—Visual by Donald Anderson
—Poetry by Donald Anderson, Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa, Jon Wesick,
Joe Nolan and Michael Ceraolo
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan and Stephen Kingsnorth
—Poetry by Donald Anderson, Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa, Jon Wesick,
Joe Nolan and Michael Ceraolo
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan and Stephen Kingsnorth
SLIDING FAST WITH YOU
—Donald Anderson, Stockton, CA
Adrift on Carmel-by-the-sea Bliss
Where do days slip so fast
I recall them through Kaleidescape
Bright joyful triangle slivers
Like intense challenge to karaoke the intimate
Shallows with you
The Cure concert
Waves of sweet guitar vibration
Dark cool night
Heart full near you
spontaneous family bond
With our daughter and her cousin
And family Red Hawk jackpot dopamine
witness high
And close in your warm arms
Or close one-on-one dance
Needing each other's aire
Passion candles burning with each other
If fish maybe you are dolphin immersing my air
in your core
Longing then feels so much I gasp for breath
Irresistible gravity between our poetic paths
Dancing along sweet destiny to Sunset's edge
—Donald Anderson, Stockton, CA
Adrift on Carmel-by-the-sea Bliss
Where do days slip so fast
I recall them through Kaleidescape
Bright joyful triangle slivers
Like intense challenge to karaoke the intimate
Shallows with you
The Cure concert
Waves of sweet guitar vibration
Dark cool night
Heart full near you
spontaneous family bond
With our daughter and her cousin
And family Red Hawk jackpot dopamine
witness high
And close in your warm arms
Or close one-on-one dance
Needing each other's aire
Passion candles burning with each other
If fish maybe you are dolphin immersing my air
in your core
Longing then feels so much I gasp for breath
Irresistible gravity between our poetic paths
Dancing along sweet destiny to Sunset's edge
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
SOME PICNIC
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
You are the apple pie
filled with ants
that makes me gag.
You are the sunburn
in a place
I can’t reach.
You are the grill
with no fire,
you leave me cold.
You are the rain
that ruins my picnic
and my day.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
You are the apple pie
filled with ants
that makes me gag.
You are the sunburn
in a place
I can’t reach.
You are the grill
with no fire,
you leave me cold.
You are the rain
that ruins my picnic
and my day.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Stephen Kingsnorth
TABLE MANNERS LAID TO REST
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Was it the basket, wicker stacked,
with plates strapped tight to lifted lid
those condiments in travel pack,
or thermos, cork, in grease-proof wrap,
its tea stewed, cooler, lurid brown,
in meadow sweet, at river side?
Blue twist of salt in packet crisps,
one flavour, no choice argument,
jam sandwiches—unless sand beach—
or mashed banana, mess no fuss;
no supermarket, pre-packed meats,
but homemade-only sausage rolls.
It says the weather’s summer shine,
with gingham—mainly pictured, books—
so bare knees, elbows, stretch or starve,
and on the grass with no ‘sit-up’s,
our crumbs without a dustpan brush,
‘Please may I leave the table?’ left.
Forgetting wasps and others’ dogs—
or for us once, free-roaming pigs—
but why is it linguistic flag,
complex, negative talked about?
‘What a picnic!’ sounds shambles fare,
when to us children, such a treat.
Picking, pecking, pique-nique as root,
it was so simple, haversacks,
before that plastic made its mark,
glass swing top bottles, fizzy pop.
Unless a layby, primus stove,
the china cup for exhaust fumes.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Was it the basket, wicker stacked,
with plates strapped tight to lifted lid
those condiments in travel pack,
or thermos, cork, in grease-proof wrap,
its tea stewed, cooler, lurid brown,
in meadow sweet, at river side?
Blue twist of salt in packet crisps,
one flavour, no choice argument,
jam sandwiches—unless sand beach—
or mashed banana, mess no fuss;
no supermarket, pre-packed meats,
but homemade-only sausage rolls.
