Craving Lobster in the Foothills

—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Claire J. Baker, Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa,
Christina Chin, and Jerome Berglund

 

 

PASTORAL WITH DOE

‘Tis the darkling hour, gloaming
when the puma may be roaming
with the mists and shadows falling.
Birds in trees their bed-songs calling,
shelterless the fences standing—
look above for cougar’s landing.

 

 

 

 

LAUDS

Again the night has ferried us to dawn.
The cat is begging for his breakfast
though his dish is full.
I expect he’s craving lobster
as a feline’s due.
I leave him to his grousing
and walk out the door to morning.
What bird’s singing,
unseen in the brush? It must be
spotted towhee, warbling
the redemption of another day.

 

 

 

 

JUST A DAY HIKE

I don’t need a nephelometer,
though half the joy of upcountry is clouds
building a storm, Thor’s dark moods
athwart a landscape of uplift and corrade.
I don’t expect a jolter, tectonics
in the long reach of time.
This is simply a day hike, going light.
I don’t need a sumpter, just my dog,
good boots, a tracking stick,
canteen and sandwich for the trail.
I’ll look for calochortus and lupine,
mule-ears, tower-delphinium, columbine.
I won’t stay long enough to see them
desiccate, fade, and decline.

 

 

 

 

DESOLATION

    leash-laws in Wilderness, 1986

Must I hike lonely in the wild
without my scout-companion
coming to call from running free—
dog of keener senses than my own,
her boundless joy off-lead?

And so we patrolled that summer
in a more permissive wilderness—
granite and lava, talus and scree,
thundercloud, wind and raven,
and mountain chickadee.

 

 

 

 

DESOLATE LIKE DEAD?

At Milepost 31—inside the extreme burn-
scar from fire three summers ago—
I hear no birdsong. A great winged shadow
passes high over earth churned by dozers
in the fire-fight. Sunflower, groundsel,
and prettyface are blooming now.
In a sheltered spot, a stringer of incense-
cedar and lodgepole pine survives.
Right beside the paved 2-lane
with Memorial Day traffic rushing by,
a burned-out-stump is almost hidden
under its vibrant green sprouts—Black Oak.
And here’s a ladybug doing her pollinator-
business, and a lone bee scouts
this wilderness for the future of its hive.

 

 

 

A FIRE PLACE IN THE BURN SCAR

What brought them to this desolated ridge
cut thru by highway traffic, to stop right here
to make a camp? Did they build this fire pit
of rocks? Not just a fire circle; a walled
construction like a dome with center open
to the sky. Rough tree-trunk bench,
a stump for stool, three walking sticks
leaned against it. Are they the ones
who carefully planted a few seedling pines
in charred moonscape?
I imagine them sitting at their fire-place
at the end of their workday here,
watching a kindled flame safe inside
the walls they built, as afternoon
turned evening, and sun dropped into ocean.
Then the dark, its seas of stars igniting
pin-pricks of fire so many light-
years passed away.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

FALLEN TREE BLOCKS DRIVEWAY
—Taylor Graham

All our everyday
headaches, breakdowns, challenges
on this piece of land—
now see how effortlessly
vulture sails without wingbeats.

____________________

Our Seed of the Week was Desolation, and Taylor Graham’s poems and photos present a bleak landscape after the fires, that's for sure. Still, the critters in her poems are busy putting their lives together in spite of it all. Thanks, TG!

Forms TG has used today include a Little-Used Words Poem (“Just a Day Hike”); a Word-Can Poem (“Lauds”); a Rhymed Sestet that is also a response to Medusa's Ekphrastic Challenge last week, as well as being a Pastoral (“Pastoral with Doe”); and a Tanka (“Fallen Tree Blocks Driveway”). TG says that the little-used or unfamiliar word prompt came from a poet in the Georgetown Library workshop awhile back.

Writers whose mailing address is within El Dorado County are encouraged to submit to Slope and Basin literary journal before its Oct. 1 deadline. Info may be found at https://artsandcultureeldorado.org/slope-and-basin/.

