—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Lauren McBride, Lynn White,
Stephen Kingsnorth, and Caschwa
SHIMMER
inspired by “Rest Stop,”
watercolor by Karen Keys
In
highland aspen grove, get off your bike
where quaver-leaves whisper present and past—
Basque sheepherder alone in spaces vast
carving his days and longings. What thoughts strike
in mountain summertime that seems to last
and last—like that uphill-grunt on your bike…
The Basque carved lightly into aspen bark; scars
darkened with time. He’s gone, his thoughts remain
on aspen-skin through winter’s snow, fall’s rain.
Do they drift on wind, under sun and stars?
All things connect, an invisible chain—
this morning’s journey linked to age-old scars.
(An earlier version of "Shimmer" was on
Medusa's Kitchen, 10/14/22.)
UNDER SUMMER SUN
Horses
wonder why
all the shade
must be outside their
pasture.
MAYBE THEY’RE ON VACATION
Usual things we hardly notice: fenceposts
standing upright between neighbors,
waterlines running invisibly underground.
We live in a county at the edge of wild; count
on neighbors for support when things
go wrong—New Year’s flood that cut us off
from the rest of the world.
Now, it’s not a flood, just a leak in the new
neighbor’s pipe, water springing
out of the ground in our field. No one
was home. I don’t have their phone #.
Previous owner was always fixing
leaks in that pipe. I tied a note to their gate;
it’s still hanging there. How to let them know?
Hate to bear bad news, but we mustn’t
waste water in a drought.
THE VACATION BEGINS
where zip codes give up to forest
and distances far beyond parked cars.
On the trail, a young couple carrying nets—
for butterflies? for fish? for frogs.
Farther up the highway, a panorama
of volcanic peaks, and low
above the vista point, an eagle on golden
wings. The vacation doesn’t end
with vehicle foundered on snowbank.
That’s what shovels are for.
MY XACATION
I mark my calendar with Xs for the days
I cancel everything, load dog
and lunch in the car, head for high country.
Plans? Scenic destinations? Just
the unexpected—a forest road I never drove
when it was green with oak and conifers.
Since the big fire, road signs are gone,
it’s a mystery where I’m going.
An ashy moonscape with a far, wide-open view
no longer blocked by trees. I’ll be looking
for signs of rebirth, pioneer plants
I never noticed before the devastation.
Maybe it’s not what you’d call a vacation.
Who cares?
THIEF OF DREAMS
All night I was harvesting wind-blown news,
across the border—self-locking door—
and wondering, could I return to the home
where I’d lived before?
And imperceptibly everything changed
as it does in dream, without connection or
explanation, to show our life’s certainties
aren’t what they seem.
All night my home in the land of my birth
was shrinking—and then it was morphing,
becoming my car, much too small
for a house, I was thinking.
Oh what and where was my home,
its defensible space, when every moment
ignites a fire, and home’s no longer
one’s private place?
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
DUA 7
—Taylor Graham
vacation’s over—look out for yellow bus
traffic jam in front of every school
*
girl poses with bookbag—1st day photo op
ravens converge for scraps on sidewalk
*
remember those cross country road trips
learning beyond the textbooks
____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for today’s fine poetry and photos! Forms TG has used this week include a Dragonfly (“Shimmer”); an Elfchen (“Under Summer Sun”); a Word-Can Poem (“The Vacation Begins”); some Dua (“Dua 7”); and a Dream Poem (“Thief of Dreams”). Our Tuesday Seed of the Week was “Vacation”, and the Dragonfly and the Dream Poem were last week’s Triple-F Challenges.
In El Dorado County poetry this week, Poetry in Motion meets on Monday in Placerville, and info about El Dorado Country’s regular workshops is listed on Medusa’s calendar (if you scroll down on http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html/). For more news about such events and 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 were Nolcha Fox, Lauren McBride, Lynn White, Stephen Kingsnorth, and Caschwa:
SUMMER SPECTACLE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Silk parasols
bob down the path.
Lace collars
flutter in the wind.
The Antebellum
Ladies Nudist
Society parades
to the applause
of leaves.
* * *
NO NEED TO ROAM
—Lauren McBride, Texas
An ancient tree,
an ancient gnome.
The hollow trunk,
his happy home.
A mushroom patch
in shaded loam
and mushroom soup
to sup at gloam.
(This poem first appeared in Star*Line 38.3, Summer 2015, with slight edits since)
* * *
HOMELESS
—Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
I used to see them sitting
under their leafy roofs,
those forest fairies
stitching their summer dresses
of poppy and mallow petals
with long silk threads
as the smiling spiders spun.
I used to see them collecting
armfuls of meadow sweet
to stuff their nighttime mattresses,
making doorways in their new
toadstool homes with sharp stones.
But now the toadstools are growing
so quickly
and so tall,
too tall
for them.
They’re homeless now
and no one sees the homeless.
So no one sees fairies anymore.
* * *
MAGIC MUSHROOMS?
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
While Triffid now a commonplace,
and this may magnify our view,
amongst these saplings of surround,
here’s changed perspective, ant in glade,
as at grass summit, meadow blade.