It says the weather’s summer shine,
with gingham—mainly pictured, books—
so bare knees, elbows, stretch or starve,
and on the grass with no ‘sit-up’s,
our crumbs without a dustpan brush,
‘Please may I leave the table?’ left.
Forgetting wasps and others’ dogs—
or for us once, free-roaming pigs—
but why is it linguistic flag,
complex, negative talked about?
‘What a picnic!’ sounds shambles fare,
when to us children, such a treat.
Picking, pecking, pique-nique as root,
it was so simple, haversacks,
before that plastic made its mark,
glass swing top bottles, fizzy pop.
Unless a layby, primus stove,
the china cup for exhaust fumes.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
LACKLUSTER
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
tonight after errands I came
home and put the TV on local
major league baseball games
the Giants were erased 4-0 by
the Braves, and then the A’s
were swallowed up 9-4 by the
Orioles
the professional sports announcers
tried to infuse positivity into the
program by bringing up shining
examples of other players, teams,
managers, etc. who had risen above
these same challenges
but if you are going to be my surrogate
who goes to the State Fair, don’t tell me
there are no blue ribbon food offerings
at the Fair this year that are worth the price…
find something meritorious to put in your report
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
WHAT A FINE MESS WE’RE IN NOW
—Caschwa
watch out! will all of the slaves be running free?
won Civil War, cost pretty penny
failed to vanquish losing side
gave them place to hide;
no hanging
tree
displaying
winner’s well earned pride
losers woke and then espied
big resistance opportunity
watch out! will all of the slaves be running free?
the losers redefine liberty:
exclude black women and males
Reconstruction fails
has no spine
we
cry and whine
march on the same trails
justice sets up brand new scales
unleashing a terrible crime spree
watch out! will all of the slaves be running free?
stand your ground, aim and shoot, remedy
blue or gray does not matter
red blood will splatter
all day long
the
heart of song
the stuff of chatter
raise the flag and look at her
it’s all of us, consanguinity
watch out! will all of the slaves be running free?
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/4/22)
—Caschwa
watch out! will all of the slaves be running free?
won Civil War, cost pretty penny
failed to vanquish losing side
gave them place to hide;
no hanging
tree
displaying
winner’s well earned pride
losers woke and then espied
big resistance opportunity
watch out! will all of the slaves be running free?
the losers redefine liberty:
exclude black women and males
Reconstruction fails
has no spine
we
cry and whine
march on the same trails
justice sets up brand new scales
unleashing a terrible crime spree
watch out! will all of the slaves be running free?
stand your ground, aim and shoot, remedy
blue or gray does not matter
red blood will splatter
all day long
the
heart of song
the stuff of chatter
raise the flag and look at her
it’s all of us, consanguinity
watch out! will all of the slaves be running free?
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/4/22)
—Visual by Jon Wesick
INVASION OF THE GUN SNATCHERS
—Jon Wesick, Manchester, NH
Reporters splash blood on front pages,
scatter shell casings in editorials,
and feed the public ammunition
to fire fusillades of outrage.
In reality, deaths from mass shootings
are rare as those from lightning strikes,*
but each shooting makes headlines
because “If it bleeds, it leads.”
Even though the flu kills ten times more,
only mass shootings make headlines because,
firearms are opportune villains.
Even though COVID kills as many
in a week as mass shootings do in a year,
gun snatchers target firearms while sacrificing
N95 masks to the god of apathy.
Even though Elisjsha Dicken saved dozens with
his pistol
and even though millions defend themselves with
firearms, **
their stories don’t make headlines because
heroism challenges the gun snatcher agenda.
Even though arbitrary laws
turn responsible gun owners into felons,
politicians pile on more because
yellow journalism misleads voters.
Even though one in three Americans
own firearms, the news muzzles our voices
lest we wake the public
before giant seed pods control their minds.