El Dorado County’s has a regular schedules of workshops, weekly and otherwise—go to http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html, or see Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado Poetry on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/. Also 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.)


Check out our recently-refurbed 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 and other ways of poetry. 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 Photo

Last week’s photo brought Ekphrastic response-poems from Claire J. Baker, Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth, and Caschwa, with some sly references to our local doe and her recent tomato-thefts:


ANOTHER DAWNING
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA

Look past your guilt, our grieving boy:
it’s dawn on heaven’s country road—
and spring again with bordering grass,
a friendly fence intact or mostly.
And nothing of the scene seems ghostly.

Look again, Tom Sawyer, the fawn
who’s life you leveled as it leaped
now pads along a hide-brown lane
that melds with earth, a mellow sky
where angels juggle who and why.

* * *

ENCOUNTER WITH THE DEER-GODDESS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

I’m here now.

I hope you haven’t
Had to wait too long?

The road is narrow
And stretches back
All the way to the sun
From which I have come,
But my legs are strong
So I was able to make it.

I’ve come all this way
For what you have to say.

I have big ears.
I listen well.

What is it
You wanted to tell
Me?

Oh, yes,
I AM BAMBI,
The Deer-Goddess. 

* * *

AT SUNRISE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

She walks the path
in golden haze,
taking no offense
that fences fence
her morning walk
and guide her
to the tasty treats
she’ll feast on
when the fence
posts end,
and she enjoys
her freedom.

* * *

DOLEFUL
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
    
Now know that sunrise time of day  
for see, if missed, fog’s dewdrop trees—  
till sunset dusk this misted way?   

The burning gold will heat grey clay,     
bring thaw to soil and melt its freeze;
now know that sunrise time of day.  

That ear pricked doe, how long will stay
before our scent sent by the breeze,
till sunset dusk this misted way?   

By fencing, how pray did it stray      
to meet this stranger, lens it sees?
Now know that sunrise time of day.  

Would nature lovers keep away?              
Perhaps I should say doleful please—       
till sunset dusk this misted way?    

May they hear near my bleats, and weigh
these carpe diem pleas, me seize?
Now know that sunrise time of day—
till sunset dusk this misted way?

* * *

DAWN VS. DUSK
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

poor little fawn
must have missed class
when compass points
were explained

now lost in time
lost in space
on road once traveled

did remember the
lesson to shield your
eyes from the sun

so must be on
right track now
just a little further
ahead will be
feast and family

eyes ready to see
ears ready to hear
snout ready to munch

behind her that one
frightening misstep
when she was chased

out of Medusa’s garden
with a mouthful of
luscious tomatoes

* * *

Here is an EP Johnson Quintet, one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges, from Carl Schwartz (Caschwa): 

 

 

 

DIDN’T KNOW THAT THEN
—Caschwa

junior college in German class
a cute blonde girl sat right next to me
she lit the sky, anyone could see
successful girl as she hoped to be
admiration of all the class

she was Homecoming princess girl
which seemed impressive for just a teen
but trouble waited behind the scene
a host of rules that were harsh and mean
she had less human rights as girl

by herself she could not conduct
a business deal without male co-sign
a mere checking account, not fine
nor a charge card with credit line
this was barred-by-the-law conduct

it was not until laws saw change
in 1974 this fact
some legislation would pass an Act
to give our women the rights they lacked
without their plans kept barred from change

* * *

Carl also sent us a Haiku Chain:

 

 

 

MISSING IN PLAIN SIGHT
—Caschwa

people sometimes say
there’s not a cloud in the sky
so where did they go?

they probably head
for perplexing issues where
clarity is rare

clouds are right at home
wherever adults convene
to sort out the facts

you won’t see them at
committee meetings among
all the dirt tossed up

but they’re hard at work
shielding humans from the truth
so much we don’t see

there’s that cloud of dust
when we empty our vacuum
cleaner bag at home

and floaters in eyes
too busy to recognize
all such distortions

clouds are all around
in various shapes and forms
our minds make it so

* * *

In response to our Desolation SOW, Carl sent us this poem that used three Octets, in which each line rhymes with the corresponding line in the previous Octet. In other words, abcdef abcdef abcdef:

