—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
A CHARISMATIC SQUIGGLE
Just as I dozed
in my comfy recliner
my loosely-held pen,
lightly touching a blank sheet
left for me on my notebook page
a delight in a charismatic squiggle.
On waking I spotted
the sleepy leftover, yet oddly
beautiful, maybe a future part
of a word or line that would inspire
confidence to where, inspired, I would
compose a few unusually moving stanzas.
Just as I dozed
in my comfy recliner
my loosely-held pen,
lightly touching a blank sheet
left for me on my notebook page
a delight in a charismatic squiggle.
On waking I spotted
the sleepy leftover, yet oddly
beautiful, maybe a future part
of a word or line that would inspire
confidence to where, inspired, I would
compose a few unusually moving stanzas.
AT CLARA’S KITCHEN TABLE
from the ‘60s
Restless,
we decide to draw on paper
napkins a picture of our souls.
Clara draws a boomerang
beside a cloud, like her soul
is flying through space.
My soul is a lopsided circle.
It looked and felt like my soul.
Then Clara asked me: Is there
anything inside? Then I sketched
little dots that formed a labyrinth
of emotions, triumphs, partings.
We were two excited campers.
Then Rod, her chemist husband
came in for coffee.
We asked if he would join us
and sketch his soul.
He said he’d never seen it.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/9/21)
BLUEBELLS
I am an ancient eight-year-old,
a torn toenail grown inward,
a long-lost marble.
Welts from family beatings
burn on my back.
Being alive
nearly smothers me.
This morning in third grade
spring showers drip down
our classroom windows
like lost explorers
as the teacher reads aloud
from Robert Frost, to rhythms
of rain. Then, “Class, the shower
seems over, let’s go outdoors
and write about clouds.”
Following the other children
out of our classroom,
I stare at rounded white fluff,
want to hide in gardens growing
beams of light that I could climb
and disappear . . .
Finally, I claim a sun-cloud as my own,
watch as wind opens blue flowers
into bells ringing all at once . . .
Nearly a century later,
I remember my first poetry lines:
I love to watch the bluebells
growing in the sky . . .
A SKY OF CROWS
Did the wheeling crows
Vincent painted above
his sanitarium’s wheat fields
overlap their frenzied wings,
when they heard
the shot,
saw their painter fall?
Sunflowers,
if not yet bowing heads,
began to flourish
from Vincent’s
fingertips.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/13/22)
Did the wheeling crows
Vincent painted above
his sanitarium’s wheat fields
overlap their frenzied wings,
when they heard
the shot,
saw their painter fall?
Sunflowers,
if not yet bowing heads,
began to flourish
from Vincent’s
fingertips.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/13/22)
CANINE SOLDIERS
Trained for combat, often they take
the dangerous lead, uncovering
land mines, explosives, toxic chemicals—
even sniffing out enemies.
GI Joes or Janes live with and tend
to all their buddy’s needs—out on patrol,
urging:
Pal, I’m right here, behind you.
Canine soldiers may suffer injury, trauma.
Shell-shocked, they tremble and hide.
And they may resist combat, turn vicious,
even biting or attacking sleeping soldiers.
Traumatized dogs are shot and buried
unceremoniously.
If honorably discharged, warrior dogs
are sent to Adoption Centers where
veterans make the ideal fit, conveying
to their buddy: I know, I know, and
I’ll never leave your side.
Trained for combat, often they take
the dangerous lead, uncovering
land mines, explosives, toxic chemicals—
even sniffing out enemies.
GI Joes or Janes live with and tend
to all their buddy’s needs—out on patrol,
urging:
Pal, I’m right here, behind you.
Canine soldiers may suffer injury, trauma.
Shell-shocked, they tremble and hide.
And they may resist combat, turn vicious,
even biting or attacking sleeping soldiers.
Traumatized dogs are shot and buried
unceremoniously.
If honorably discharged, warrior dogs
are sent to Adoption Centers where
veterans make the ideal fit, conveying
to their buddy: I know, I know, and
I’ll never leave your side.
BIOPSY
Young friend,
as you
await biopsy results
on suspect shadows,
we place on your doorstep
carrot juice
freshly squeezed
by a California farm family—
liquid the color of cheerful
for your return home
with unresolved worries.
We know the waiting,
waiting, waiting
can be terrible.
If you’d rather slug
from a jug of red wine
than carrot juice, hey . . .
Sometimes life just gets too
much. Even the soul tips
a glass now & then.
Young friend,
as you
await biopsy results
on suspect shadows,
we place on your doorstep
carrot juice
freshly squeezed
by a California farm family—
liquid the color of cheerful
for your return home
with unresolved worries.
We know the waiting,
waiting, waiting
can be terrible.
If you’d rather slug
from a jug of red wine
than carrot juice, hey . . .
Sometimes life just gets too
much. Even the soul tips
a glass now & then.
A SILK SCARF
Today I reclaim
the wind
held in my palms
as a child,
my hand far out
car window,
blown
willy-nilly like a silk scarf,
yet holding enough sweet air
to know that one day
I would inhale
all of it back, like hope.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/8/22)
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A LONGER SNEEZE!
—Claire J. Baker
Like me, do you enjoy
an overwhelming sneeze—
that ah-ah-ah-ah urge
that shakes you like a purge
& leaves you on the verge
until that let-loose surge
drops you to your knees?
Like me, do you enjoy
an overwhelming sneeze?
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Claire Baker for today’s fine poetry!
Today I reclaim
the wind
held in my palms
as a child,
my hand far out
car window,
blown
willy-nilly like a silk scarf,
yet holding enough sweet air
to know that one day
I would inhale
all of it back, like hope.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/8/22)
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A LONGER SNEEZE!
—Claire J. Baker
Like me, do you enjoy
an overwhelming sneeze—
that ah-ah-ah-ah urge
that shakes you like a purge
& leaves you on the verge
until that let-loose surge
drops you to your knees?
Like me, do you enjoy
an overwhelming sneeze?
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Claire Baker for today’s fine poetry!
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!
