Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers' Friday, with poetry by
Lynn White, Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Claire J. Baker,
and Caschwa
FAIRYTALE?
Once upon a time—this sign, hung
on a classroom door: Everyone
Welcome! with hand prints in human
colors—is it a hoax?
COUNTING
Ten more days, you say, until our world
goes to pieces. How many pieces?
There won’t be anyone left to count,
you say. So we’re done with math problems?
Ten more days, you say, until our world
goes to pieces. How many pieces?
There won’t be anyone left to count,
you say. So we’re done with math problems?
SPILLED PAINT
Here in the industrial park it’s all
business, precision, hurry. Someone has
spilled yellow paint on pavement. But to me
it looks like a dog running—flying trot,
we call it. Head up, but turned back, looking
over its shoulder, it recalls my dogs
from years ago. Roxy in wilderness,
looking back to make sure I’m following.
Taco on search, suddenly catching wind
of his quarry, as if pulling him, head
high, in a different direction. Or
my live dog Otis, who loves an airborne
circle-dance around me. But we’re walking
Merchandise Way. Someone has simply
spilled quite a quantity of yellow paint.
Here in the industrial park it’s all
business, precision, hurry. Someone has
spilled yellow paint on pavement. But to me
it looks like a dog running—flying trot,
we call it. Head up, but turned back, looking
over its shoulder, it recalls my dogs
from years ago. Roxy in wilderness,
looking back to make sure I’m following.
Taco on search, suddenly catching wind
of his quarry, as if pulling him, head
high, in a different direction. Or
my live dog Otis, who loves an airborne
circle-dance around me. But we’re walking
Merchandise Way. Someone has simply
spilled quite a quantity of yellow paint.
OTIS THE HUNTER, AT HOME
He sees prey to chase
in every tree and that black
critter skittering
across linoleum—his
own lighter-than-air shed hair.
He sees prey to chase
in every tree and that black
critter skittering
across linoleum—his
own lighter-than-air shed hair.
EXTRAVAGANT IN FIRE SEASON
O Vicia villosa, royal purple sprays of tiny flowers on twining tendrils, you rule the east pasture. I honor and dread you. Super forage for livestock, but we don’t have sheep. Nitrogen-fixer, fertilizing soil so everything grows taller, stronger, denser. Wild oats as high as my chest with understory of clover—o purple vetch, your intricate green lacework weaves everything together—oats, foxtail, brome, thistle—to wind a wreath that clogs my Stihl’s trimmer-head. You make of pasture a jungle—lush, green, studded with purple flowers that bees can’t resist. All this green ready to turn brittle, flammable.
O vetch, what to do
but love you, and mow you down?
O Vicia villosa, royal purple sprays of tiny flowers on twining tendrils, you rule the east pasture. I honor and dread you. Super forage for livestock, but we don’t have sheep. Nitrogen-fixer, fertilizing soil so everything grows taller, stronger, denser. Wild oats as high as my chest with understory of clover—o purple vetch, your intricate green lacework weaves everything together—oats, foxtail, brome, thistle—to wind a wreath that clogs my Stihl’s trimmer-head. You make of pasture a jungle—lush, green, studded with purple flowers that bees can’t resist. All this green ready to turn brittle, flammable.
O vetch, what to do
but love you, and mow you down?
A MAY DAY HIKE
Glimpsed thru the trees, a glimmer—
no, it’s flaming yellow as a torch,
Scotch broom. If we could get rid of it,
we’d all sign the petition, but
there’s zero chance of that. I keep on
walking till the trail drops
into the creek’s dark corner, and
I’m trudging thru sog & sludge,
smudging my spring shoes—
this is my portion for counting on
the luck of dry trails. But
who cares about wet feet? And here
are the first white stars of black-
berry blossom, with their summer
promise of fingers stained with sweet.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
DON’T DO’T
—Taylor Graham
Dog digs deep dirt. Dry drudgery
disperses dust, darkens directions.
