THE SINGER SINGS
The lyrics of the throat singer
syphoning the grasp of cloud
away from clammy skin, souled
ice, sweetgum and bloodroot.
Is it not enough to build a pyramid,
a kiosk, an inverted dream catcher,
a nightmare of melody and psalm?
Nothing lasts now or later—
nothing is whole at the end of its time
and nothing is nothing where it exists.
No, this is not how the prayer song ends,
it has no ending, the kora playing on,
the shakaree, the great talking drum.
A performer gets ready to leave the stage,
but he cannot, the applause transfixing,
the people standing at attention,
his shirt attaches itself to his scars
and when he tries to pull away,
he remains a statue of what might have been
if he had been allowed to enter the stage
during a time of different footprints.
The lyrics of the throat singer
syphoning the grasp of cloud
away from clammy skin, souled
ice, sweetgum and bloodroot.
Is it not enough to build a pyramid,
a kiosk, an inverted dream catcher,
a nightmare of melody and psalm?
Nothing lasts now or later—
nothing is whole at the end of its time
and nothing is nothing where it exists.
No, this is not how the prayer song ends,
it has no ending, the kora playing on,
the shakaree, the great talking drum.
A performer gets ready to leave the stage,
but he cannot, the applause transfixing,
the people standing at attention,
his shirt attaches itself to his scars
and when he tries to pull away,
he remains a statue of what might have been
if he had been allowed to enter the stage
during a time of different footprints.
WHEN NIGHT FELL AT NOON
I woke today to an earthquake of
a minute and a half before the magna
broke through a glade of crust:
did you ever feel like you were ten miles from daylight,
and for reasons you can never discern,
you are positive
Ratri, goddess of darkness ate the sun.
I woke today to an earthquake of
a minute and a half before the magna
broke through a glade of crust:
did you ever feel like you were ten miles from daylight,
and for reasons you can never discern,
you are positive
Ratri, goddess of darkness ate the sun.
THE RAPE OF THE RAPIST
A thigh of sky
and a black zipper
frayed
painted fingernails of faith
glacier blue
a rainbow of water
there is no frayed zipper
only a charcoal smudge
a reprint of thigh
and now
under a canopy of darkness
he studies the metallic shape of home
how can you forget
the tornado turbulent passion
he reimagines himself whole
and wonders
how the victim he selected
had already selected him
A thigh of sky
and a black zipper
frayed
painted fingernails of faith
glacier blue
a rainbow of water
there is no frayed zipper
only a charcoal smudge
a reprint of thigh
and now
under a canopy of darkness
he studies the metallic shape of home
how can you forget
the tornado turbulent passion
he reimagines himself whole
and wonders
how the victim he selected
had already selected him
URBAN IMAGE
A well-lit flange of red at dusk
slips across
whitewashed siding on old houses—
the city preparing itself for tomorrow's work,
a light-weight silence
street lamps
stretching shadow
and near the corner,
one car with its headlights left on
A well-lit flange of red at dusk
slips across
whitewashed siding on old houses—
the city preparing itself for tomorrow's work,
a light-weight silence
street lamps
stretching shadow
and near the corner,
one car with its headlights left on
WIND AND WIND
A confused, but nice awkward breeze
whispers through the leaves,
yells twice, lets out a scream,
a tsunami, a babbling brook, an easy stream:
the sky is blue with snowcapped clouds,
the breeze stutters, over crowds,
lets out a jeer, the cloud flies into the east,
and the breeze becomes a beast.
Then it shudders, sighs and smiles,
and hangs around the trees awhile—
all is well, the sky is blue
and the breeze subdued.
A confused, but nice awkward breeze
whispers through the leaves,
yells twice, lets out a scream,
a tsunami, a babbling brook, an easy stream:
the sky is blue with snowcapped clouds,
the breeze stutters, over crowds,
lets out a jeer, the cloud flies into the east,
and the breeze becomes a beast.
Then it shudders, sighs and smiles,
and hangs around the trees awhile—
all is well, the sky is blue
and the breeze subdued.
LET ME DREAM
Let me wake
to these glorious glades of sunlight,
an ordering of stone on stone,
a transparency in sand—
rise up
to the great blue puddles of sky,
a grand procession of green-leafed ocean,
blossoms of songbirds—
and stretch
into the melody of anvil and hammer,
streams of color crossing rivers,
a soft bark of one dog, the crusade that comes after.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
silently we conformed into something else
a something we did not like
and so we steadied ourselves,
looked across the horizon,
formed groups of nonconformists and this,
as the poet said, made all the difference
—Michael H. Brownstein
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Michael Brownstein for today’s fine poetry!
Let me wake
to these glorious glades of sunlight,
an ordering of stone on stone,
a transparency in sand—
rise up
to the great blue puddles of sky,
a grand procession of green-leafed ocean,
blossoms of songbirds—
and stretch
into the melody of anvil and hammer,
streams of color crossing rivers,
a soft bark of one dog, the crusade that comes after.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
silently we conformed into something else
a something we did not like
and so we steadied ourselves,
looked across the horizon,
formed groups of nonconformists and this,
as the poet said, made all the difference
—Michael H. Brownstein
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Michael Brownstein for today’s fine poetry!
A reminder that
Mosaic of Voices will host
Jeanine Stevens and Laura Rosenthal
in Lodi today, 2pm;
Sacramento Poetry Alliance features
Shawn Pittard and David Koehn at 4pm
in Sacramento; there will be a reception at
Sacramento Poetry Center today, 6pm,
featuring Liz Baxmeyer's art and poetry;
and at 7:30pm, also at the R25 Arts Complex,
there will be a memorial reading and jam
for B.L. Kennedy who passed away this year.
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!
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!