Placerville, CA
* * *
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
and Caschwa
DRIVING THE INTERSTATE
Too many people, too many speeding
vehicles jammed onto this planet.
I wouldn’t be here,
adding to the compression,
the unabashed burning of fossil fuels
and peace of mind, but for a dog.
He’s waiting
in a foster home—flimsy uncertain
sort of life—to be repurposed,
revitalized
as my foot companion on trails
through oak woods, along rivers
flowing by Nature’s thrifty design,
pure spirit
of snowmelt off the summits,
ageless run to the sea.
Too many people, too many speeding
vehicles jammed onto this planet.
I wouldn’t be here,
adding to the compression,
the unabashed burning of fossil fuels
and peace of mind, but for a dog.
He’s waiting
in a foster home—flimsy uncertain
sort of life—to be repurposed,
revitalized
as my foot companion on trails
through oak woods, along rivers
flowing by Nature’s thrifty design,
pure spirit
of snowmelt off the summits,
ageless run to the sea.
ABUNDANCE ON THE FLOOR
Vacuumed before the dog arrived—
old boot sock knotted in the middle for tugging
work glove without its mate
fuzzy-bone puppy toy that used to squeak
gnarly stick, bark chewed off
scraps of chewed bark
one knotted sock (no match for the other)
scraps of twig-kindling, fragments of firewood
new passion-pink Loofa tug with squeaker
orange frisbee already frayed
everything randomly left lying for a dog nap—
watch your step!
and at last, puppy in a big-dog suit, asleep.
Vacuumed before the dog arrived—
old boot sock knotted in the middle for tugging
work glove without its mate
fuzzy-bone puppy toy that used to squeak
gnarly stick, bark chewed off
scraps of chewed bark
one knotted sock (no match for the other)
scraps of twig-kindling, fragments of firewood
new passion-pink Loofa tug with squeaker
orange frisbee already frayed
everything randomly left lying for a dog nap—
watch your step!
and at last, puppy in a big-dog suit, asleep.
APRIL 4 A.M.
Black sky with bright stars
Earth grows lush with rain-fed green
a distant dog barks.
This is today’s vantage point—
redundance or enrichment?
The world is shuttered
the stars exalted but dead.
How to disprove this?
Morning’s blackboard to be writ
with what-ifs, maybes, chances.
_________________
PLAN B
The day approached with hope,
and trepidation to rhyme
with precipitation. A little rain
won’t bother. Mistake.
Snowflakes on windshield,
hysteria like fluffy iced
popcorn creating wonderland
of cold.
Our plan foundered.
What shall we devise
to take its place?
Poems writ in snow.
SONG IN THE WOODS
for a trailside busker
His mind and body battered by years,
accidents, infirmities, human unkindness—
his voice not quite what it used to be.
No opera stage here, no orchestra.
Just a voice that’s delved tragedy’s heart,
that breaks and lifts us
we can’t say where or how.
THE LAST NESTLING
We found the eggs in a nestbox you hung
from a pine—a neat cup nest of grasses
golden as summer under the summit sun.
Four blue eggs. On the second week
they cracked to new life. Baby bluebirds
week by week growing, feathering,
almost ready to fly. On our next visit,
three were gone. And the fourth—
was it afraid? It was time. Gently
in cupped hands you held the chick
between meadow and sky
until it felt its feathered wings
and we watched it fly.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
LUCK OF A ZIP CODE
—Taylor Graham
Over frost fields a cold gray dawn hangs waiting
for sun to catch up
with whatever I had planned for
today, spring grass knee high for mowing,
my new dog wanting a hike!
________________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for her fine poetry and photos today, celebrating foothill life with her new dog, Otis. Forms TG has used include some Quadrilles (“Song in the Woods”—random word, not "popcorn" as suggested in the challenge—& “Plan B”); a Word-Can Poem (“Driving the Interstate”); a Renga with random-word partner from online, “April 4 A.M.”); a List Poem (“Abundance on the Floor”); a response to Medusa's Ekphrastic photo from last week (“The Last Nestling”), and a Zip Ode (“Luck of a Zip Code”). The Quadrille was one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges.
It’s not too late to sign up for this Sunday’s Wakamatsu workshop in Placerville, facilitated by Taylor Graham and Katy Brown. Then next Monday morning, Poetry in Motion read-around takes place, also in Placerville. And Thursday in Cameron Park, the Poets and Writers Workshop will meet at the library, 5:30pm. For news about El Dorado County poetry—past (photos!) and future—see Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry or see Lara Gularte’s Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. (Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!) And of course you can always click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about future poetry events in the NorCal area.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
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 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!
* * *
This week, we received Ekphrastic poems from Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth, and Caschwa:
TOO MUCH BLUE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
The Easter bunny must have drunk
a little too much hard cider.
He painted all the birds’ eggs blue.
Now starlings, robins, jays, and finches
don’t know which nests are theirs.
* * *
BLUEBIRDS OVER
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Some speckled turquoise, azure hue,
while others peppered, sprinkled mill,
in nutshell, patterns, trace shellac,
associated compound track.
Thus tortoiseshell, butterfly crawl,
capiz lampshades, Tiffany style,
from feathered quill, creative folk,
as life emerges, born of yolk.
Why should a clutch show species’ shell
as plumage tells what bird’s about?
