
sleek jaguar, my brother’s car,
in swimwear fashion, leopard shots.
The cougar-danger, Graduate,
black panthers when saw fist salute;
Twice Tyger, burning bright in Blake,
fleet cheetah flash by, chasing prey,
the lion, king? More pride I say.
Name ‘Moggie’ for the nondescript—
that common cat, but not TC,
though Persian carpet lay next door,
a rugged individual.
Nights, caterwauling heard from cot—
unsettled cries, cat fights outside,
my first recall as nappy lad;
Tinned pellets, Webley, Dad kept, sill,
his shots through fanlight, scared the air.
I’m not a lover of the breed,
first raiding nests then winging birds,
and pawing goldfish in my pond;
so pouring water, can through spout,
or throwing mugs of tea, long-cold—
how far removed, cat’s cradle wool.
The brindle dog tabbed tabby job—
my only joy in seeing cats?
Our pooch unleashed, the chase about.
Their haughty bearing shares no needs,
fraught feline feelings under shrouds,
that arching back to grow in size—
I’d take Welsh polecats every day.
The Cats Protection League shouts out,
their daily adverts on the screen,
but I see scrawny babies too,
the refuge seekers, global warmth,
and I know where my money votes.
—Photo Coutesy of Public Domain
A cat who doesn’t
want to mouse,
play with feathers,
jump from shelves,
she might move
for fish treats,
or she might stay
cat
a
tonic.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Stephen Kingsnorth
of Stephen Kingsnorth
Today’s LittleNip:
ZOO RULES
—Stephen Kingsnorth
They ask me, of those pearly gates
how God makes judgements from his throne.
It’s too late then for sentence passed—
that was back when committed crime.
___________________________
Greetings to all of our poets today, coming to us from a wide variety of nations, including Ukraine, India, Wales, and two US states (Wyoming and California)! Our SOW this week was Cats, so some of our poets responded to the little devils who, of course, love to have poems written about them. Sacramento’s Michelle Kunert has been out of the Kitchen for awhile, but she dug into her photo files and came up with some cat photos for us this week—including one of her irrepressible neighbor, Snickers. Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has combined four recent SOW’s into one poem—cantankerous, pearls, faith and cats (interesting combination). And Keith Snow sent photos about his cats, Layla and O’Malley; for more of Keith’s poetry, see last Saturday’s post. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
And greetings to newcomer Vyacheslav Konoval, a Ukrainian poet whose work is devoted to the most pressing social problems of our time, such as poverty, ecology, relations between the people and the government, and war. His poems have appeared in many magazines, including Anarchy Anthology Archive, International Poetry Anthology, Literary Waves Publishing, Sparks of Kaliopa, Reach of the Song 2022, Diogenes for Culture Journal, Scars of my heart from the war, Poetry for Ukraine, Rhyming, La page Blanche, Norwich University research center, Impakter, Military Review, Atunes Galaxy Poetry, The Lit, Allegro, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Ekscentrika and more. Vyacheslav's poems have been translated into Spanish, French, Scottish, and Polish languages, and also have been read at meetings of various poetry groups, including Newman Poetry Group, Never Talk Innocence, Voicing Art Poetry Reading for Ukraine, Worcester County Poetry, Brussels Writer's Circle, and Poets Anonymous May Middle-Met, Brett Show by Andrea, the Manx Bard group, and Allinghman Art Festival. He is a member of the Geer Poetry Group (Wales) and the Federation of Scottish Writers. Welcome to the Kitchen, Vyacheslav, and don’t be a stranger!
Tonight, Sacramento Poetry Center features an online reading with Bunkong Tuon and Clint Margrave; then, on Wednesday, SPC will hold its annual fundraiser at Mimi Miller’s home in Sacramento. Thursday night features Joe Montoya’s Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe and Juice Bar, also in Sacramento, 8pm. Starting at 1pm on Saturday, El Dorado County presents an event called an International Human Rights Day Celebration, with poetry, music, art, speakers and more in Placerville. El Dorado County Poet Laureate Lara Gularte has a new Facebook page, by the way, to announce poetry events and all things poetic in the county. See www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/.
Then, on Saturday at 4pm, Sacramento Poetry Alliance will feature Jeff Knorr and Jeanine Stevens in Sacramento, and later, at 8pm, Second Saturdays at the Brickhouse features Terry Moore and open mic. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
Last week I screwed up the calendar and claimed Terry Moore was reading at The Brickhouse Gallery on Saturday night. WRONG. It’s this week, not last. But hopefully you clicked on the NorCal Events linked and discovered my error…
_____________________
—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
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that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
