* * *
—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Jon Wesick,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa,
Joan McNerney, Melissa Lemay,
and Joe Nolan
—Art by Robert Fleming
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan and Stephen Kingsnorth
BRANDISHING HER SWORD
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Time comes in swinging
her sword, cutting
me down to size.
She lobs off
height and weight
and pieces of my heart.
I bear her scars
in wrinkles, blotches,
veins that shatter
on my skin.
When Time is done,
my masquerade
will be sliced off.
You’ll see me
as I am.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Time comes in swinging
her sword, cutting
me down to size.
She lobs off
height and weight
and pieces of my heart.
I bear her scars
in wrinkles, blotches,
veins that shatter
on my skin.
When Time is done,
my masquerade
will be sliced off.
You’ll see me
as I am.
—Poetry by Jon Wesick, Woburn, MA
—Art by Robert Fleming, Lewes, DE
—Art by Robert Fleming, Lewes, DE
BRANDISHING HER SWORD
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Now, is this shake for show alone,
as threat, its wave, a flag unfurled,
aggressive menace to the foe?
Or rally call for troops behind
to follow, forwards, for the fight,
arms raised to height, low swinging slice,
momentum might for cutting blow,
a flourish flown before the thrash,
the slasher with a cutting edge?
From brant or braund, Germanic ‘sword’,
though any weapon, modern world,
as knife or gun now commonplace;
but who is she as warrior,
an Amazon, reputed war?
The hero, warlord, common crook,
or even metaphor in deed
for any force unleashed at will,
potential of climate revealed?
A Viking, Vandal, vicious raid,
embattled Briton, Boudica;
invader from longship brigade,
some brigand with red kerchief wound,
bank robber—climbing coastal cliff?
Toledo butcher wielding steel,
a cutlass circling overhead
that brandy keg in smuggler’s cove—
or fencer layering a hedge—
the fund’s awaiting —place your bets.
As pen said mightier than the sword,
the quaking aspens, whisper verse,
their groves a unifying force,
that still small voice heard beyond quake,
both shaken, stirred, in bond of gold—
the cloth cut as on battle field—
right tremble in the face of god.
While empires pass the odes live on,
‘mere’ blades of grass, but razor sharp.
(Click once to enlarge)
BEFORE ANYONE KNOWS BETTER
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
it looked so appealing
couldn’t help myself and
I took a big dip in the
Fatty River
Now my whole care team
at the HMO tells me I have
Fatty River Disease, for which
there is no cure
tests and more tests all day
and all night, if I didn’t feel
bad already, it sure looks like
they want me to end up that way
they have reports to write, tests to
give and analyze, medicine to
prescribe and monitor, and above
all make sure I complete that special
paperwork so as not to leave loose ends
after this experience, now I know
exactly what made that Fatty River
look so appealing
YOUNG AND INNOCENT
—Caschwa
back when I was yet a young
and innocent child, I would
almost daily stop by the library
on my way home from school
playfully brandishing my library
card, I would ask to be escorted
to the sections that held books
about science fiction, or whaling
adventures, check them out, take
them home, until I had read
literally all that they had
by reading these books I was
party to explore what techniques
worked to communicate with
beings from another universe,
and could fall in like one of the
crew of daring do sailors while
they artfully deflected punishing
winds and waves
I had a much smaller body but
longer attention span when reading
these books from cover to cover,
only pausing to crack open some
sunflower seed shells and swoop
down the contents
nowadays, I wish I had a device
or tool I could brandish to unlock
the prison bars that AI imposes
when someone only wants to ask
a real human a question
—Caschwa
back when I was yet a young
and innocent child, I would
almost daily stop by the library
on my way home from school
playfully brandishing my library
card, I would ask to be escorted
to the sections that held books
about science fiction, or whaling
adventures, check them out, take
them home, until I had read
literally all that they had
by reading these books I was
party to explore what techniques
worked to communicate with
beings from another universe,
and could fall in like one of the
crew of daring do sailors while
they artfully deflected punishing
winds and waves
I had a much smaller body but
longer attention span when reading
these books from cover to cover,
only pausing to crack open some
sunflower seed shells and swoop
down the contents
nowadays, I wish I had a device
or tool I could brandish to unlock
the prison bars that AI imposes
when someone only wants to ask
a real human a question
ENGINE LIGHT
—Caschwa
(in response to a past Medusas’ Kitchen
Seed of the Week, “Out of Coontrol”)
it wasn’t the light fantastic
more like
got to do something drastic
day before Christmas
take it to the shop
start of very big fuss
something was wrong with gas
pressure reading
double check with magnifying glass
then a flood with papers listing
everything not perfect
restore to showroom, advisor insisting
repair or replace much
parts, labor, and tax
then after that, needs new clutch
well I finally got my car back
I’m a test driver now
must be perfect, cut it no slack
just need to get from point A to point B
with reliable transportation
because it’s all about me
—Caschwa
(in response to a past Medusas’ Kitchen
Seed of the Week, “Out of Coontrol”)
it wasn’t the light fantastic
more like
got to do something drastic
day before Christmas
take it to the shop
start of very big fuss
something was wrong with gas
pressure reading
double check with magnifying glass
then a flood with papers listing
everything not perfect
restore to showroom, advisor insisting
repair or replace much
parts, labor, and tax
then after that, needs new clutch
well I finally got my car back
I’m a test driver now
must be perfect, cut it no slack
just need to get from point A to point B
with reliable transportation
because it’s all about me
ON YOUR MARK…
—Caschwa
(in response to a past Medusas’ Kitchen
Seed of the Week, “Snapshots”)
he was so precise
he used a panel truck
to bring home
bathroom tissue
she was as pretty as the
Grand Canyon, anywhere
you point the camera was
a spectacular picture
dogs don’t learn
by example
they eat
the example
I owned a cat
or at least it let
me believe that
was the truth
baseball players who
successfully hit the ball
have a history of running
away from home
—Caschwa
(in response to a past Medusas’ Kitchen
Seed of the Week, “Snapshots”)
he was so precise
he used a panel truck
to bring home
bathroom tissue
she was as pretty as the
Grand Canyon, anywhere
you point the camera was
a spectacular picture
dogs don’t learn
by example
they eat
the example
I owned a cat
or at least it let
me believe that
was the truth
baseball players who
successfully hit the ball
have a history of running
away from home
ADS
—Joan McNerney, Ravens, NY
Created by slick ad men on mad ave
who knew how to fool you razzmatazz
as popcorn tears fell in the movies.
