—Poetry by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday!!
SKY UNDERWATER
After storm and the flood, I’m shoveling new sandbars in the creek—
curls and swirls of muddy clouds in the flow of water-stars in the creek.
Two white swans settled at brink of flood, long necks alert for danger.
No, they’re just two white sandbags, full-filled and ready for more danger.
After storm and the flood, I’m shoveling new sandbars in the creek—
curls and swirls of muddy clouds in the flow of water-stars in the creek.
Two white swans settled at brink of flood, long necks alert for danger.
No, they’re just two white sandbags, full-filled and ready for more danger.
WRITTEN (X-IZED) BY STORM
rain / “forty / days & nights” /
came overnight / made lake
of road / pasture cascading /
waterfalls gate buried
creek / banks moved / down
current / glomming culverts /
water overland / blasting
new wet-ways / to river delta sea
one / angel / in tattoos /
and lip-ring with / friend hillbilly bare- /
foot angel red lipstick / white
skirt appeared from upstream
what / could I /do with arms /
knuckles or soul / angels cleaner /
stronger we lifted / the gate
let mud earth / & waters flow together
RUSTIC CRYSTAL
Frozen skin on the water-dish
for lizards, frogs, and birds in drought,
skin-holes for rocks as stepping stones—
ice-disk of rising sun
GETTING TO TOWN
Back
on the
horse! she calls.
Canyon’s flooded.
White horse becomes brown
rapids-bucking bronco.
BACK ON THE HORSE
We’d ride every day after classes,
and weekends, my best friend and I. Molly.
Dark-haired, tall and stocky, amenable
to whatever I had in mind. She never
complained, never said a word.
Deep brown eyes. Perfect companion
for a girl at peace with solitude. Then
came college, and we went
our separate ways. I still miss her,
calling her sometimes in my dreams.
In a poem I can imagine myself leaning
into the ride—how she knew
my wishes by my shift of weight
on her ample black
Morgan-Quarter Horse back.
GEORGETOWN LIBRARY ON THE DIVIDE
It’s not new or spacious or fancy. Bookshelves
burst the building at its seams; a maze
of little rooms and passageways. If you’re looking
for the bathroom you might happen on
a crockpot full of soup instead. Not much parking
either, but always a post out front to hitch your horse.
This library’s a hub. Seems the whole town
comes here for sustenance. Story-time & Wifi
& here’s where you find your friends.
Poetry’s alive at the far-back table, workshop folks
playing with words, laughing too loud for library;
no poetry-police admitted here. It’s
enough to turn your mind from the winter-drearies.
When you get back on your horse, you’ll hear
the swing of words & meter in your head
all the ride back home.
Today’s LittleNip:
OVERNIGHT
—Taylor Graham
What flower greets me?
Heartface of fungus frilled with char
of the mystery kingdom.
______________________
No flooding at the Taylor house yet, as they sit on a bit of a hill and TG madly packs sand and sandbags here, there, and everywhere. Still, she writes and reads and attends poetry events, even in the midst of pouring rain. Well, poetry is gold in Placerville—and everywhere else! Thanks, TG, for your golden dedication.
Forms TG has used today include a Broken Ethereal (“Written [X-ized] by Storm”); a Katauta (“Overnight Bloom”); an Ekphrastic Ryūka based on her photo (“Rustic Crystal”); one of Claire Baker’s Stepping Stones (“Getting to Town”); and a Fard, one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges (“Sky Underwater”). As I always say, two Shers make a Fard…
For info about El Dorado County poetry events, go to Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry, or see El Dorado County Poet Laureate Lara Gularte’s Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!
And now it’s time for . . .
Form Fiddlers' Friday!
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Poetic forms
Are made to be bent,
Folded, spindled and mutilated
With unsettling contents,
Driven down a bumpy road
Of rhythm
By whips of wild imagination,
By muses,
Cracked in two.
Relent not in your abuse.
Forms are born for mayhem.
* * *
It’s all true, Joe! Nevertheless, 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!
Here are some poems which were written about last week’s Ekphrastic Challenge:
OUT OF THE BLUE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Is it the snout, dull coin eyes,
above straight mouth, gap jagged teeth,
surrounded smooth in waxwork gleam?
Propelled bullnose by tailfin flip,
topped cutting keel, set streak alert,
sleek speed in swim despite design,
that scares, in counterblast to shape?
