—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
CREPUSCULAR REVELATION
Chasing fireflies
three days after
school promotion,
running, grasping, catching
releasing.
Eventually winded,
we sit
on the large rocks
next to Penelope Creek.
You snuggle next to me
and pull my face to yours
and kiss me hard on the lips.
I pull away.
You try again.
I push you away.
You grow angry and punch my arm.
“There are many boys
who will want to kiss me.”
Now, four years later,
you are correct.
Chasing fireflies
three days after
school promotion,
running, grasping, catching
releasing.
Eventually winded,
we sit
on the large rocks
next to Penelope Creek.
You snuggle next to me
and pull my face to yours
and kiss me hard on the lips.
I pull away.
You try again.
I push you away.
You grow angry and punch my arm.
“There are many boys
who will want to kiss me.”
Now, four years later,
you are correct.
ETHEREAL ELEMENTAL EYES
She can see the blue in breath
and discover the depth
of cold tint in lies
or the azure of ocean truth.
Her vision sees the kind blush heart
as well as the currant-cold heart.
These eyes can discern
the slightest tangerine touch
and immediately process
if it is Carob caring
or mauve malevolence.
Her intense palette eyes
can accurately paint a portrait
within several seconds of contact.
TOKEN INQUIRIES
Rumor and gossip follow you
like a frightened novice detective.
Slurred speech forms your portrait
in the style of some second-rate
pointillistic paint splatter.
In the late evenings,
mongrel dogs avoid
your side of the street.
Any suspicious activities
limp across to rest on your door steps.
When called to appear before the authorities,
you arrive in a custom-made black striped suit,
a wearing a black Fedora
and a gold-handled oak cane
with a young woman clutching your arm
who is so attractive
that the building secretaries gasp
at her slender figure
complete with long strawberry-blonde hair
and buttermilk skin.
Her demeanor totally convinces everyone of your guilt
but garners nothing more than humbled apologies
for the intricate inconvenience.
Rumor and gossip follow you
like a frightened novice detective.
Slurred speech forms your portrait
in the style of some second-rate
pointillistic paint splatter.
In the late evenings,
mongrel dogs avoid
your side of the street.
Any suspicious activities
limp across to rest on your door steps.
When called to appear before the authorities,
you arrive in a custom-made black striped suit,
a wearing a black Fedora
and a gold-handled oak cane
with a young woman clutching your arm
who is so attractive
that the building secretaries gasp
at her slender figure
complete with long strawberry-blonde hair
and buttermilk skin.
Her demeanor totally convinces everyone of your guilt
but garners nothing more than humbled apologies
for the intricate inconvenience.
GATHERING MOMENTUM
I slowly lower myself down under this oak tree.
No spreading broom tree, baked bread,
jug of water or angel urging me on.
Like Hemingway’s ‘Santiago’
I have gone way too far.
There is no way I can make it back.
It “goeth before the fall.”
Spontaneity,
I try and convince myself.
There is a town five miles up the road.
It’s my only real chance.
“No cell service” I’ll explain.
“What were you thinking?”
“I wanted to see the cabin where I was born.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“There’s a part of my soul there.”
“What are you mumbling about?”
I lean against the tree to try and get up.
The rest has done nothing but allow
my already aching legs to stiffen.
I’m pretty sure I don’t have five miles in me
but I’ve been wrong before.
I slowly lower myself down under this oak tree.
No spreading broom tree, baked bread,
jug of water or angel urging me on.
Like Hemingway’s ‘Santiago’
I have gone way too far.
There is no way I can make it back.
It “goeth before the fall.”
Spontaneity,
I try and convince myself.
There is a town five miles up the road.
It’s my only real chance.
“No cell service” I’ll explain.
“What were you thinking?”
“I wanted to see the cabin where I was born.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“There’s a part of my soul there.”
“What are you mumbling about?”
I lean against the tree to try and get up.
The rest has done nothing but allow
my already aching legs to stiffen.
I’m pretty sure I don’t have five miles in me
but I’ve been wrong before.
THE NORTH FORTY
I am heading into the forest
with the Brittany and a fishing pole.
The destination is Patterson Creek
where the speckled trout glide
through the tree-shadowed water.
The Brittany is like a drunk on Saturday night
sniffing here and there in a zig zag pattern.
It is mid-summer and the forest is cool and green.
The strong vegetation smell hangs in the air—
an aroma of comfort.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Last year I went fishing with Salvador Dali. He was using a dotted line. He caught every other fish.
—Steven Wright
____________________
—Medusas, with thanks to R. Gerry Fabian for today’s fine poetry!
I am heading into the forest
with the Brittany and a fishing pole.
The destination is Patterson Creek
where the speckled trout glide
through the tree-shadowed water.
The Brittany is like a drunk on Saturday night
sniffing here and there in a zig zag pattern.
It is mid-summer and the forest is cool and green.
The strong vegetation smell hangs in the air—
an aroma of comfort.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Last year I went fishing with Salvador Dali. He was using a dotted line. He caught every other fish.
—Steven Wright
____________________
—Medusas, with thanks to R. Gerry Fabian for today’s fine poetry!
A reminder that
Poetry in Parks meets at the
Empire Mine State Park
in Grass Valley today, 1pm;
Drunk Poetry w/Andru Defeye
takes place today at noon
at the Press Club in Sacramento;
and Sac. Poetry Center
features the release of
Tule Review and
New Rivers Quarterly
tonight, 6pm.
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!
Drunk Poetry w/Andru Defeye
takes place today at noon
at the Press Club in Sacramento;
and Sac. Poetry Center
features the release of
Tule Review and
New Rivers Quarterly
tonight, 6pm.
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!
