* * *
—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Nolcha Fox,
Caschwa, and Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
—Picture Poems by Jerome Berglund,
Minneapolis, MN
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
—Picture Poems by Jerome Berglund,
Minneapolis, MN
FRUSTRATION
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Those grand ground words on which we stand,
such faith and hope, then charity
breathe in our ‘now’, unrealised,
like heav’n on earth, for yet to be.
Maybe ’tis heav’n needs redefined,
the goal reset, to understand,
vague vision constantly revised—
cast out crude demons sanctified?
As comfort, grieving for the dead,
addressed in terms, they meet again;
so do I greet spouse, first or last,
and offspring babe or teen or old?
We’ll never know which picture book,
the selfie set with pet, but who?
We neither know heav’n’s furniture,
nor temperature of hell, if so.
Prevention seems the rule of life
as effort made of no avail,
intent is brought to nothing now,
effect, fulfilment scene null, nill.
But secretly, in hidden soil,
that soiled, redeemed, old nature’s sway,
despite man’s machinations, fools,
we’re foiled by ancient wisdom’s net.
So nurture nature’s canopy,
web roots in conversation grown,
as all creation groans, rebirth,
renews itself as moss on rock.
That class, called human, works its worst,
frustrates wellbeing in its task,
but master race is in control
of supposed stewards crashing through.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Those grand ground words on which we stand,
such faith and hope, then charity
breathe in our ‘now’, unrealised,
like heav’n on earth, for yet to be.
Maybe ’tis heav’n needs redefined,
the goal reset, to understand,
vague vision constantly revised—
cast out crude demons sanctified?
As comfort, grieving for the dead,
addressed in terms, they meet again;
so do I greet spouse, first or last,
and offspring babe or teen or old?
We’ll never know which picture book,
the selfie set with pet, but who?
We neither know heav’n’s furniture,
nor temperature of hell, if so.
Prevention seems the rule of life
as effort made of no avail,
intent is brought to nothing now,
effect, fulfilment scene null, nill.
But secretly, in hidden soil,
that soiled, redeemed, old nature’s sway,
despite man’s machinations, fools,
we’re foiled by ancient wisdom’s net.
So nurture nature’s canopy,
web roots in conversation grown,
as all creation groans, rebirth,
renews itself as moss on rock.
That class, called human, works its worst,
frustrates wellbeing in its task,
but master race is in control
of supposed stewards crashing through.
—Picture Poem by Jerome Berglund
CLUTZILLA
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Running late to catch a plane
I grabbed my bag and hustled,
jeans instead of business pants,
shoelaces untied.
I didn’t make the entrance.
I tripped on my two feet.
Keys and wallet, lip gloss,
glasses, all my little whatnots flew,
along with that big jet that left me
standing at the gate.
—Picture Poem by Jerome Berglund
TRUSTFRATION
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
“in God we Trust” except we’ve
separated Church and State, and
that leaves God outside looking in
so who is there left to trust? certainly
not our own government, surely not
used car salesmen, not newspapers, or
TV news, or bus schedules, or those
“rehabilitated” convicted felons, nor
predators of any race, creed, or
upbringing
our sources don’t post their sources
we open newspapers and see columns
after columns of editorials or ads
targeting various consumers, but bring
up truth or the lack of it, and one is
ushered into the deep, black, hole of
outer space
some kids can trust their parents, others
had better not; organized crime doesn’t
trust anybody, so be careful how much
trust you invest when you hear those 5
little words: “it is not too spicy”
—Picture Poem by Jerome Berglund
THIS IS WAR
—Caschwa
Refuge
another day of rain
another trail of ants
seeking refuge inside
my house
death to the Queen!
death to her Colony!