It’s changed, perspective underneath,
without the cliché of that fin,
but bulbous lead, cold, features less,
this moulded mass, flesh swell in swell.
Out of the blue, salt site in sight,
with insight into under view,
this review of more usual cue;
it’s where one stands affects one’s stance—
it’s where one stands effects one’s stance.
* * *
IN CASE YOU’RE THINKING OF MOUNT VESUVIUS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Crouch and hold the table legs, hope the world
won’t crack wide open.
Hold your knees and hope the world
won’t lose its engines, crash into the sun.
Descend with snorkel, hope the bathtub
isn’t full of great white sharks.
Relax, the world will end when we’re not ready,
we’ll never ever have the time to run.
* * *
When Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) thinks of sharks, he thinks of government:
CITIZENS' ENNUI
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
one
single
lobbyist
has more
pull and sway
than one
single
voter,
and
when
lobbyists
collect together
and go on a feeding
frenzy, it is a force so
strong it cannot be overcome
by any number of duly registered
voters
all
the while
our Supreme Court
sits on its tender ass
and allows ennui to rule
that they don’t put things
back as they found them
that they must yield to what-
soever the lobbyists demand
money talks
bullshit walks
such is the order
of the Supreme Court
* * *
Here is a Fard from Nolcha Fox. Last week we talked about Shers and Fards; when a Sher can stand alone, it’s a Fard:
BREATHE
—Nolcha Fox
Each breath you draw, a blade from a sheath.
Each exhale, a rosary bead to count down seconds.
***
And two Fards make a Qataa. Nolcha’s Qataa here is based on the true story of a man who peed on his ex-wife's grave every year. (Maybe that should be a Seed of the Weeeek…):
JOY RIDE
—Nolcha Fox
He sleds downhill
drunk on joy and beer.
He slides past cemetery gates
to pee on his ex-wife’s grave.
* * *
Several of our Fiddlers have used these rainy days to make up forms. Carl devised a new form he’s calling the Pobot: Tercets, each with the last line being one word comprised of 1, 2, 3, 4, and then 5 syllables. This one is based on our Tuesday Seed of the Week, Flooded:
POBOT GAMES
—Caschwa
that old message lurking
between the lines remains
there
flooded by the fingers
of a not fully seasoned
poet
programmed to recognize
meter, rhyme, simile,
metaphor
like a hungry moray eel
ready to impose a snap of
finality
maybe it is safer to regard
such enticing sensual beauty
expeditiously
* * *
About this poem, Keith Snow says it’s from Day Nineteen of Beth Weaver-Kreider’s April Poetry Prompts. “I can’t remember where this form came from. I may have made it up, too. I’ve only written this one, and on one hand it feels strange and experimental, and on the other hand, I really like it. Take any two-syllable word. That’s your title. Write five lines of poetry. The first sound in each line is the sound of the first syllable of your word, and the last sound in each line is the second syllable. Don’t try to keep the spelling the same, just the sound. My poem has lines of 10-12 syllables long.” Sort of like a Pleiades, yes?
COFFEE
—Keith Snow, Harrisburg, PA
Coworkers often wondered if I drink any.
'Cause when I drink it, they don't see me.
Caffeine of choice at work is iced tea.
Carly sang about the clouds in her coffee.
Could she be singing 'bout Mick or Warren Beatty?
* * *
Nolcha Fox writes: “I was playing with a blues poem in the form of a Villanelle (my loosely-interpreted and silly style)”:
—Keith Snow, Harrisburg, PA
Coworkers often wondered if I drink any.
'Cause when I drink it, they don't see me.
Caffeine of choice at work is iced tea.
Carly sang about the clouds in her coffee.
Could she be singing 'bout Mick or Warren Beatty?
* * *
Nolcha Fox writes: “I was playing with a blues poem in the form of a Villanelle (my loosely-interpreted and silly style)”:
STINKY FEET BLUES
—Nolcha Fox
My shoes choke my toes.
But they look so goddamn fine.
Who cares if they shackle my stride?
So goddamn fine, they’re they talk of my friends.
But my tromp is a totter.
Toes blister and bawl.
My feet swell and smell.
My poor toes are blue.
Goodbye to you, goddamn fine shoes.
* * *
Here is an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth:
—Nolcha Fox
My shoes choke my toes.
But they look so goddamn fine.
Who cares if they shackle my stride?
So goddamn fine, they’re they talk of my friends.