Don’t dare drive down dropoff!
______________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham today—and Otis, of course— or arbingers of spring and summer! Forms she has used this week include some Normative Syllabics (“Counting”); a Ryūka (“Fairytale?”); some Blank Verse (“Spilled Paint”); a Word-Can Poem (“A May Day Hike”); a Haibun that is also an Ode, as well as a Response to our latest Seed of the Week, So Extravagant! (“Extravagant in Fire Season”); a Tanka (“Otis the Hunter, at Home”); and a Tautogram (“Don't Do’t”).
In El Dorado County poetry this week, Poetic License meets in Placerville this Monday, 10:30am, and El Dorado County’s other regular workshops are listed on Medusa’s calendar (if you scroll down on http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html/). For more news about such events and about EDC poetry—past (photos!) and future—see Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado Poetry on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry. Or see Lara Gularte’s Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. And you can always click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html). Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Glimpsed thru the trees, a glimmer—
no, it’s flaming yellow as a torch,
Scotch broom. If we could get rid of it,
we’d all sign the petition, but
there’s zero chance of that. I keep on
walking till the trail drops
into the creek’s dark corner, and
I’m trudging thru sog & sludge,
smudging my spring shoes—
this is my portion for counting on
the luck of dry trails. But
who cares about wet feet? And here
are the first white stars of black-
berry blossom, with their summer
promise of fingers stained with sweet.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
DON’T DO’T
—Taylor Graham
Dog digs deep dirt. Dry drudgery
disperses dust, darkens directions.
Don’t dare drive down dropoff!
______________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham today—and Otis, of course— or arbingers of spring and summer! Forms she has used this week include some Normative Syllabics (“Counting”); a Ryūka (“Fairytale?”); some Blank Verse (“Spilled Paint”); a Word-Can Poem (“A May Day Hike”); a Haibun that is also an Ode, as well as a Response to our latest Seed of the Week, So Extravagant! (“Extravagant in Fire Season”); a Tanka (“Otis the Hunter, at Home”); and a Tautogram (“Don't Do’t”).
In El Dorado County poetry this week, Poetic License meets in Placerville this Monday, 10:30am, and El Dorado County’s other regular workshops are listed on Medusa’s calendar (if you scroll down on http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html/). For more news about such events and about EDC poetry—past (photos!) and future—see Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado Poetry on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry. Or see Lara Gularte’s Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. And you can always click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html). Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Check out our recently-refurbed page at the top of Medusa’s Kitchen called, “FORMS! OMG!!!” which expresses some of my (take ‘em or leave 'em) opinions about the use of forms in poetry writing, as well as listing some more resources to help you navigate through Form Quicksand and other ways of poetry. Got any more resources to add to our list? Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com for the benefit of all man/woman/poetkind!
* * *
Last Week’s Ekphrastic Photo
Poets who sent responses to last week’s Ekphrastic photo were Lynn White, Nolcha Fox, and Stephen Kingsnorth:
BUTTONS
—Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
—Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
I loved playing with the buttons
in Grandma Kirk’s button box.
She wasn’t my real grandma
but mum’s friend
who had a Fish and Chip Shop
and make pegged rag rugs
cut from strips of old clothes.
We had several.
She gave them to friends like us.
I loved to play with the bright buttons
carefully cut
from everyone’s old clothes.
When she died
I inherited her button box.
* * *
BUTTON BOX
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
My box is full
of mismatched dreams
I’ll never sew together.
No fastener will
button up my hours
that scream of empty.
I don’t care a button if
this box goes in the trash.
It’s one less wonder
why I save the things
that do not matter.
* * *
ALL BUTTONED UP?
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
A disk slipped through, beyond its slit
to hold fast, one, within a line?
That is a button in a hole—
a hole in one if baize or green—
though any size or colour, tone.
so varied in material.
