—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth
* * *
—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Nolcha Fox,
Devyanshi Neupane, and Caschwa
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
DREAMS OVERFLOWING
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Though yet kids mingle in the street
below the north Kent railway track,
our daily destination norm,
The Rec, for playing, growing up,
both learning give and take a risk,
for muscle stretch and helping hand
short trouser-knees me, they in dress.
But superseding, longer haul,
permission granted, ‘off you go’,
The Rec to Creek at Faversham,
the mudded clog of hulks congealed
in Swale, bleak trail of brick and brew.
The tide when low is slow recalled,
sun glance on water, briefest show.
I never once saw bright sails flap
or business done, or engine run,
or squirl of gull scream, spilling air,
but grey-brown ooze in black and white.
To dreaming boyhood, pirate wharf,
at least the barrel’s roll on sward,
and sense of smuggle, misted sludge.
They buckets worm, I walk the plank,
or point the sword at foggy back,
the Sunday thermos, brandy flask,
perhaps the man from revenue.
Then ludo calls, so homeward snail;
Creek held for hours of fantasy,
for fun and frequency, The Rec.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Though yet kids mingle in the street
below the north Kent railway track,
our daily destination norm,
The Rec, for playing, growing up,
both learning give and take a risk,
for muscle stretch and helping hand
short trouser-knees me, they in dress.
But superseding, longer haul,
permission granted, ‘off you go’,
The Rec to Creek at Faversham,
the mudded clog of hulks congealed
in Swale, bleak trail of brick and brew.
The tide when low is slow recalled,
sun glance on water, briefest show.
I never once saw bright sails flap
or business done, or engine run,
or squirl of gull scream, spilling air,
but grey-brown ooze in black and white.
To dreaming boyhood, pirate wharf,
at least the barrel’s roll on sward,
and sense of smuggle, misted sludge.
They buckets worm, I walk the plank,
or point the sword at foggy back,
the Sunday thermos, brandy flask,
perhaps the man from revenue.
Then ludo calls, so homeward snail;
Creek held for hours of fantasy,
for fun and frequency, The Rec.
OVERFLOWING
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
She opens up the bathroom window, stares out at the ocean that has swallowed up her lover. She misses him and wonders if the mermaids clasp him to them and will never let him go. Her heart is overflowing with a grief that has no end. She turns the tap to hot and lays down in the bathtub. Soon her tears will join the water that will be her final bed. The bathtub overflows and carries mourning out the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door. She floats out to the ocean, joining all who died before her. By the time her family comes home, she’ll be gone.
Death cannot conquer true love.
Always two entwined in seaweed,
always one.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
She opens up the bathroom window, stares out at the ocean that has swallowed up her lover. She misses him and wonders if the mermaids clasp him to them and will never let him go. Her heart is overflowing with a grief that has no end. She turns the tap to hot and lays down in the bathtub. Soon her tears will join the water that will be her final bed. The bathtub overflows and carries mourning out the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door. She floats out to the ocean, joining all who died before her. By the time her family comes home, she’ll be gone.
Death cannot conquer true love.
Always two entwined in seaweed,
always one.
IN THE BOAT
—Devyanshi Neupane, Age 5,
Melbourne, Australia
I like to cross the
River by boat.
And, see the river and
Where shiny sand lies.
—Devyanshi Neupane, Age 5,
Melbourne, Australia
I like to cross the
River by boat.
And, see the river and
Where shiny sand lies.
LOST AND FOUND
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
(Highway Robbery)
I lost my ship! Did anyone happen
to see it around here?
It was supposed to stay in the bottle,
not race off full throttle
though I admire its thirst for freedom
if it misses roll call, I don’t need ‘em
it’s my compulsive-elusive disorder
can’t find either side of the border
failed sewing class, couldn’t learn
the ups and downs of following a pattern
at least I have my crayon and sharpener
will create a new ship, like Noah the carpenter
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
(Highway Robbery)
I lost my ship! Did anyone happen
to see it around here?