But my tromp is a totter.
Toes blister and bawl.
My feet swell and smell.
My poor toes are blue.
Goodbye to you, goddamn fine shoes.
* * *
Here is an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth:
PRIMER
—Stephen Kingsnorth
I find my place to make my stand,
measure with feet my dancing steps,
create a fiction, nearer truth
than factual paragraph of prose.
My primer coat is Latin phrase
or Anglo-Saxon early terms,
then later English verbal words
preparatory to painting phase.
The seasoned shades now honeyed, waft,
sensed softly from foundation laid,
spread top-growth blooms reliant on
that fibrous rooted undercroft.
Like Jacob’s pillow, rocky rest,
as Rhein my rhymes and rhythms flow,
plough poet turns my versus lines,
stones build to weigh my balance stressed.
To withstand elements, lead tint—
though few will see my undercoat,
still less guess wood pre-sealant brush,
means work with stable frame may print.
A pastime pleasing listening ears,
the parable, a dig who wish;
poetry archaeologists,
exposing skins through layered years.
* * *
And Claire Baker has sent a lyrical Triolet that is based on our recent “Back on the Horse” Seed of the Week:
—Stephen Kingsnorth
I find my place to make my stand,
measure with feet my dancing steps,
create a fiction, nearer truth
than factual paragraph of prose.
My primer coat is Latin phrase
or Anglo-Saxon early terms,
then later English verbal words
preparatory to painting phase.
The seasoned shades now honeyed, waft,
sensed softly from foundation laid,
spread top-growth blooms reliant on
that fibrous rooted undercroft.
Like Jacob’s pillow, rocky rest,
as Rhein my rhymes and rhythms flow,
plough poet turns my versus lines,
stones build to weigh my balance stressed.
To withstand elements, lead tint—
though few will see my undercoat,
still less guess wood pre-sealant brush,
means work with stable frame may print.
A pastime pleasing listening ears,
the parable, a dig who wish;
poetry archaeologists,
exposing skins through layered years.
* * *
And Claire Baker has sent a lyrical Triolet that is based on our recent “Back on the Horse” Seed of the Week:
DÉJÀ VU VIEW
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
I’m facing the waiting horse
I never dared get on.
It’s standing calmly, of course.
Yes, it’s that very same horse
that triggered shame, remorse,
and this a nearly identical dawn.
I’m facing the self-same horse
I never dared get on.
___________________
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!
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
I’m facing the waiting horse
I never dared get on.
It’s standing calmly, of course.
Yes, it’s that very same horse
that triggered shame, remorse,
and this a nearly identical dawn.
I’m facing the self-same horse
I never dared get on.
___________________
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.) How about a Pendulum:
•••Pendulum: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
AND/OR maybe some Seox:
•••Seox: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
AND/OR try one of Carl’s Pobots:
•••Pobot (Carl Schwartz): Tercets, each with the last line being one word comprised of 1, 2, 3, 4, and then 5 syllables (see his example above)
•••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 “Back on the Horse”.
•••Pendulum: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
AND/OR maybe some Seox:
•••Seox: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
AND/OR try one of Carl’s Pobots:
•••Pobot (Carl Schwartz): Tercets, each with the last line being one word comprised of 1, 2, 3, 4, and then 5 syllables (see his example above)
•••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 “Back on the Horse”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Fard: https://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/628-the-sher-and-its-meters-beher-with-options
•••Katauta: www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/katauta-poetic-form
•••Pendulum: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
•••Pleiades: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pleiades.html
•••Pobot (Carl Schwartz): Tercets, each with the last line being one word comprised of 1, 2, 3, 4, and then 5 syllables.
•••Qataa: https://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/628-the-sher-and-its-meters-beher-with-options
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Seox: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
•••Sher: https://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/628-the-sher-and-its-meters-beher-with-options
•••Stepping Stones (Claire J. Baker): Syllables 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
•••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
____________________
•••Pobot (Carl Schwartz): Tercets, each with the last line being one word comprised of 1, 2, 3, 4, and then 5 syllables.
•••Qataa: https://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/628-the-sher-and-its-meters-beher-with-options
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Seox: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
•••Sher: https://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/628-the-sher-and-its-meters-beher-with-options
•••Stepping Stones (Claire J. Baker): Syllables 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
•••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
See what you can make of the above
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
***
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
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.
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!
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.
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!