Save female—outshone male of flock—
suggesting eggs, medium stock.
So how much is our colour set
by plumage, species, adult pair?
That DNA, predestined twirl,
has all but thumbprint whorl in curl.
It’s our decisions after crack,
part instinct, yet part breaking free;
the dominant against the weak
with armoury of claws, sharp beak.
In humans, once the baby fledged,
more nurture choice, than nature shaped;
but for our bluebirds, more than tweets,
for over Dover, war heartbeats.
I found a nest when I was ten
and stored it in my bedroom chest;
a nature table, school recalled,
though Mum displeased with creepies, crawled.
So soon I moved on, teen turned loose,
but anchored, my inheritance;
abandoned home, deserted place,
could chicks rely, alternate space?
* * *
Carl Schwartz's (Caschwa’s) response to the Ekphrastic photo is also a Question Poem:
NAME THAT TUNE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
what song was she singing
when the song bird laid
those blue eggs?
where did she learn the
symmetry to arrange the
eggs in such order?
is she out now securing
the perimeter from larger
predators?
will she return to sit on her
eggs until all are hatched?
* * *
Carl has also sent us a Rondeau:
ONE LESS WORRY
—Caschwa
I did not win the sweepstakes prize
nor any less that pleased my eyes
gone: dream of millions of dollars
all my junk taken by haulers
hope and cheer just another guise
sought the truth and only found lies
Mama mute ‘bout what’s in her pies
might have been those creepy crawlers
weren’t they missing?
my life’s better than otherwise
don’t need guards around me like flies
joined chorus of loser bawlers
no aces up sleeves or collars
equation lacks facts, can’t surmise
weren’t they missing?
* * *
Stephen Kingsnorth sent an Ekphrastic response to this photo which was posted in last Wednesday's Medusa’s Kitchen (4/10/24):
Tree Growing on Lighthouse
—Public Domain Photo
Courtesy of Joe Nolan,
Stockton, CA
THE LIGHTHOUSE TREE
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Here’s light and shade, a commonplace:
a lighthouse, mostly shaded brick—
that’s landed, misplaced on the earth;
a tree with summer shelter dressed,
and beacon in changed climate threat.
What candlepower emits through beam,
what grain grown strength through towering trunk?
What moths might flutter, dead of night,
between the glassware, twig and leaf?
Will either ever, bow down wind?
But resting quill as wait the muse -
for Google search turned finger tap -
my guiding light, kiln chimney stack,
abandoned brickworks, India.
Romance or metaphysics, cease.
* * *
And here is an Ars Poetica from Stephen:
PERFECT DAY
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Inspired by Lou Reed
Spin is the turning of the word,
the reading in, assuming of,
when experts see beyond the muse,
to choose what hidden lines they may.
‘I meant just what I said’, Lou’s view,
but on cue others overwrite,
for none have copyright of sight,
how ears do hear and sense perceived.
Are Blake’s satanic mills a thread
that looms from cotton or the church,
as we do weave what we would see,
though poet did not write that way?
So analyse and state your case,
armchair critic, therapy couch—
and if Trainspotting, take your track
though mystify, mythologise.
But when lou reed, or hear his text,
it’s central for the perfect day;
a place to be, to trust and see,
and after scene, go home again.
As words trip triggers, due or not,
and those awake, abused for it,
past zeitgeist spurned, classics rewrote,
books banned and burning, which at stake?
___________________
Many thanks to today’s writers for their lively contributions! Wouldn’t you like to join them? 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!
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Inspired by Lou Reed
Spin is the turning of the word,
the reading in, assuming of,
when experts see beyond the muse,
to choose what hidden lines they may.
‘I meant just what I said’, Lou’s view,
but on cue others overwrite,
for none have copyright of sight,
how ears do hear and sense perceived.
Are Blake’s satanic mills a thread
that looms from cotton or the church,
as we do weave what we would see,
though poet did not write that way?
So analyse and state your case,
armchair critic, therapy couch—
and if Trainspotting, take your track
though mystify, mythologise.
But when lou reed, or hear his text,
it’s central for the perfect day;
a place to be, to trust and see,
and after scene, go home again.
As words trip triggers, due or not,
and those awake, abused for it,
past zeitgeist spurned, classics rewrote,
books banned and burning, which at stake?
___________________
Many thanks to today’s writers for their lively contributions! Wouldn’t you like to join them? 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!
•••Butterfly Cinquain: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/butterfly-cinquain
•••AND/OR: another version:
•••Butterfly Quintet: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/butterfly-quintet
•••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 “Unexpected Surprises”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Butterfly Cinquain: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/butterfly-cinquain
•••Butterfly Quintet: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/butterfly-quintet
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••List Poem: clpe.org.uk/poetryline/poeticforms/list-poem
•••Quadrille: 44 words (not counting the title) and includes one word the host provides to you
•••Question Poem: penandthepad.com/write-question-poem-6933078.html
•••Renga, Renga Chain: www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/renga-poetic-forms
•••Rondeau: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/rondeau
•••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
•••Zip Ode: https://www.wlrn.org/write-an-ode-to-your-zip-code
___________________
—Medusa
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Photo Courtesy
of Public Domain
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Photo Courtesy
of Public Domain
For info about future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