With pin holes through the central space—
the home for needle pulling thread—
to bind that button to its cloth;
thus meeting place for pairing slot,
like toggle in a binding case,
once male or female, unisex.
Discoveries, long-lasting types,
effective in simplicity,
remain the winners of such race
to dress folk best for function, grace,
so trace our linked-up history
beyond old wearing arguments.
Before I left home in my teens
one lesson taught that I recall,
to sew a button on my shirt;
like riding bike that’s not forgot—
less so with mushroom darning socks,
or ironing resultant foot.
With gilt for buttons down his front,
in Cinderella panto cast,
a hero, unrequited here,
unnoticed figure, storyline,
for granted taken, yet designed,
just as that front line oft forgot.
Beyond the shirt, its pocket, cuff,
the suit has taken wedding rôle,
for bloom exemplifying groom,
a flower in lapel adorned.
No ifs or buts, the buttonhole
has made its mark, sartorial.
Or button, press, to summons lift—
an elevator, belt as braced—
so wasted when a waisted call;
depressing that of no reward
in fight against the overflow—
try chocolate buttons, my response.
But buttons paid, for more worthwhile,
reluctant, self-censored in speech,
the baby mouth in rosebud pout,
or abacus in mounting beads;
these buttons are ubiquitous,
So count them as due reverence.
* * *
Claire Baker sent us an Ekphrastic poem based on our recent photo of coffee and sweets. Thanks, Claire!
Medusa’s Ekphrastic photo challenge, April 27
HEY!
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
I’m the one who took
a very neat-like snack
from the pure white apple—
first thing I see on my Mac.
And I came sneaking back
to take a chomp of an Ekphrastic.
Medusa had dreamed up a
powdered donut that tempted
beside a coffee urn. I reeled plastic
with guilt and hated my hunger.
Thus I confess I was baited
into cravings, truly quite drastic.
I’m 97. When will I learn?
* * *
A Dua is a two-line poem with a space between them. It can also be written by two poets. A poet named Ai Li invented the form. Here are some Duas that were sent to us by Michael Brownstein:
Clouds shattered the evening sky
rain shouldered the world's pain
***
the simple walk from here to there
a deer and a puppy straggle downtown
***
leaves color the yard
let the snow in
***
somewhere a blanket
comforts a homeless woman
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO
* * *
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has been very prolific again this week! Here are two HexSonnettas from him, the second using, he says, “the other meaning of hex”. The HexSonnetta was one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges:
rain shouldered the world's pain
***
the simple walk from here to there
a deer and a puppy straggle downtown
***
leaves color the yard
let the snow in
***
somewhere a blanket
comforts a homeless woman
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO
* * *
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has been very prolific again this week! Here are two HexSonnettas from him, the second using, he says, “the other meaning of hex”. The HexSonnetta was one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges:
MAYBE SOON
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
Was foggy all the day
I needed something strong
to barely get along
to have some kind of sway
where nothing’s in my way
to sound like merry song
the bar keep served me beer
which wasn’t strong enough
to offset creepy stuff
arising from my fear
allowing not one tear
bad air one cannot puff
a mood that rules itself
despite booze still on shelf
* * *
ON SECOND THOUGHT
—Caschwa
We vote for what we want
Or do we just give in?
Mistakes are not a sin
Perhaps just change the font
Some words appear to taunt
Create too much chagrin
We need our tax reduced
Such talk goes round and round
and never trickles down
to give us any boost
now royals take the roost
for freedom we’re not bound
our independence lost
at such a bloody cost
* * *
Carl also sent a Chōka, a Japanese 5-7-5 (etc.) form of “variable length”. The Chōka was our other Triple-F Challenge last week:
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
Was foggy all the day
I needed something strong
to barely get along
to have some kind of sway
where nothing’s in my way
to sound like merry song
the bar keep served me beer
which wasn’t strong enough
to offset creepy stuff
arising from my fear
allowing not one tear
bad air one cannot puff
a mood that rules itself
despite booze still on shelf
* * *
ON SECOND THOUGHT
—Caschwa
We vote for what we want
Or do we just give in?
