Quitcher Horsin' Around!

 Horses in Pleistocene Park in Russia
(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pleistocene_Park)
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

* * *

—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth, 

Michael H. Brownstein, Taylor Graham, 

Michael Ceraolo, Joe Nolan, Caschwa,
and Devyanshi Neupane
—Photos by Stephen Kingsnorth, Taylor Graham,
Caschwa, and Shiva Neupane
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan and Medusa 

 

 

HEDGE YOUR BETS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

I’m not horsing around.
Hold your horses
and listen a bit.
Don’t back
the wrong horse.
You think he’s
a dark horse,
a winner of the race,
but he’s a gift horse,
a Trojan horse,
He means to deceive.
Anyone who rides
can look good
from a distance.
If you don’t use
your horse sense,
you’ll be covered
in horse***t.

 

 

 

Stephen during his cowboy days~

—Photo Courtesy of Stephen Kingsnorth

ON THE HOOF
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

Until I walked Kentucky fields
with bluegrass horses (no longer film),
I never knew that beast as farmed,
still less unharnessed, on the ranch.
I reached the stirrup, cupped friend’s hands—
a drink before The Hunt in mind—
my cowboy hat, hands on I fear,
both man and beast at one (not so).

A nightmare, as four horsemen stir,
apocalyptic in their fright,
would Pegasus take flight indeed,
a bridge from ground to heights unknown?
No knight time in the tilting yard
(joust horseplay, lance, shield, spurs in play),
nor windmills, as Cervantes’ case,
would ride be more a carousel?

Far from gymkhana of the Raj,
(or vaulting over horse in gym)
those polo pony thoroughbreds,
or point to point, for fox, stag, drag;
his rider, he knew, not a clue—
so saddled with unstable ass,
though heel, reins there to shift then steer,
he headed home with English load.

 

 

 

—Photo Courtesy of Stephen Kingsnorth

A CANOE TRIP WITH MY SON AT DAWN
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO

I am lost in a mermaid of color
silver streaks across the swamp lands
a moon lit fog filling in space between cypress
Okefenokee shadow and alligator.

 

 

 

 —Photo by Taylor Graham

SUGAR SKULLS ON MAIN STREET
—Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

She sits in midst of her ofrenda
marigolds and butterflies, no doubt
a sugar skull, and photos—who is
she mourning here? as we walkers pass
between gallery and bell tower
where tonight there stands a gigantic
skeleton in poncho and flowers,
his sombrero’d skull to touch sunset
clouds; and deep music—La Llorona,
La Zandunga—as daylight turns to
dark of the night. Who or what is she
mourning on the curb with her altar?

 

 

 

—Public Domain Art Courtesy of Joe Nolan

FREE SPEECH CANTO C
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH

He considered opposition to himself as subversive,
if not tantamount to treason itself
And the man's name was Woodrow Wilson
And the first group opposed to him
was the woman suffragists
They had been picketing
even before he took office
(Wilson opposed woman suffrage at the time)
He ignored the picketers for three years,
but when war was declared
the suffragists were suppressed
on various dubious grounds
In January 1918
Wilson came out for woman suffrage
as a war measure,
                            but
the suffragists, over a hundred-fifty of them,
remained in jail, or were not pardoned
if they had already served their sentence

 

 

 

—Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Medusa

SMASHED IDOLS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

The sad history
Of toppled idols
Whose feet of clay
Turned into dust
Before they rolled away
Down the sides of mountains
To crash upon
Sharp boulders by the sea.

No longer hailed
As, “Majesty,”
Their honor wrecked by
Truth,
Their lies revealed,
Their natures, wretched,
Idols smashed, alas—
All too human.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

MENTAL ILLNESS
—Joe Nolan

Tragedy,
Like Lot’s wife
Turned into
A pillar of salt,
All life removed
By a vengeful god.

Mental illness
That turns us into
Horrid goblins
None can tolerate.

Make a padded room
To put them in.
Preserve our sanity
From the influence of sin.

It seems there is
No way to win,
Only to sustain
And remain
In our earthly shells.

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

FLOSSING
—Joe Nolan

Each morning,
I scrape the corners
Of my teeth
With a string

The better
To leave
A smiling corpse
As an offering,

Should anyone
Care to look,
Well-after
I am gone.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Art Courtesy of Medusa

FLOATING MAN
—Joe Nolan

You’ll never quite
Be here
Among the
Humans on the planet.

Distant stars’ gravity
Pulls you up
From so, so far away.

Thus, you’re
Nearly weightless,
Drifting between
Fields of gravity,
Influenced
By cosmic forces
None of us
Can see.

