Dancing With Vivaldi

 —Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth, and
Joyce Odam

 

 

IN A STORE WINDOW

Stuffed puppy leaps for a ball—ornament
on snowy fake tree.

He longs to fetch that glistening ball
bright as star in the sky.

Pup’s caught in this Xmas leap
that can’t grasp what he really wants.

 

 

 

 

COLOR OF THE YEAR: MOCHA MOUSSE

I know this color. It’s muddy water in a bucket
containing my dog’s soon-to-be favorite toy,
a stuffed monkey we found abandoned at the park.
You might say, it’s a rescue, like my dog himself.
One of the creature’s arms is torn half-off,
it needs mending—rehabilitation like my rescue
dog needs. The monkey’s been soaking
for days; I try to squeeze out the mocha mud
permeating every bit of the toy’s fabric. I know,
when the monkey comes clean, dries out
and gets mended, my dog will begin tearing it
to pieces. It’s what he does with his favorite toys. 

 

 

 

 

DANCING WITH VIVALDI
on YouTube

I never dreamed of
boogying to Vivaldi
till I saw the girl
so young! bowing and bowing
her violin to the beat.

____________________

NEUTRINOS

Is it the god of the gaps
in those ghost particles speeding thru us,
neutrinos old as the Big Bang,
atomic bits of sun banging around inside us?
Are they friend or foe, angel or devil?
I wake to latest news of killings
around our planet and peasant-eating
profiteers. It’s still the black of morning.
How shall I distill all this
into a meaningful dawn, light
at the end of which dark tunnel?
A job to do. A trail to walk. 

 

 

 

 

SUNROAD

The sheep slept comfortably all night
until I woke before dawn, an hour until
daylight coffee. I woke to bleating
out the door, a ewe crying for her child,
her first-born plucked from this scene
by the owl before breakfast,
her lamb flown away with the owl
on its moon-road. In any case, sun’s up,
time to leave this weird hotel. 

 

 

 

 

NATURE WALK

out of morning cloud
red-bark tree presses against sky
its fleeting secrets
root-tongues caught in sun-
baked pottery

in holiday dress
old woman bears a long stick
with curved metal blade
talking to the silent woods
blaming us for take and siege

in dark damp shadow
we find fungus melting frost
in tangles of gems
we call it a tiara
what we chip so recklessly

creek meanders south
as if pointing us a path
that leads us astray
specimens we list and store
wandering layers of time 

 

 

 

GRIM REAPER DREAM

Why should the Reaper divulge his secrets
to me, who retired my scythe decades
ago? Now it hangs rusting in the shed;
I cut my grass with mechanical weed-
eater. Of course, Death uses plenty of
mechanized equipment. But I digress.
Why would the Reaper speak to me in dream?
He tells me some of the chosen approach
their time with anticipation, unsure
but ready for adventure, while others
try to procrastinate. He kind of likes
the first type, arriving with tentative smile,
a momentary pause—swing of the scythe—
then break out in silent laughter that no
doctor, nurse, friend, or loved-one has ever
reported hearing, perhaps it’s beyond
our mortal human senses. I couldn’t
hear it. But sometimes a big smile remains.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

RAINDROPS
—Taylor Graham

Drop by drop, pressure
drops by precious droplets
in bloodstream and heart.

____________________

“Wandering layers of time” pass and still Taylor Graham travels the forest with all its secrets and secretive creatures. Our thanks to her for intriguing poetry and photos on this last Friday of 2024. Forms she has used this week include a Haiku (“Raindrops”); an Ekphrastic Poem (“Sunroad”); a Tan-Renga in "collaboration" with some lines from the Internet (“Nature Walk”); a Dream Poem that is also Blank Verse (“Grim Reaper Dream”); a Tanka (“Dancing with Vivaldi”); and a Just 15s (“In a Store Window”). Our Seed of the Week was “Light / tunnel / and all that” and“Grim Reaper Dream” was an actual dream....

 

TG's Ekphrastic Poem is from Dec. 19's MoST New Year Poetry Challenge, Go to  https://www.mostpoetry.org/2024/11/29/get-ready-for-nypc-16 to sign up to receive their challenges for the new year. 

In El Dorado County’s poetry events this week, El Dorado County’s regular workshops are listed on Medusa’s calendar (if you scroll down on http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html/), but you’d better check to make sure they’re meeting during this holiday season. For more news about EDC poetry—past (photos!) and future—see Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado Poetry on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/, or see Lara Gularte’s Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. And you can always click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html/). Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!  
 
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

Poets who sent responses to last week’s Ekphrastic photo included Nolcha Fox and Stephen Kingsnorth:


THOSE WERE THE DAYS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

The bakery sent a fragrant
truck with pullout
racks to show us all
the breads and sweets
we couldn’t live without.

The dairy set our milk
in bottles on the front porch.
They clinked and sent
cool chills through hands
as we brought them in.

