* * *
—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, and Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Nolcha Fox,
Joe Nolan, and Medusa
TOO MUCH NOISE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Silence hid in the linen closet,
behind the towels and mildew.
So much safer, safer
in the shadows than reduced
to tears, exposed to slaps of
whack-whack-whack from
ceiling fans, to crackling static
cackling lights. Too loud,
she said, to hear me whisper
of the summer fading into
slant-light autumn, whisper
of the maple leaves adorned
in early lipstick red.
You can find me in the shadows,
cuddled up with hope that winter
chill will stay outdoors
and snowfall will be brief.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Silence hid in the linen closet,
behind the towels and mildew.
So much safer, safer
in the shadows than reduced
to tears, exposed to slaps of
whack-whack-whack from
ceiling fans, to crackling static
cackling lights. Too loud,
she said, to hear me whisper
of the summer fading into
slant-light autumn, whisper
of the maple leaves adorned
in early lipstick red.
You can find me in the shadows,
cuddled up with hope that winter
chill will stay outdoors
and snowfall will be brief.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
A SAINT FOR A SEASON
—Nolcha Fox
Saint Audrey of Autumn
leaves miracles of color
on every horizontal
surface of the day.
Trees shiver as she ambles
into sunlight that grows softer,
and leaves shadows
in the meadows where
the dandelions once swayed.
The days grow sad and shorter,
and her amble turns to hobble
when the winds cool hours
into winter snow.
—Nolcha Fox
Saint Audrey of Autumn
leaves miracles of color
on every horizontal
surface of the day.
Trees shiver as she ambles
into sunlight that grows softer,
and leaves shadows
in the meadows where
the dandelions once swayed.
The days grow sad and shorter,
and her amble turns to hobble
when the winds cool hours
into winter snow.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
UNDER SURVEILLANCE
—Nolcha Fox
Deer jump the fence to criticize
the taste of leaves and flowers.
Rabbits check the greenness
of the grass in our backyard.
Wild turkey promenade the street
to check our curb appeal.
Our nosy neighbors tell us
everything we need to know.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
THE PARKERS
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Proboscis—they won’ understand—
the name by which I knew them when
they watched, while looking other way,
pretending focus not on me.
By greenhouse glass, or upstairs, house,
through mirrorwork in lawn art piece,
reflecting on what might have been,
the scene they hoped to see unfold,
muck spreading, me by compost heap.
As I drew in sweet-smelling grass,
the cuttings laid on fungal rot,
they peered, as if at mushroom plot,
sure my hobby—their horse in fact.
It is obsession, flower power,
the sniffing, nicotiana,
my perfumed garden, on the scent,
weed gathering or at potting shred,
now screened net curtains, prying eyes.
I have it plumbed, extractor fan,
heat, light controlled, experiment,
to test if dreams can be fulfilled,
strangers grown in suburbia.
Named Parker, as my neighbour’s claim,
‘keep off the grass’ at entry path,
the vigilantes of estate,
while I feel must not disappoint,
their record sheets help populate.
They really need a uniform,
a standard, cap, brass buttoned up,
and roses, rambling, hybrid, climb,
all thorned to prick self-satisfied.
—Public Domain Art Courtesy of Medusa
NOT ALONE, NOT WOODS
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
oh sure, you read history accounts
about European composers, who,
to free their mind and invite artistic
thoughts to prevail, take a stroll in
the woods alone
and here you are glued to one spot
in a megalopolis, separated from the
closest forest by hundreds of miles,
perhaps thousands of dollars, and
the luck to reserve a ticket to enter
your best bet is to find a quiet park
where leash laws are strictly enforced,
where children are meek and mind their
parents, where it is just a few steps away
from your normal milieu, where your
knowledge of edible plants can sustain
you for a whole day, where??
I was fortunate to find such a park when
I worked at a savings & loan on Wilshire
Boulevard’s Miracle Mile. At lunchtime,
I and my packed lunch would leave the 27-
story edifice with a helipad on top and
stroll down the street to the La Brea Tar Pits.
Though I was definitely not alone, and
definitely not in the woods, my mind was
a world away from the megalopolis in
which I was otherwise entrapped
—Public Domain Art Courtesy of Medusa
AFTER GRADUATION
—Caschwa
I know full well that I was
presented documents saying
that I had successfully completed
one or another course of study:
my high school diploma, my
college degree, my Paralegal
Certificate, my teaching
credentials, swimming classes,
CPR, Driver’s License, my Mule
Skinners recognition from the
Grand Canyon, etc.
What I do not have is a photo-
graphic memory of every word
or phrase used on those documents
so I can’t tell you specifically
whether that good news was
declared, certified, or just written
down.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
FULL OF SAND
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Everything
Is full of sand,
Lost to reason,
Beyond command.
The sand inside
Has lost its soul,
Fallen into granules
Beyond control.
Your only chance
Is to bag it up
Lest it slip
Its way
Through your fingers.
Once it’s bagged
It might be useful
To stack around a home
To keep away a flood.
Even just a handful
Will teach you many lessons
About impermanence
And the dull, dreadful ways
Things fall away.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
THE PROMISE OF CALIFORNIA
—Joe Nolan
The promise of California
Is a soaring hawk
In a cloudless,
Bright-blue sky
With every assurance
It will be like this for months
While the grass turns brown.
Nothing at all
To get in your way
On any given day
Until the winter comes.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
WHEN IT’S TIME TO GO
—Joe Nolan
Well, you know,
It’s only a
Question of time
Until you let it go.
Even your dog,
Who loves you so,
Can’t hold on
Forever.
One day
Her arthritic shell
In which she limps, along,
Will cry out to be gone.
Such a sad day,
Such a sad day,
But later, in your dreams,
Later, by months or years,
She will say she loves you!
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
EXEMPLARS OF COURAGE
—Joe Nolan
Winners go up high
Higher and higher
Straight up to the sky
Where they melt or fry
Or freeze
On top of Everest.
We all applaud
Such brash displays of courage
Their motivation
Their masterful achievements
Examples to us all
Not to have a downfall.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The nosy navigate life like it’s an open book and they’re the editors.
—Anonymous
_____________________
Welcome to another Monday in the Kitchen, and many thanks to today’s contributors! You’ll see whiffs of recent Seeds of the Week from them, including our two most recent: Nosy Neighbors (animal and otherwise), and Alone in the Woods—not to mention tidings of Fall. Autumn photos are so seductive…
Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
Hey—the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—for poetry, that is! When was the last time you sent your poems to the Kitchen? 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. You, too, can be a SnakePal! The world is waiting…
Check out last Thursday’s Sacramento Bee article about the 1997 Royal Chicano Air Force mural at Washington Neighborhood Center in Sacramento—muy bueno! It’s at https://www.sacbee.com/news/equity-lab/representation/article292935904.html/.
Placerville’s Mountain Democrat has published its Poem of the Month, “The Forest is a Graveyard” by Ellen Osborn. Congratulations, Ellen!
_____________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Art Courtesy of Joe Nolan
A reminder that
the GTFO Collective will read
tonight at Sac. Poetry Center, 7:30pm.
For info about this and other
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!
the GTFO Collective will read
tonight at Sac. Poetry Center, 7:30pm.
For info about this and other
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!