These fungi rarely viewed beneath—
their claim to fame in scarlet cap—
though fly agaric, if for real,
bears fascinating patchwork ware,
light polka dots, warts shaped as square.
If forage, then the theme unites
those searching for another crop,
the lovers, fairies, fantasies,
those hunter gatherers of lore,
while poisoned mushrooms, news of yore.
Is mycorrhiza web enraged.,
engaged in warfare with the turf,
decided surface failed in care,
despairing failure, woodland trust,
asserting strength by thrust through crust?
I wonder, as we scar the earth,
is there a movement, underground,
stirred revolution, secret plot,
some simmering, but out of sight,
preparing forces for the fight?
A plan to undermine abuse,
no longer lying low in fact,
conspiracy with canopy,
to cede that power thus far on top,
tree toad stool pigeons set to stop?
Mycelial threads, shaggy veil,
a stipe for stem, pileus cap;
those decoys planted on the stumps,
felled trees as in the Amazon,
to stump fool plans of fallen man?
* * *
FUNGUS FUTURES
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
Frolicking few not
chosen to be harvested
as pizza toppings
* * *
Here is a Haibun from Caschwa (Carl Schwartz):
ASKED FOR CLOSURE, GOT BLINDERS
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CAThe War to end all wars. More since, more in the
works. Sandy Hook Elementary. More since, more
in the works. We freed black slaves. Damn the
laws. Compassion for property still rules. Equal
rights for everybody. Damn the laws. Compassion
for property still rules. We won independence from
a brutal king. Look again. Our Founding Fathers
intended a government by consent of the people.
Look Again. Our elected office holders took a
solemn oath to uphold the Constitution. At the end
of the day, they answer to the beck and call of
Lobbyists. Our elected office holders used every
trick in the book to win the election. At the end of
the day, they answer to the beck-and-call of
Lobbyists.
Our wish is closure
Money managers say no
Follow the money
* * *
A high hope Haiku, also from Carl:
COLLEGE PREP
—Caschwa
The destination
was not Old Age, but it crept
in there anyways
* * *
His Ars Poetica:
HOW TO MAKE A POEM LAST
—Caschwa
A poem last is a three-dimensional form
shaped like a human expression, used as
a mold to create the feet and meter of a
poem during the authoring process. It's
essentially the foundation upon which a
poem is built. The shape of the last
determines the poem’s overall size, style,
and how it will fit the reader.
· Function:
The last is used to shape the upper part
of the poem, mold the feet, and determine
the poem’s overall fit and style.
· Materials:
Poem lasts can be made from various components,
including rhyme, alliteration, accent, and pause.
· Importance:
The poem last is a crucial element in poetry
writing, influencing the poem's fit, performance,
ergonomics, and aesthetic.
· Types:
Different types of poems (e.g., sonnets, acrostic,
Haiku) require different last shapes to achieve the
desired fit and function.
· History:
The term "last" comes from the Old English word,
"laest," meaning footprint, and these forms have
been used in poem-making since ancient times.
* * *
And a poem to set us thinking:
LOST COUNT
—Caschwa
when paying cash for groceries
the cashier may go to the extra
effort of counting your change
back to you
but when we buy French fries
they measure only by the pound
or the bag, not each and every
one, so we never know
are French fries a metaphor for
the end of individualism? sorry,
no more “every vote counts,” it
is simply not packaged that way
we get them cooked, then placed
in a bag or on our plate, or frozen
in some secret hideaway, with no
effort to count them
in a hot dog eating contest, virtually
every single one is counted, that is
the focus, there is no question how
many one ate, but not French fries
* * *
And Claire Baker has sent us a Smith Sonnet which is a Response Poem to the Tuesday Seed of the Week, Ambrosia:
—Public Domain Photo
Courtesy of Joe Nolan
REVISITING SEPTEMBER 11, 2001
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
The shocking news: we found a spare park bench . . .
A hummingbird soon hovered close above,
as if our heads two charismatic flowers.
The tiny whiz-kid, surprisingly bold
and seemingly bound for nearby honey vines,
had paused mid-flight, its ever-whirring wings
transcending images of toppled towers,
like nothing tragic happened in New York.
In hovering, the iridescent gem
had sensed our numbness, terror, grief and tears
entrapped within, colliding? Our timely
pastel bird-in-waiting had slowly stirred
a breeze so pure in an ambrosia sky.
We calmed and winged a prayer as he whirled high.
_______________________
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!
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Artwork Courtesy of Public Domain
For info aboutfuture poetry happenings in Northern California and otherwheres, click onUPCOMING 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 onthe 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 nameof the poet (or poem) into the littlebeige box at the top left-hand sideof this column. See alsoMedusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of the blue column on the rightside of this column to findany date you want. Miss a post?You can find our most recent ones byscrolling down under this daily one.Or there's an "Older Posts" buttonat the bottom of this column.(Please excuse typos in older posts!Blogspot has been through a lot ofincarnations in 20 years!)Would you like to be a SnakePal? Guidelines are at the top of this pageat the Placating the Gorgon link;send poetry and/or photos and artworkto kathykieth@hotmail.com. We postwork from all over the world—includingthat which was previously published—and collaborations are welcome. Just remember:the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—for poetry, of course!
Howzabout some nice cold snow right about now??
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