* In their discussion of 2021 firearm deaths, Pew said there were between 40 and 500 mass-shooting deaths in the US per year. CDC says there are 444 deaths by lightning strikes per year. Other death rates are also from the CDC.
** “What Do CDC Surveys Say About the Prevalence of Defensive Gun Use?” Gary Keck, American Journal of Criminal Justice, 46(1), 1-21, June 1, 2020.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
WHAT’S WRONG?
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
How come nothing
Ever works
When it’s supposed to?
Like sirens at Lahaina
Before a firestorm?
Like Jeffrey Epstein’s
Prison cameras.
Like prison guards
Who fall asleep
Before the big event?
Like sprinklers
In the Twin Towers,
Like our national defense?
Like levees on the Cosumnes?
Like Covid shots,
Like Remdesivir,
Like respirators,
For those gasping for air?
Why is everything
So desperately weak
When you need it
To be strong?
What’s wrong?
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
How come nothing
Ever works
When it’s supposed to?
Like sirens at Lahaina
Before a firestorm?
Like Jeffrey Epstein’s
Prison cameras.
Like prison guards
Who fall asleep
Before the big event?
Like sprinklers
In the Twin Towers,
Like our national defense?
Like levees on the Cosumnes?
Like Covid shots,
Like Remdesivir,
Like respirators,
For those gasping for air?
Why is everything
So desperately weak
When you need it
To be strong?
What’s wrong?
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
WEEKENDS FOR THE MASSES
—Joe Nolan
Tomorrow is Friday
And Fridays let go
Of every
Pale-moon
Offering
That keeps plow-horses
In tow,
Ahead of the
Blade of a plow,
On dirt fields
Designed to feed
Everyone who needs
To eat,
But weekends
Are our treat—
To drink beer, eat chips
And watch sports-games,
Provided to keep slaves content,
In our modern,
Post-industrial
Slavery,
Where we’re mostly
Spent.
—Joe Nolan
Tomorrow is Friday
And Fridays let go
Of every
Pale-moon
Offering
That keeps plow-horses
In tow,
Ahead of the
Blade of a plow,
On dirt fields
Designed to feed
Everyone who needs
To eat,
But weekends
Are our treat—
To drink beer, eat chips
And watch sports-games,
Provided to keep slaves content,
In our modern,
Post-industrial
Slavery,
Where we’re mostly
Spent.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
FLEAS AND THEIR TRAPPING
—Joe Nolan
It only takes one flea
To bite you once
And leave your ankle
Itchy
And bite you once again,
Soon after,
Maybe a day or two later,
To make you think
Your home is
Inundated
With an army of fleas,
Deserving a bombing
In every room,
But a flea-trap might reveal,
The stuck-to-the-glue,
Offending character,
That sent your
Ankles to scratching
And how much
Relief you’ll feel,
In your bloodied ankles,
When the tiny,
Nasty beast,
Has been seized,
By its feet
Or by its ankles,
By some sticky-paper
At the heart
Of a fine, flea-trap.
—Joe Nolan
It only takes one flea
To bite you once
And leave your ankle
Itchy
And bite you once again,
Soon after,
Maybe a day or two later,
To make you think
Your home is
Inundated
With an army of fleas,
Deserving a bombing
In every room,
But a flea-trap might reveal,
The stuck-to-the-glue,
Offending character,
That sent your
Ankles to scratching
And how much
Relief you’ll feel,
In your bloodied ankles,
When the tiny,
Nasty beast,
Has been seized,
By its feet
Or by its ankles,
By some sticky-paper
At the heart
Of a fine, flea-trap.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
AT JUST THE HOUR OF HARVEST-TIME
—Joe Nolan
When you got some extra,
Won’t you think of me?
Drop me off
Some fresh-picked fruit,
Sweet, that’s from your tree.
I’m inclined toward peaches,
Sweet as they can be,
Picked when they are perfect,
At just the perfect time.
Plums are also marvelous
When they’re at their prime.
You have to watch for just the hour
Of their harvest-time.
