Running On Empty

 —Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa
* * *
—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Claire J. Baker, 

Joe Nolan, Stephen Kingsnorth, 

Caschwa, and
Michael H. Brownstein
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan and Medusa

 

 

DAD’S DONE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

Know no one at all
suspects Dad is tired of
being in charge.

Being in charge
doesn’t give him a charge.
He’s running on empty.

He’s running on empty.
He longs to return to younger days
when he hadn’t a care in the world.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa

ULTIMATUM, 2
   Spring 2025
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA

We won’t be Bully-Buddies’ prey,
though gas tanks drain & fill to empty.
In waxing wiser, here to stay,
we’re not the Bully-Buddies’ prey:
government castration? Hey,
when millions pain, contempt on thee.
We won’t be Bully-Buddies’ prey,
though gas-tanks drain & fill to empty. 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

QUASI-BROTHERS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

Because they claimed to be brothers
They spoke from the heart and blood
With the full force of an avalanche
In waves of facts, knowledge and wisdom,
As much as could be conveyed
In simple, declarative sentences,
But it proved too much, in the end,
As one chose his separate truth,
His own space for reflection,
Over their common bond.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

BUYER’S REMORSE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

Now I feel spent, child-minding day,
those ice creams dripping, blazing sun,
while mopping clothes, their face, my brow
for fear of what their Mum will say,
though next the promised visit, zoo,
sad looking apes to antelope.

I bought their tickets, ‘Tiergarten’,
saw tigers pacing, confined space,
so thought that money better dealt
supporting native sanctuaries,
eyes watching wildness on TV
as burning bright in forest nights.

Bought plums and pears, too ripe I fear,
soon smeared as mush on faces cleaned,
hot chocolate, such crazy choice,
their lips burnt, whimper, ice again;
emotion’s cost real price I paid,
good fortune drained, unlucky ways.

Next duty shifted, wholesale mart,
bulk buying for the village fête,
but under layer, sparkling fruit,
found discreet metal there secrete,
its weight destroying surplus’ taste,
so wait again for payback mode.

Display within shop window frame
is not an offer; courtly rules;
mere invitation to respond,
to make said offer (in UK)—
to canvas what is laid before.
till such is purchased at the till.

Are we too eager, outlay cash,
too flush with stash to care too much,
too ready to accept spin sold,
too trusting as the seller’s mark,
too greedy to interrogate,
our interest in profit’s take?

Possession, nine tenths of the law,
as generated fantasy
a dominating sales technique—
that painted nag, sold ‘stallion’;
wolves in sheep’s clothing scatter flock
as readies banked, scammers’ accounts.

It gnaws away, as rue the day,
I flashed the cash, invested stock,
a south sea bubble came my way,
that fool’s gold, end of rainbow pot;
we fools, our money, separate.
Remorse is unrepenting, world. 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa

DEEP & EMPTY POCKETS
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

when I was in high school there were several
classmates who came from families with
money: Real Estate, New Car Sales, City
Council, and other prosperous endeavors;
apparently they were running the show when I
was in school and they will remain there
indefinitely

some years back I thought I would attend my
high school’s Home Coming Game; thought I
would be recognized as one of the musicians
who regularly played at Pep Rallies and games;

they wanted me to pay full price to enter this
“Homecoming” and expected I would donate
generously to support multiple programs at
the school;

your money is welcome here, stranger

somewhere in cold storage is that old notion of
“click your heels 3 times, there’s no place like
home!” now at the front door with all kinds of
glitter appear many layers of marketing schemes
all designed to draw in more money to be sent to
the very top of the pyramid;

No thanks

I will continue to meet my dear friends from public
school on social media (I have known at least 3 for
over 70 years), enjoy the ease and rewards of a
lifelong career as an unpaid poet, and let the
Homecoming Game Fundraiser Event continue to
belong to those whose incomes are far above mine. 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

MYSTERY NEIGHBORS
—Caschwa

(On our previous Seed of the Week,
New Neighbors)

I have new neighbors
the houses on each side of mine
had been rentals, but now one
has sold to new owners
(not prior renters)
and I haven’t met them yet

Thus I will refrain from advancing
any opinions or suppositions
as to the appearance and behavior
of these folks

For the last 16 years the rental
house on the other side has been
occupied by a wonderful family
with laughing kids, etc.

These neighbors have a Mimosa
which puts out fragrant, red blooms
to which my wife was allergic, and
they were so kind as to trim it back
to protect her

They are black and I am white, and
we meet and hug when a family
member passes

So the bar is set very, very high for
my new, mystery neighbors and for
myself as well, as after the passing
of my wife I have tended to be a
loner by choice

Time will tell

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

BEFORE & AFTER
—Caschwa

California used to proudly have a strong
law enforcement presence on the streets
in which live suspects would be apprehended,
booked, sometimes convicted and sent to
prison, notably the Department of Corrections
& Rehabilitation (CDCR), where they could
serve time for their crimes while being
presented with opportunities to correct their
errant behavior, rehabilitate themselves, and
eventually become positive, contributing
members of the community

And then came the shocking, summary
execution of young Stephon Clark for the
high crimes of breaking car windows and
holding a cell phone

Forget about all that pride and the possible
positive outcomes, the whole law enforcement
scheme including the CDCR had now become
the California Department of Chase & Ravage,
its philosophy inspired by the single, deadly
act of an invincible jungle cat Catching
& Devouring its prey, leaving empty our more
ethical and sophisticated hopes that some
prisoners might favorably embrace correction
and rehabilitation 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

OUR ECONOMY
—Joe Nolan

Toward a bigger,
Fatter, squealing pig
On which we all shall feed.
God forbid

The pig
Should shrink,
Once our forks
Have been set in!

We mustn’t let
Our hungry hordes
Be forced
To walk away,
Unfilled

With greasy fat
And juicy meat
For which
All of them came.

Grow, grow—
The only way
We can go
With our economy.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

KISSING HEARTS
—Joe Nolan

A heart kisses—
Rushing out
Through shining eyes
And smiles.

It catches on
And smiles
Are returned.

Kissing hearts
Shine like
Little suns,
Warming everyone.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

When they strangled the words from free speech
Took the gathering in protest to camps
Froze out the right to write an honest opinion—
What is left of who and why we are?

—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO

____________________

Our thanks to today’s fine contributors with their potpourri of subjects! Clearly, no one was running on “empty”, our Seed of the Week, with their fine riffs on same.

A note that SnakePal Michael Brownstein has a new book out from The Camel Saloon Books on Blog, entitled Firestorm: A Rendering of Torah. For info, see
https://booksonblogtm.blogspot.com/2012/10/firestorm-rendering-of-torah.ht/.  Congratulations, Michael!

____________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Oops. Busted.
—Public Domain Artwork Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Sacramento Poetry Center will hold
an all-open mic tonight, 7:30pm,

 as everyone gears up for  

Poetry Month, starting Tuesday.
For info about this 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!

 

Running on empty . . .