The Fuller Brush man
visited with tools
to keep us groomed
and help our house
stay spotless clean.

The mailman
brought us presents
every Christmas.
He was our real
live Santa Claus.

Our postal folks
still bring the goods,
but it’s just not the same.
Everything’s on Amazon.
A click and we are done.

* * *

SPEAK EASY, POSTIE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

Is this a set up or for real?
Poor footwear for profession’s path?
A far too jolly attitude,
with packhorse load delivery.
But postmark, place, date may explain—
Chicago, nineteen twenty nine,
and speakeasy first call of day—
so cheery chat, this final round.

Does he slip slide as proof where been,
past townhouse brownstones, all the same,
with giddy nameless numbers strewn
on parcels, pathways, people’s porch?
Snowed under by two bags, one male,
Wells Fargo, in tracks of the brave;
at least he need not scale the rooves,
though might if wrong turn, upper floor.

How does he balance, spread the weight,
but keep sum order for his trail?
There is no mist clouding his lens
but smiles, knows spectacle he is.
On rural rides our posties are
the grapevine, first responders’ news,
with daily updates through their eyes,
communities kept under watch.

My first job, schoolboy holidays,
so many cards through the wrong slot;
a life of learning in two weeks—
as mentor skived, took shopping break.
My first when boss told me to lie,
a naïve kid new on the block;
impression made and stamped for life;
I’m glad that recollection stayed.

* * *

Here is a Paradelle from Joyce Odam:

 

 

 

PARADELLE
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA

When is a poem not just a line of words?
When is a poem not just a line of words?
There were two lovers once.  Name them who
you must.
There were two lovers once.  Name them who
you must.
When a poem is two lovers, you must name them—
once,
just once—when a poem is not who—not just two
lovers.

And then the sadness was over—is that how
it goes?
And then the sadness was over—is that how
it goes?
How far away we are—after all that time…
How far away we are—after all that time…
that the sadness was aft . . . that time was far
away . . .
how we are the sadness, after all.  Over.  Over.  
It all goes.

Mirror, break the myth of love.    
Mirror, break the myth of love.
You said.  And I said.  And we believed each other.
You said.  And I said.  And we believed each other.
Mirror, we believed—love, the myth each believed—
and I, the other myth, said, “And we break each
other.”

Of love, there were words.  And you said,
“Must you name them!”  And then a line of time . . .
is that how we are—and who—
            . . . of a line—of how it goes -- ?
How far away is that?  There were words.
Then I said, “Mirror . . . ”  And you said,  
“Break . . . ”

* * *

And an Ars Poetica for the New Year from Stephen Kingsnorth:

 

 

COMPANIONS
—Stephen Kingsnorth

From riser-recliner, three screens faced,
but not of Cinerama world
or bucking broncos now installed—
but TV, fishtank, laptop serve.

Of medications, all prescribed,
my primary is writing verse,
the best in combat of disease,
a daily dose, addictive form.

Distraction, symptomatic claims,
expected pains put in their place,
my files stay open, early hours,
for nighttime scribbles can’t be read.

Research and recall, both combine
with curiosities observed,
until fatigue or eyestrain brake
and guppies best to intervene.

Those crafty fish call back to craft,
my marker in creating verse,
and sometimes rhyme, not false or forced—
detracting from my best by worse.

Submissions rarely knockout bout—
throw in the towel if second rate;
if best, a spell which can be raised
against a curse—weaved wizard words.

My wish, escape from that old ‘I’
that dominates much verse I read,
but find companions, ‘sharing bread’,
as musing in poetic forms.

____________________

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.) Let’s kiss the old year goodbye with an:

•••Elegy for the old year: https://poets.org/glossary/elegy

•••AND/OR bring some forecasts into the equation, sending your own—

•••Poems for the new year (examples at https://poets.org/poems-new-year/). Maybe a Paradelle for the new year, hot on the heels of Joyce Odam's fine Paradelle above?

•••Paradelle: www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/poetic-form-paradelle

 

•••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 “Out of Control”.

____________________

MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:

•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Blank Verse: literarydevices.net/blank-verse AND/OR www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-the-difference-between-blank-verse-and-free-verse#quiz-0
•••Dream Poem: https://www.bing.com/search?q=dream+poem+form&pc=cosp&ptag=C999N1234A316A5D3C6E&form=0A1010&conlogo=CT3210127&showconv=1
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Elegy: https://poets.org/glossary/elegy
•••Haiku: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku AND/OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Just 15s (devised by Sarah Harding): poem or stanza of 15 syllables
•••Paradelle: www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/poetic-form-paradelle
•••Tanka: poets.org/glossary/tanka
•••Tan-renga: https://www.graceguts.com/essays/an-introduction-to-tan-renga

__________________

—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
 

 

 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 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.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
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scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

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!

 

LittleSnake is no 

fish out of water, 

that's for sure!