you shall not intrude
on my private domain
raising their antennas
like Confederate flags
they proudly march
into forbidden territory
I spray, they die, more
keep coming, much
more after that, no
respect for my home
once the budget is in
better shape I will hire
an army of pest control
agents to dispel this
tempted to get a flame
thrower and hit any and
all suspected hideouts
in my back yard
too much? not me, but
yes, they are too much
to have to deal with
every waking moment
why can’t Fate make me
and my home attractive
to philanthropists instead
of ants? constant battle…
—Picture Poem by Jerome Berglund
FROM BEGINNING TO NO END
—Caschwa
Before I Knew Better
in the beginning I knew I had a brother, which
made me a brother also, and it grew on me that
I was also left-handed
early teens, this brother, left-handed, had eyes
tested,
result: nearsighted, and corrective lenses issued;
when
this brother, left-handed, nearsighted, me sampled
bifocals and trifocals, it soon became abundantly
apparent that I was a single-tasker
then this brother, left-handed, nearsighted, single-
tasker, me, took up music studies and joined the
band,
so then this brother, left-handed, nearsighted,
single-tasker, musician, me, went on to become a
high school senior, after which this brother, left-
handed, nearsighted, single-tasker, musician,
senior became a graduate
from that point this brother, left-handed, nearsighted,
single-tasker, musician, senior, graduate, got a
Bachelor of Arts Degree, and then this brother, left-
handed, nearsighted,
single tasker, musician, senior, graduate, Bachelor,
got married
and became a husband and father
later, this brother, left-handed, nearsighted,
from that point this brother, left-handed, nearsighted,
single-tasker, musician, senior, graduate, got a
Bachelor of Arts Degree, and then this brother, left-
handed, nearsighted,
single tasker, musician, senior, graduate, Bachelor,
got married
and became a husband and father
later, this brother, left-handed, nearsighted,
single-tasker, musician, senior, graduate,
Bachelor, husband, father, became
a Certified Paralegal, leading to this brother, left-
handed, nearsighted, single-tasker, musician, senior,
graduate, Bachelor,
husband, father, Paralegal to donate stem cells to
a Certified Paralegal, leading to this brother, left-
handed, nearsighted, single-tasker, musician, senior,
graduate, Bachelor,
husband, father, Paralegal to donate stem cells to
my brother,
following that, this brother, left-handed,
following that, this brother, left-handed,
nearsighted, single-tasker, musician, senior, graduate,
Bachelor, husband and father, Paralegal, organ donor,
retired.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
DEAR DIARY
—Caschwa
Tiny Moments of Great Joy
1950’S – The family loved when Dad would adjust the TV antenna to get good reception
1950’s – We nephews loved when a certain uncle would visit because he gave us each a $5 bill
1956 –First-grade school teacher loved my murals
1959 – Fourth-grade school teacher loved how I could easily fold a sheet of paper into perfect fifths
1962 – Metal-shop teacher loved my spring-top little bin
1968 – Dad loved the cordless soldering iron I gave him, which he used regularly on his job with the Fire Department repairing radio alarm boxes
1969 – UCLA Professor loved the eye-saving relief when I submitted typed papers instead of cursive manuscripts
1970 – My orthopedist’s office loved when they got their own X-ray machine and could take care of that task right on site
1974 – Optometrist loved when the prescriptions for my and my fiancée’s contact lenses were identical
1981 – My fiancée loved when I explained to her that the blue dot in the roadway signified a fire hydrant curbside
1989 – Law office where I was working loved when they brought in their very first fax machine
2000 – My Mom, who had been badgered for decades by an elder sister, loved when I complimented her on her maturity
2004 – My wife and I loved watching a new meat-counter employee struggle to measure out 1 pound portions of ground round to fill our order for 2 pounds, then an experienced worker came along and quickly grabbed some meat with both hands and slapped exactly 2 pounds on the scale
1956 –First-grade school teacher loved my murals
1959 – Fourth-grade school teacher loved how I could easily fold a sheet of paper into perfect fifths
1962 – Metal-shop teacher loved my spring-top little bin
1968 – Dad loved the cordless soldering iron I gave him, which he used regularly on his job with the Fire Department repairing radio alarm boxes
1969 – UCLA Professor loved the eye-saving relief when I submitted typed papers instead of cursive manuscripts
1970 – My orthopedist’s office loved when they got their own X-ray machine and could take care of that task right on site
1974 – Optometrist loved when the prescriptions for my and my fiancée’s contact lenses were identical
1981 – My fiancée loved when I explained to her that the blue dot in the roadway signified a fire hydrant curbside
1989 – Law office where I was working loved when they brought in their very first fax machine
2000 – My Mom, who had been badgered for decades by an elder sister, loved when I complimented her on her maturity
2004 – My wife and I loved watching a new meat-counter employee struggle to measure out 1 pound portions of ground round to fill our order for 2 pounds, then an experienced worker came along and quickly grabbed some meat with both hands and slapped exactly 2 pounds on the scale
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
NOT ENOUGH “THERE” THERE
—Joe Nolan
(After Gertrude Stein’s famous comment
about Oakland, “There’s no there there.”)
There’s not enough “there” there,
Anymore.
It seems there was more, before,
But how could time close the door?
You can’t go back home, again.
It’s not the same anymore—
Not the same as it was, before.
So many things have gone away.
Maybe there was
Less there, before,
Than we might
Care to recall?
Maybe no all-for-one
And one-for-all?
The saddest thing
That’s hard to tell
Is things
Were never
All that well,
Save in our hope
And care.
__________________
The saddest thing
That’s hard to tell
Is things
Were never
All that well,
Save in our hope
And care.
__________________
Today’s LittleNip(s):
CLOCK CRAZY
—Caschwa
Brandishing Her Sword
awoke at midnight
thought it was noon, missed breakfast
dang time change!
* * *
UNCOMMON LOGIC
—Caschwa
I eat fish so my gills can work
more efficiently, and yes, I swim
under water just fine
guess breathing will just have to wait
_________________
Thanks to today’s contributors; our Seed of the Week was “Frustration”, and some of them bit right into it. Special thanks to Jerome Berglund, who sent us “five hybrid pieces (photo-haiku/haiga/shahai and concrete/#vispo interpretations of the sedoka form.” Always good to see what B.L. Kennedy used to call “picture-poems” after Kenneth Patchen’s use of the form. The poet is always looking for new forms of expression, yes?
Friday is Valentine’s Day! Be kind to your sweetie… Maybe find a new way to express yourself?
_________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Joe Nolan
A reminder that
Poetic License meets
in Placerville today; and
Sacramento Poetry Center
presents Youth Open Mic
tonight, 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.
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 today; and
Sacramento Poetry Center
presents Youth Open Mic
tonight, 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.
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!