Thus, you are
A mystery—
A natural conundrum,
Defying explanation,
Resisting definition.

Float on,
Floating man,
Between the fields
Of gravity.

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

IT’S THE SPIN, STUPID
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

if a human or animal mama pre-chews
food for its tiny offspring,
that would be called love

if the federal government takes a bite
out of our payroll checks,
that would be called taxation

if investors cashed out their stocks
and had to take their payment in trickle down,
that would be a sign that the economy is weak

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo of 

Owl Cookies Courtesy of Medusa

WE NEED DIVERSITY
—Caschwa

if everyone else was just like me:

there would be no new jokes for me to hear

no one could fly an airplane, or sail a square rigger

buses and taxis would have to drive themselves

clothes stores would carry only my size

golf courses would be deserted

there would be no need to bother with all those genders

my appetite would dictate all menus

bowling alleys would have only one size shoe to rent

we’d all be lefties

forget about hiring expert help, or having surgery

nobody is older or wiser than me

if I can’t fix it, it stays broken 

 

 

 

 “The post-it on the fry pan is now decades old,
but I kept it just because.”
—Photo and Comment by Caschwa

THE EGG LADY’S DAUGHTER
—Caschwa

(in response to a past MK Seed of the Week,
“Memories Worth Keeping”)

I like what my mind has done to protect me,
now 13 months since my wife passed away
it has muted the pungent memories of her
constant torture from multiple medical
maladies all ganged up against her at once

and instead restored her in my dreams as
the fully functional woman who is ripe and
ready to make us a delicious holiday meal

starting with the old cast iron fry pan on which
she had posted a note warning of dire, serious
consequences for anyone daring to ever clean it,
she is going to make pork chops exactly the time
proven way her mother, once known as the Egg
Lady of Enid, Oklahoma, had carefully taught her.

I knew to leave her alone in the kitchen, only
visiting by invitation if she needs something,
my key job was to keep the Chihuahua busy,
as her nose would soon fill with tempting aromas
from the cooking

then I awaken, happy to have had such dreams,
knowing that this year I’ll make some kind of
alternate plans for the holiday dinner, not really
expecting to be as pleased at the level I had
casually accepted before as routine

 

 

 

Devyanshi is over the moon~

—Photo by Shiva Neupane

A CHRISTMAS TREE
—Devyanshi Neupane (age 4), Melbourne, Australia

I love Christmas Tree,
In/at my house/home.
Christmas is coming soon
And, I am over the moon.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

THE KANGAROOS
—Devyanshi Neupane

I saw the Kangaroos
In the park.
They were happy
And, so was I
While looking at them
In the park.

____________________

Our Seed of the Week was Horses, so some of our contributors horsed around with that. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week. And you can find all the ones we've done in the past on our Calliope's Closet link at the top of this column.

 

Taylor Graham’s "Sugar Skulls on Main Street" poem and photo were inadvertently screwed up by me last Friday (the photo was left off altogether!), so I present them herewith, with my apologies. Drop by the Kitchen each Friday for more of Taylor Graham’s wonderful poetry and photos.

Nolcha Fox will have a fine spread in the Kitchen for us this coming Thursday. She’s the new editor of Chewers, an online journal by Team Masticadores, and I bet she’d by tickled purple if you’d submit (https://chewersmasticadores.wordpress.com/).

 

Stephen Kingsnorth's poem today tells about his only horse experience, a day when he visited the U.S. and went riding at a ranch in Kentucky. Apparently he survived it; did the horse? (I suspect so.) Along with Taylor Graham, Stephen, Nolcha, and Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) will be visiting the Kitchen this Friday. Come by, drop in, pull up a stool~and if you send us a poem in any form, you'll see it posted there, too!

Devyanshi Neupane, age 4, is becoming quite prolific, and that’s a pleasure to see! Remember when Rattlesnake Press published Snakelets, a poetry journal of and for the young’uns?... Of course, we’re all young’uns at heart, yes?

Anyway, today’s a day to recognize those who went to the battlefield for our country. Our thanks to them on this Veterans’ Day, 2024.

____________________

—Medusa (Now, don’t you go bein' a horse’s ass today….)

 

 

 

 Devyanshi visits the kangaroos~
—Photo by Shiva Neupane

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A note that
Poetry in Motion in Placerville
will be cancelled today due to
Veteran’s Day; but
Youth Open Mic will meet tonight
at Sacramento Poetry Center, 7:30pm.
For info about these 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
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by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
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Would you like to be a SnakePal?
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send poetry and/or photos and artwork
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that which was previously published—
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Just remember:
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