Mistakes are not a sin
Perhaps just change the font
Some words appear to taunt
Create too much chagrin
We need our tax reduced
Such talk goes round and round
and never trickles down
to give us any boost
now royals take the roost
for freedom we’re not bound
our independence lost
at such a bloody cost
* * *
Carl also sent a Chōka, a Japanese 5-7-5 (etc.) form of “variable length”. The Chōka was our other Triple-F Challenge last week:
PLEASE SIT DOWN
—Caschwa
Please come in, children
take your shoes off and sit down
today we will tell
some stories about big walls
some are barriers
built to keep people apart
separate bedrooms
walk-in freezer compartments
all those prison cells
and gated communities
walls painted with lead
that needed to be replaced
but then there are walls
much more friendly than fences
that keep heat inside
when it’s frigid cold outside
that hold up paintings
and art for all to enjoy
and walls around beds
that we adorned by ourselves
now please get up and
put your shoes back on your feet
and visit some walls
stop and thank them for standing
taller than we are
so we can go about our
affairs more freely
* * *
A Haiku Chain from Carl:
NOT MEANT TO RHYME
—Caschwa
would I still be a
free spirit if my folks had
named me Metaphor?
***
We’ll need to meet and
talk in order to convey
a message of peace
***
ship makers know how
to raise aircraft carriers
up out of dry dock
perhaps they also
know how to lift our spirits
we need help with that
***
what is for dinner
that wasn’t left over from
earlier attempts?
***
four hours a day
minimum practice time for
all brass wind players
one minute a day
maximum attention span
for everyone else
***
neighbor’s devices
listened to our private talks
all day and all night
intellectual
property was not involved
but we felt injured
* * *
Carl has been having fun with Nonces recently. In this poem, the first 4 stanzas are Haiku, and then it segues into a HexSonnetta:
—Caschwa
would I still be a
free spirit if my folks had
named me Metaphor?
***
We’ll need to meet and
talk in order to convey
a message of peace
***
ship makers know how
to raise aircraft carriers
up out of dry dock
perhaps they also
know how to lift our spirits
we need help with that
***
what is for dinner
that wasn’t left over from
earlier attempts?
***
four hours a day
minimum practice time for
all brass wind players
one minute a day
maximum attention span
for everyone else
***
neighbor’s devices
listened to our private talks
all day and all night
intellectual
property was not involved
but we felt injured
* * *
Carl has been having fun with Nonces recently. In this poem, the first 4 stanzas are Haiku, and then it segues into a HexSonnetta:
SEGUE
—Caschwa
There are people who
count the digits on other
people’s hands and feet
The stars and stripes that
appear on flags, federal
state, and all else, too
coins in their pocket
balance at the bank, number
of patrons in line
waiting for their cash
to be counted out to them
then discretely hid
not hard to see if one
is wearing counting shoes
there are some easy clues
if open-toed in sun
just count toes like it’s fun
it is, so just amuse
perhaps you’d rather count
the stars that shine above
and set the mood for love
atop the highest mount
while moistened by the fount
beside a cooing dove
whatever, it’s your choice
just ease back and rejoice
* * *
This last poem of Carl’s is another Nonce; this one is 4 stanzas of 7 lines: 6/5/6/5/6/5/8 syllables with rhyme scheme: x/a/x/a/x/a/A, x/b/x/b/x/b/A, x/c/x/c/x/c/A. x/d/x/d/x/d/A:
—Caschwa
There are people who
count the digits on other
people’s hands and feet
The stars and stripes that
appear on flags, federal
state, and all else, too
coins in their pocket
balance at the bank, number
of patrons in line
waiting for their cash
to be counted out to them
then discretely hid
not hard to see if one
is wearing counting shoes
there are some easy clues
if open-toed in sun
just count toes like it’s fun
it is, so just amuse
perhaps you’d rather count
the stars that shine above
and set the mood for love
atop the highest mount
while moistened by the fount
beside a cooing dove
whatever, it’s your choice
just ease back and rejoice
* * *
This last poem of Carl’s is another Nonce; this one is 4 stanzas of 7 lines: 6/5/6/5/6/5/8 syllables with rhyme scheme: x/a/x/a/x/a/A, x/b/x/b/x/b/A, x/c/x/c/x/c/A. x/d/x/d/x/d/A:
ALL’S FINE
—Caschwa
Sitting at my desktop
bright thoughts, none dimmer