 

 

 

NO SALE
—Caschwa

this is not just a wish
it is a compulsion
I MUST have that candy bar!
I have all the right coins and
some good, clean, crisp singles
there is no reason in the whole
wide world why I can’t just
complete this one transaction

this machine is a fish
no human compassion
other-worldly from afar
sanity not in the brand
old AI with shingles
not suited to please any soul
sure am tempted to bust
but my moves add no traction

this is not a fine dish
from across the ocean
or wicked like a low par
that is so close to the sand
mouth opens and tongue tingles
quite opposite from lump of coal
hands are clean, free of dust
I’d settle for a fraction

* * *

Jerome Berglund and Christina Chin collaborated on three poems for us this week. The lines in italics are by Jerome, and the others are by Christina. The first two poems are in the form of the Tan-Renga:

 

 

 

incessant chirps
on the street wires
arriving sparrows

bringing glad tidings
from somewhere else


* * *

gravitas

full of pomp
she talks herself
out of the job

turns pockets out 

spotty raspberries
letters home
from higher ground

and dumps into guitar case

he asks
for the last dance

* * *


And here is a Split Sequence from Christina and Jerome: 


 

 

shelf stable

a bag
of barley bursts
and spills

he discards the livery 


descamisados
calligraphy
with the cat's tail

but leaves watch on

unable to erase
the tattooed crest


* * *

Stephen Kingsnorth sent an Ekphrastic poem based on this photo he found—is it also an Ars Poetica? 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth

WELL EARTHED
—Stephen Kingsnorth
    
They’re not word pictures in themselves,
so why string words amongst the leaves—
unless a book, words in print, or
illuminated manuscript?
A plant, like shortcut by police,
false evidence, signed statement made—
to stake environmental claim
by neon blue amongst the green?
Here’s tracery of trickery,
a mockery, black metal branch
arising, writing on the wall.
Highlighting what we want to say—
graffiti in a modern spray
seen apposite, appropriate—
but hanging vines of gangly wires
all dropping to boxed battery?
Unless the context of our text
supports, does not deny the line,
philosophy seems wisdom lost.
One hopes the project is well earthed.

* * *

And last week we posted this photo; this week, Charles Mariano of Sacramento devised a caption for it. A poetry of sorts, captions are…

 

 

 Okay, which one of you guys is mine…

___________________

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! 

 

See what you can make of these challenges, and send your results to kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.) There’s gold to be found in a Golda:

•••Golda: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/gold
 

•••AND/OR follow the lead of Christina Chin and Jerome Berglund and put together a Split Sequence:

•••Split Sequence: http://www.hsa-haiku.org/frogpond/2022-issue45-1/essay.html

 

•••AND/OR try yet another version of the Haiku, the Abbreviated, sometimes known as a Miku:

•••Abbreviated Haiku (Miku): https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/abbreviated-haiku

•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one.

•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Work”.

____________________

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
•••EP Johnson Quintet: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/epjohnson-quintet
•••Golda: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/gold
•••Little-Used Words Poem: A poem incorporating some words which are uncommon in regular usage

•••Octet: eight-line stanza
•••Pastoral Poetry: poets.org/glossary/pastoral AND/OR 4thstcog.com/theology/what-are-the-characteristics-of-pastoral-poetry.html AND/OR www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-a-pastoral-poem-learn-about-the-conventions-and-history-of-pastoral-poems-with-examples/, A short pastoral poem is called an Eclogue (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eclogue), also an Idyll or a Madrigal.
•••Sestet, Rhymed: A six-line poem, each line rhyming with the others
•••Split Sequence: http://www.hsa-haiku.org/frogpond/2022-issue45-1/essay.html
•••Tanka: poets.org/glossary/tanka
•••Tan-renga: https://www.graceguts.com/essays/an-introduction-to-tan-renga
•••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

___________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
 
 Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)

* * *

—Public Domain Photo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For 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!