—Joe Nolan
When you got some extra,
Won’t you think of me?
Drop me off
Some fresh-picked fruit,
Sweet, that’s from your tree.
I’m inclined toward peaches,
Sweet as they can be,
Picked when they are perfect,
At just the perfect time.
Plums are also marvelous
When they’re at their prime.
You have to watch for just the hour
Of their harvest-time.
Ferreting Out the Truth
—Public Domain Photo
—Public Domain Photo
Courtesy of Joe Nolan
SOMETHING NEW
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
Most of the Founding Fathers
were believers in deism
In the twenty-first century
the new religion is a different deism:
Diverse Employees In Sub-Mediocrity
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
Most of the Founding Fathers
were believers in deism
In the twenty-first century
the new religion is a different deism:
Diverse Employees In Sub-Mediocrity
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
I.Q. TEST
—Michael Ceraolo
They got a perfect score on the Idiot Quotient:
though all were allegedly adults,
they needed to be told not to stand in the road
when cars were coming
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
NEIGHBOR S.A.M.
—Michael Ceraolo
He could be President if he's alive
when the idiocracy arrives
______________________
Good morning to our readers here, there, and everywhere around the world! We’ve got some political poetry here today (on both sides)—apparently no subject is too controversial for the Kitchen, including the genocide of fleas. Well, our Seed of the Week was “Picnic”, so I suppose one wants to picnic flea-free. And I don’t like to shy away from any subject, no matter how I personally feel about it, so the poor fleas will have to fend for themselves, poetry-wise at least.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
Donald Anderson has sent us a request for submissions to his up-coming anthology. He says, “Before embarking on my inner journey of [his own book] To Dreamers, I must tie up loose ends with the sequel that, 15 years ago, was promised to compadres and best friends who have returned to the sands of time, but still haunt my dreams. So I’m announcing a call for submissions for a collaborative poetry and art anthology, Star Dust Beach, sequel to Moon Mist Valley, which in turn was a sequel of Sun Shadow Mountain. Send your own creations (with subject line Star Dust Beach) to PoetsEspresso@gmail.com/.
El Dorado County has a new Poet Laureate, Stephen Meadows, who will be reading on September 8 in Placerville with Calif. Poet Laureate Lee Herrick plus El Dorado County Poets Laureate Emeritus Lara Gularte and Taylor Graham. Congratulations, Stephen!
This week, NorCal poetry will feature two Sac. Poetry Center events: a reading tonight, plus a tribute to Angela James on Saturday. Also this week: Twin Lotus Thai Fourth Tuesday on, well, Tuesday, and Poetry of the Sierra Foothills on Sunday. Click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) 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.
_______________________
—Medusa
Donald Anderson has sent us a request for submissions to his up-coming anthology. He says, “Before embarking on my inner journey of [his own book] To Dreamers, I must tie up loose ends with the sequel that, 15 years ago, was promised to compadres and best friends who have returned to the sands of time, but still haunt my dreams. So I’m announcing a call for submissions for a collaborative poetry and art anthology, Star Dust Beach, sequel to Moon Mist Valley, which in turn was a sequel of Sun Shadow Mountain. Send your own creations (with subject line Star Dust Beach) to PoetsEspresso@gmail.com/.
El Dorado County has a new Poet Laureate, Stephen Meadows, who will be reading on September 8 in Placerville with Calif. Poet Laureate Lee Herrick plus El Dorado County Poets Laureate Emeritus Lara Gularte and Taylor Graham. Congratulations, Stephen!
This week, NorCal poetry will feature two Sac. Poetry Center events: a reading tonight, plus a tribute to Angela James on Saturday. Also this week: Twin Lotus Thai Fourth Tuesday on, well, Tuesday, and Poetry of the Sierra Foothills on Sunday. Click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) 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.
_______________________
—Medusa
"What a fine mess we're in now..."
—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!
jittery first-timer:
poetry open mic—
a virgin no more