Hey these big guys were serious. Their
riff “Time is Money” sucking up fast food
vortex. Now you can eat junk any day
any time, get it delivered, honeybunny?
Buy Buy Buy get a BOGO. Buy one get one.
It’s consumer sport to get deals. Free shipping
become a prime member. Go on line hurry hurry
fill your cart max out your credit cards.
Credit card companies charge because
you used an inappropriate automatic teller
(sexy pistol) with that interest rate
of over 20%+ whatacheapthrill!
Get mauled over at the mall. Bonanza for
hucksters. Knock yourself out trying to
buy a soda when the machine is full of
quarters. Go splurge on a $10 pretzel
then pay $15 for crappy sneakers.
Don’t forget cyber sales black friday,
prime monday discount, flying option,
small store day, donate days,
shop til you drop, are you happy now?
Gamble your ass off eat until you puke
booze up drugged to death, work you jerk.
Come home to your umbilical cord
television be fed more junk in full color.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
GOING DOWN
—Melissa Lemay, Lancaster, PA
(based on an illustration which was posted
on Medusa’s Kitchen, 1/6/25)
Hang on, Rose!
We’re going down
But here! Quick!
Before we drown
Let’s take a selfie
With my luggage
I lost my stick
It’s out to sea
I’m feeling sick
No Dramamine
My loyal fans
I’ve got to go
Leave a comment
In the box below
Like and subscribe
HORSESHOES
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Getting close!
We hear the metal sing.
Ring! Ring!
We hear the
Horseshoes’ clang.
Is it a ringer?
Or is the pole
Just between the points?
Don’t count your points too soon.
It could be knocked away,
Depending how it’s sitting,
By another sailing shoe
Tossed across the air
Or maybe it might double,
One atop the other,
Converting your points
To mine?
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
A CAT UNCONCERNED
—Joe Nolan
There’s a contract
For a house
In which a cat sits
Unconcerned.
She watches light
That dances on the ceiling
Reflected from the spinning
Of wind chimes
Hung outside
The sliding door
That leads out to
The patio.
She doesn’t have to worry
About human affairs
As long as things continue
In their current vein.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
HEARTACHE
—Joe Nolan
Heartache
Never misses a beat
Jumping from heart to heart
Like a flame from wick to wick
Heartache, heartsick.
No mask can block the switch
From aching heart
To aching heart
A world-wide
Pandemic of pain.
Without love
A desert-world, dry
Tears fall from your eye
To sizzle on the ground
Love, freed
Thus, unbound.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
There was a man who loved the moon, but whenever he tried to embrace her, she broke into a thousand pieces and left him drenched, with empty arms.
―Strange the Dreamer
____________________
Today we have another collaboration from Robert Fleming (art) and Jon Wesick (poetry); our thanks to them for their startling images. Click once on each image to enlarge it so you can read the fine print.
Speaking of collaborations, SnakePal Christina Chin announces that her latest book, First Day of the Rest, a collaborative haibun/haibunga collection featuring photos and art with Michael Hough, is now available on Amazon for $4.00 at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DRT9JC2H/. This new book was published by Nun Prophet Press and curated by Heterodox Haiku Journal Editor Jerome Berglund. Congratulations on your new project, Christina!
Liverpool Cathedral Phonebox
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Stephen Kingsnorth
Last week, we posted a cartoon about a field full of discarded red Brithish phone booths, with a caption about Dr. Who. Stephen Kingsnorth reminds us that “Dr Who's phonebox was of course a blue Police Box, so I think the red graveyard presented no threat... In fact, the blue breed had died out long before [Dr. Who]… The red kiosk was designed by Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, architect of Liverpool Cathedral, which still houses a red box!…” Thanks for the phonebox info, Stephen.
Poets everywhere will be saddened to learn that Poet Viola Spencer, Sacramento’s first Poet Laureate, passed away last Thursday after a long illness. Our condolences to Peter.
____________________
—Medusa
Viola Spencer
A reminder that
Poetic License meets in Placerville
this morning, 10:30a.m; and
Sacramento Poetry Center returns
with Youth Open Mic tonight, 7:30pm.
For more about these and other
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?
You can find our most recent ones by
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!
Poetic License meets in Placerville
this morning, 10:30a.m; and
Sacramento Poetry Center returns
with Youth Open Mic tonight, 7:30pm.
For more about these and other
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?
You can find our most recent ones by
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!