Mama’s in the kitchen
heat milk, then simmer
rooftop in the sunlight
shiny birds glimmer
Everybody’s doing just fine
Working on poetry
more than a few flaws
Mama’s still there heating
not yet time to pause
birds change their positions
likely just because
Everybody’s doing just fine
Browse through the Thesaurus
to find better words
changes in the kitchen
time to add the curds
sudden hint of danger
startles all the birds
Everybody’s doing just fine
Form now fits my verses
all is in order
flawless curds, no curses
do not stroll toward her
the flock reimburses
lineup at border
Everybody’s doing just fine
—Caschwa
Sitting at my desktop
bright thoughts, none dimmer
Mama’s in the kitchen
heat milk, then simmer
rooftop in the sunlight
shiny birds glimmer
Everybody’s doing just fine
Working on poetry
more than a few flaws
Mama’s still there heating
not yet time to pause
birds change their positions
likely just because
Everybody’s doing just fine
Browse through the Thesaurus
to find better words
changes in the kitchen
time to add the curds
sudden hint of danger
startles all the birds
Everybody’s doing just fine
Form now fits my verses
all is in order
flawless curds, no curses
do not stroll toward her
the flock reimburses
lineup at border
Everybody’s doing just fine
__________________
Many thanks to today’s writers for their lively contributions! Wouldn’t you like to join them? All you have to do is send poetry—forms or not—and/or photos and artwork to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
__________________
TRIPLE-F CHALLENGES!
Many thanks to today’s writers for their lively contributions! Wouldn’t you like to join them? All you have to do is send poetry—forms or not—and/or photos and artwork to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
__________________
TRIPLE-F CHALLENGES!
See what you can make of these challenges, and send your results to kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.) How about a brain-busting Triquain? Actually, it’s not as complicated as it looks; it’s really only 3/6/9/12/9/6/3. Everything else is just frosting:
•••Triquain: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/triquain.html
•••AND/OR: a Dua, following the examples sent today by Michael Brownstein:
•••Dua (devised by Ai Li): a two-line poems with two spaces between each line, no periods and no titles
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “What a Mess!”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Blank Verse: literarydevices.net/blank-verse AND/OR www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-the-difference-between-blank-verse-and-free-verse#quiz-0
•••Chōka: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/choka AND/OR https://girlgriot.wordpress.com/tag/choka
•••Dua (devised by Ai Li): a two-line poems with two spaces between each line, no periods and no titles
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Haiku: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku AND/OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••HexSonnetta: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/hexsonnetta.html
•••Nonce Poetry Forms: www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/nonce-forms-what-they-are-and-how-to-write-them
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse AND/OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Ode: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ode
•••Response Poem: creativetalentsunleashed.com/2015/11/18/writing-tip-response-poems
•••Tanka: poets.org/glossary/tanka
•••Tautogram: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/tautogram-poetic-forms
•••Triquain: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/triquain.html
•••Tuesday Seed of the Week: a prompt listed in Medusa’s Kitchen every Tuesday; poems may be any shape or size, form or no form. No deadlines; past ones are listed at http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/calliopes-closet.html/. Send results to kathykieth#hotmail.com/.
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them
__________________
—Medusa
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
For info about
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
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of the blue column on the right
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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!