It was supposed to stay in the bottle,
not race off full throttle
though I admire its thirst for freedom
if it misses roll call, I don’t need ‘em
it’s my compulsive-elusive disorder
can’t find either side of the border
failed sewing class, couldn’t learn
the ups and downs of following a pattern
at least I have my crayon and sharpener
will create a new ship, like Noah the carpenter
ALL ABOUT MONEY
—Caschwa
(when I was a toddler, I watched
while right across the street a new
freeway was being constructed)
too much traffic on surface
streets, we need a freeway;
the land is already taken so
we condemn some homes,
evict all the occupants
like they don’t matter,
send them to the landfill
they tax everyone to pay
for this expensive endeavor
even from those who don’t
drive, meanwhile the super
freeway enables more
paying customers to
visit local businesses
* * *
crime everywhere
laws everywhere
money to enforce
all those laws is
simply not there
high-paid lawmakers all
take luxury vacations
when it comes time
to ante up some funds
leaving us with whole
libraries of law books
that specify consequences
for not observing laws,
which are put on hold
waiting for more funds
to magically appear
not nearly enough funds:
to catch all those criminals
to prosecute all those criminals
to convict all those criminals
to house all those convicts
to amend laws that weren’t working
still plenty of funds:
for high-paid lawmakers to take luxury vacations
UNCLAIMED MAIL DEPT.
—Caschwa
(Overwhelmed)
important letters and packages
forever separated from the tears
that were shed to send them
now just lost in the rubble
each bearing sufficient postage
but lacking a compass for direction
might just be a typo, or a smear
all cry out Not Guilty to no avail
sentenced to spend the rest of their
days stashed away sharing some
nondescript, windowless room
with others who tell the same story
—Caschwa
(Overwhelmed)
important letters and packages
forever separated from the tears
that were shed to send them
now just lost in the rubble
each bearing sufficient postage
but lacking a compass for direction
might just be a typo, or a smear
all cry out Not Guilty to no avail
sentenced to spend the rest of their
days stashed away sharing some
nondescript, windowless room
with others who tell the same story
RISK OF EXHAUSTION
—Caschwa
lately on Cable TV there have been ads
to address the predicament that arises
when a man’s penis won’t arise
studies were conducted to determine
just how many insertions per hour it
would take to lead to that condition
as a public service, many departments
of transportation have generously posted
the findings of that study for all to see
the coding on these signs following the
number of insertions is MPH, which
stands for “My Penis Hurts”
15 MPH means slow down, guy
25 MPH means take it easy
45 MPH means don’t overdo it
65 MPH means have some helpers ready
THE MONSOON
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
If summer comes
And rain is still
Falling on the
Still-wet hill,
Our river will
Run stronger
Than the year before.
If rain still falls
Come June or more
Our river may well
Overflow its shores
And flood our farms and floors,
When rain comes
More and more,
As in years before.
Who are we to say “No!”?
This is the way
That water goes
Back into the ocean,
But not before
It leaves another loam
Of silt upon our homes
And fields and floors.
This is our life by the river—
At the mercy of over-pours
The way it roars down from the mountains
And floods our farms and floors,
Fertile with new silt
Each Spring,
New soil to help us with our farming,
But summer flooding
Brings misery—
If summer comes
And rain is still
Falling on the
Still-wet hill
Our river may
Wash all
Our work away.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
I LOST 15 POUNDS
—Caschwa
and then I found her
resting under a pillow
ready to lick me
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to today’s contributors for dealing with, among other subjects, our Seed of the Week: Overflowing, on this St. Patrick's Day, 2025.
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
If summer comes
And rain is still
Falling on the
Still-wet hill,
Our river will
Run stronger
Than the year before.
If rain still falls
Come June or more
Our river may well
Overflow its shores
And flood our farms and floors,
When rain comes
More and more,
As in years before.
Who are we to say “No!”?
This is the way
That water goes
Back into the ocean,
But not before
It leaves another loam
Of silt upon our homes
And fields and floors.
This is our life by the river—
At the mercy of over-pours
The way it roars down from the mountains
And floods our farms and floors,
Fertile with new silt
Each Spring,
New soil to help us with our farming,
But summer flooding
Brings misery—
If summer comes
And rain is still
Falling on the
Still-wet hill
Our river may
Wash all
Our work away.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
I LOST 15 POUNDS
—Caschwa
and then I found her
resting under a pillow
ready to lick me
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to today’s contributors for dealing with, among other subjects, our Seed of the Week: Overflowing, on this St. Patrick's Day, 2025.
A reminder that
Poetry in Motion meets today
in Placerville; and
Sacramento Poetry Center welcomes
Poetry Out Loud Finalists
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!
Poetry in Motion meets today
in Placerville; and
Sacramento Poetry Center welcomes
Poetry Out Loud Finalists
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!
crossing the river~
