* * *
—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Nolcha Fox,
Caschwa, and Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Visuals Courtesy of
Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox, and Medusa
THE TUNNEL OF LOVE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Some think of fairground, pet romance,
the shades of night, hid deeds inside,
past wights of eyes, unseen, abused,
those ghosts of former lovers used?
But what of fair where grounded love,
where justice found as dealings, true?
Then many tunnels beneath soil,
the web for nature’s underground,
though humans like to top the bill;.
canals that burrow under hill
from dark emerge in funnelled bright,
the only time I saw escape.
One wonder of my nightmare world
beside a Giza pyramid,
headfirst to slide into a shaft
or as in current cavemen, craft
speaks stories, speleology—
though I’ll not panic, why, in lift?
What elevates descending box
above the cave or pyramid?
Alarm that shafted to site, tomb,
without a rescue button, gloom?
Yet know that I’d for kin do that,
as substitute, my sacrifice.
Is that the light when all else dark—
for trite escape seems rarely right;
but my worst mare unlocked by key—
the power of love for progeny.
I would that reach beyond bloodline,
so hope such grace might manifest.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Some think of fairground, pet romance,
the shades of night, hid deeds inside,
past wights of eyes, unseen, abused,
those ghosts of former lovers used?
But what of fair where grounded love,
where justice found as dealings, true?
Then many tunnels beneath soil,
the web for nature’s underground,
though humans like to top the bill;.
canals that burrow under hill
from dark emerge in funnelled bright,
the only time I saw escape.
One wonder of my nightmare world
beside a Giza pyramid,
headfirst to slide into a shaft
or as in current cavemen, craft
speaks stories, speleology—
though I’ll not panic, why, in lift?
What elevates descending box
above the cave or pyramid?
Alarm that shafted to site, tomb,
without a rescue button, gloom?
Yet know that I’d for kin do that,
as substitute, my sacrifice.
Is that the light when all else dark—
for trite escape seems rarely right;
but my worst mare unlocked by key—
the power of love for progeny.
I would that reach beyond bloodline,
so hope such grace might manifest.
—Visual Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
DISORIENT EXPRESS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
I flash light, I flash dark.
I’m a tunnel that leads
to a deadend of rocks,
or a tunnel that leads
to escape from routine.
I make my own way
through a shadow
that stays as a guide,
as a friend, as the edge.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
WHISTLE WHILE YOU BREW
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
(response to the line, “we sit to drink tea”,
in “Iridescent” by Melissa Lemay, posted
Wednesday, December 18, 2024)
in my parents’ household there were no
microwave ovens, no coffeemakers that
used pods, if anyone wanted a hot drink
there was the whistling tea kettle
we’d sit at the kitchen table and wait to
finally hear that familiar whistle coming
from the hot spout of the kettle
someone, usually Mom, would get up and
pour piping hot water into our ceramic mugs
and then let us stir in the instant coffee, tea,
or chocolate cocoa to brew our drink
if we needed a refill, we let Mom sit and we
did our own
Was this the thief?
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
A THIEF’S WORK
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
It was not the value
Of a single chair
Or even two or three
Stolen by a thief
That brought the house to grief
It was the cleft in the fabric
Of permanence
Of balance
Of trust
That acted like
A curse on us
So that we always
Looked over our shoulders
Expecting we knew not what
But the world
Was ever-after
More threatening
And some had nowhere to sit.
—Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Medusa
CHRISTMAS, ONCE MORE
—Joe Nolan
Burn a little fire
To keep warm
Here in cold December
Here, before the storm.
The winter wind
That blows
And brings chills
Calls for extra layers—
Frost on window-sills.
Shovels for the snow
To dig a path
Through what nature dumped.
Is it her wrath?
Or just her season’s greetings?
We hear Santa laugh!
Jolly, jolly, Old Saint Nick
Climbing down our chimney-stick
With presents by the score.
Soon, it will be
Christmas, once more.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.
—George Carlin
____________________
Many thanks to today’s contributors! Our Seed of the Week was “Light/ / tunnel/ and all that”. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
The winter solstice issue of Canary is now available at https://canarylitmag.org/?mc_cid=6632895d1f&mc_eid=c689f0c391/. Check it out!
____________________
—Medusa
The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.
—George Carlin
____________________
Many thanks to today’s contributors! Our Seed of the Week was “Light/ / tunnel/ and all that”. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
The winter solstice issue of Canary is now available at https://canarylitmag.org/?mc_cid=6632895d1f&mc_eid=c689f0c391/. Check it out!
____________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
A reminder that
Sacramento Poetry Center
is now on a holiday break,
and will be resuming January 13.
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!
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!
