—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
IMPATIENT
Spring is sleepy
after winter, yawning,
stretching flowered arms.
Daffodils and tulips
are the first to show
their colors.
Green is just a
promise on our
handsome maple tree.
I’m already longing
for the blazing reds
of autumn when
the maple leaves
catch fire.
Spring is sleepy
after winter, yawning,
stretching flowered arms.
Daffodils and tulips
are the first to show
their colors.
Green is just a
promise on our
handsome maple tree.
I’m already longing
for the blazing reds
of autumn when
the maple leaves
catch fire.
JUST JOKING
The frozen river
cracks a smile
when sunshine peeks
through snow clouds.
The river knows
the sun’s a flirt
and she won’t
stay til springtime.
The frozen river
cracks a smile
when sunshine peeks
through snow clouds.
The river knows
the sun’s a flirt
and she won’t
stay til springtime.
IF THEY’LL MAKE UP THEIR MINDS
Storm clouds crouch at the horizon, unsure
whether to approach with furious lightning strikes
Or retreat behind mountains
to calmly plan a surprise attack.
Distracted by sunlight and bird flight,
they wait for the weather report to decide.
Storm clouds crouch at the horizon, unsure
whether to approach with furious lightning strikes
Or retreat behind mountains
to calmly plan a surprise attack.
Distracted by sunlight and bird flight,
they wait for the weather report to decide.
HEY, HARRY!
C’mon, Harry, what’s eating you?
You think you’re the runt of the bunch?
Do sticks and stones break your bones?
Just chew on it, Harry.
You can’t eat an elephant in one bite.
Little nibbles from one end to the other.
That’s all it takes, Harry, small and mighty.
Just duck and roll, you can squeeze
through or under any situation.
You’re the man, man. You’ve got it.
Don’t chase your tail, Harry.
Just grab the prize and run
before they catch you.
PAPER
My image is a thin façade
of paper mache magic,
all smoke and mirrors to disguise
that nothing lives beneath it.
My image is a thin façade
of paper mache magic,
all smoke and mirrors to disguise
that nothing lives beneath it.
TOO YOUNG TO BE OLD
The mirror is my calendar to let me know I’m older.
It doesn’t see me shed my thinning skin, gray hair,
and wrinkles
to let escape the child I am inside.
The mirror is my calendar to let me know I’m older.
It doesn’t see me shed my thinning skin, gray hair,
and wrinkles
to let escape the child I am inside.
I’D LIKE ANOTHER PRESENT, PLEASE
Time slaps me with the gift of age.
Arthritis really slows me down.
Time knows I cannot catch him.
Time ruins my birthday celebration.
I look more like my mother.
Time slaps me with the gift of age.
Times clouds my vision,
makes me squint.
Time knows I cannot catch him.
Time smirks as hourglass turns to round.
I bulge in parts that once were slim.
Time slaps me with the gift of age.
Bone spurs grow in feet and spine.
My running shoes no longer fit.
Time knows I cannot catch him.
Time knows I’d rather be alive
than lie down six feet under.
Time slaps me with the gift of age.
Time knows I cannot catch him.
Time slaps me with the gift of age.
Arthritis really slows me down.
Time knows I cannot catch him.
Time ruins my birthday celebration.
I look more like my mother.
Time slaps me with the gift of age.
Times clouds my vision,
makes me squint.
Time knows I cannot catch him.
Time smirks as hourglass turns to round.
I bulge in parts that once were slim.
Time slaps me with the gift of age.
Bone spurs grow in feet and spine.
My running shoes no longer fit.
Time knows I cannot catch him.
Time knows I’d rather be alive
than lie down six feet under.
Time slaps me with the gift of age.
Time knows I cannot catch him.
EVEN AFTER THEY’RE RAGS
My cotton dishcloths, worn,
discolored, limp, and faded,
wrap the kitchen faucet
until no threads are left.
I am not impoverished.
They are easy to replace.
Each time I wash the dishes,
I see my mother’s hands.
My cotton dishcloths, worn,
discolored, limp, and faded,
wrap the kitchen faucet
until no threads are left.
I am not impoverished.
They are easy to replace.
Each time I wash the dishes,
I see my mother’s hands.
THE ABSENCE OF YOUR PRESENCE
Your presence is no
longer present.
Although I sometimes think I hear
you whisper in the shadows of my mind.
Photographs and shadows
fade as time takes scissors to my days.
If my memories pale to nothing
long before I leave this earth,
will I know you when I see you
on the other side of death?
Your presence is no
longer present.
Although I sometimes think I hear
you whisper in the shadows of my mind.
Photographs and shadows
fade as time takes scissors to my days.
If my memories pale to nothing
long before I leave this earth,
will I know you when I see you
on the other side of death?
WANDERING OR WONDERING
I’m told my thoughts are wandering.
I say they are wondering
to some lonely isle, or is that aisle?
I say it’s a journey
for the soul, or is that sole?
I hope the skies are clear and blue,
or is that a dream I blew
when I decided not to waste
my dimes on travel since
my money goes directly to my waist.
I’m told my thoughts are wandering.
I say they are wondering
to some lonely isle, or is that aisle?
I say it’s a journey
for the soul, or is that sole?
I hope the skies are clear and blue,
or is that a dream I blew
when I decided not to waste
my dimes on travel since
my money goes directly to my waist.
IN THE LAUNDROMAT
My washer and dryer in the dump,
I had to wash my clothes
in some deserted laundromat
that turned my white clothes blue.
The dryer ate my bluesy clothes
and tried to eat me, too.
No wonder there was no one there,
they all were just desserts.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THREAT OF LUXURY
—Nolcha Fox
We think we have all we desire
in cars and clothes and jewelry.
Once we have them, we want more.
We don’t see how we use them
to manipulate, to hide from death.
We go to sleep with those we love
and wake up next to Greed.
_______________________
—Medusa, with many thanks to Nolcha Fox for today’s fine poetry—and thanks for finding the photos, too!
My washer and dryer in the dump,
I had to wash my clothes
in some deserted laundromat
that turned my white clothes blue.
The dryer ate my bluesy clothes
and tried to eat me, too.
No wonder there was no one there,
they all were just desserts.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THREAT OF LUXURY
—Nolcha Fox
We think we have all we desire
in cars and clothes and jewelry.
Once we have them, we want more.
We don’t see how we use them
to manipulate, to hide from death.
We go to sleep with those we love
and wake up next to Greed.
_______________________
—Medusa, with many thanks to Nolcha Fox for today’s fine poetry—and thanks for finding the photos, too!
Still Snowy in Buffalo~
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!
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!
