Turning the Page

Dream in Color
* * *

—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Visuals by Joyce Odam

 

 

ABOUT THE WEATHER
—Robin Gale Odam

I didn’t know what to say,
so I told you the morning was
lovely—pale sky, incessant drone
of distant plane, treetop full of
tiny buds threatening to bloom—
although I felt your chill, I could
always say something about
the weather.

                    
(prev. pub. in Brevities, January 2014;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/4/23) 

 

 

 

In The Dark

 

BABBLE
—Joyce Odam
After Conversation by Morris Davison

How charmingly they swirl together
in abstract value, never quite defined,   
seldom understood, word through word—  

gesturing and shifting, meanings losing context,
thoughts losing their places, as plane after plane
of conversation takes yet another direction.

How cleverly they change the value
of light and shadow
as if being rendered into an impression

by some impassioned artist
measuring the complicated din
of his listening—

all of them talking
or none of them talking at once—
letting a gap of silence in

then rushing through it once again—
becoming a blur of exemplified meaning
which has no meaning other than its sound.

                                               
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/17/11) 

 

 

 

Halo

 

FROM DIN TO QUIET MUSIC
—Joyce Odam

I would be one with this loneliness
here in this center
which can go each way

here where all things coexist
the light flaring down
and the darkness filling

I want to be the light as it disperses
and be the shadow touched
by the dispersing light

I want to be the stillness
that watches this
I want to be the motion that results

Here is a sleeping bird with a silver wing
and a wing of dark. I want to fall asleep
in its eye and be where it is—

alive and alone
in this perfect center
to be no threat and have no foe

and I want to take in a long deep breath
and let out a quiet sigh, the way I do
when I turn from din to quiet music.
                                              

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/8/19) 

 

 

 

In My Shadow

HOW DOES THAT SORROW GO

—Joyce Odam

Loud and thin.
An imaginary violin.
A silent cry
out of some resounding din.

Well, yes, and well, no.
One of us is wrong.
One of us is remembering
the wrong song.
One of us will be up
all night long.

Why buy more tears. We cried
long ago, and the tears dried.
We forgave and were forgiven,
and still love died.
We took its little life and said,
Oh well, we tried.

 
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/6/10; 11/21/17)

 

 

 

Whose Garden Is This?

 

INSOMNIA XLIII
—Robin Gale Odam

If I should sleep I would
cry myself awake

I move through the house,
through an artifice of thin light from
window glass, into a darkened room

Incense and books    a waver of
candle light    the old straight-back
wooden chair    the weathered sketch-
pad    the vase of colored pencils

I select orange

              
(prev. pub. in Brevities, June 2020;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/21/24)

 

 

 

 On The Water

 

OCTAVE FOR A GRAIN OF SAND
—Joyce Odam

I was held
as still as a killed
flower in a hand.

I trembled into the vastness of eyes,
but that was when
I was young and old
and taken by surprise to be alive.

When I discovered
I was made of glass
because the mirror
held me thus and so for my own stare,
I knew I could be broken.

Even so,
I shook my petals endlessly
and felt the quivering in the stem
and felt the perfume go.

I used to dance
to feel my body know its music
and its self,
and I was strung to sound
like string to minding-dolls.

How many times
I longed for hands to measure me for love . . .
but what I touched
is strange and wrong
and not remembered anyway . . .

oh well—
I never thought I’d last this long.
I put my moments
in the time-shaped jar
and felt the emptiness
fill up around me
like a death.



But that was when
I loved myself too well.
I fell toward the water when
                                          
the sea pulled free
and I became
the endlessness of me,
feeling my roots pull backward
towards earth.


(prev. pub. in Epos, 1977;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/20/16)

 

 

 

The Brink of Curiosity

GOD, IN HIS WANTING— 

—Joyce Odam
After Rumi (“to form one pearl”)

unknown myth of being, what is he?
impenetrate mind—
blesséd heart and soul, what is he…

if he is insentient,
if he is neither kind nor cruel,
but just there, in the perception…

if there is nothing.
if there is all,
how does one prove the difference…

knowing is the same
as unknowing,
each absolute, each wondering…

faith—
that abstract word
without elaboration…

god of
miraculous response
or fathomless disregard…

of what is belief comprised?
of fear?    of dread?
connected to the great what if…

only the mind,
against, or with,
the mind of the unanswerable…

   
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/26/17)

 

 

 

The Envious Mind

 

NASCENT

—Joyce Odam

I want to be one
with this loneliness—
here in this center which can go
each way—here where all things coexist,
the light flaring down and the darkness filling.

I want to be the light as it disperses,
and to be the shadow that is touched
by the dispersing light; I want to
be the stillness that watches this;
I want to be the motion that results.  

Oh, here is a sleeping bird with a silver wing
and a wing of dark. I want to fall asleep
in its eye and be where it is—
alive and alone in this
perfect center.

I want to be no threat and have no foe.
I want to take in a long, deep breath
and let out a quiet sigh—the
way I do when I turn from
din to quiet music.

   
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/31/22) 

 

 

 

The Intentions of Dreams

THE TIMELESS SUMMER
—Joyce Odam

As the red crest rises, I live on beyond it: my other
life—the one not taken by the red dream—or any
other death, avoided.

(That my cry of warning went unheeded in the
dream is a small detail, wondered about . . . )

As the red crest rises, I wait in the interminable,
slow-motioned wait a dream takes to realize it is
a dream and I needn’t fear it.

(That I went strangely terrified toward the town
with its unheeding people is still a guilt of failure;
they looked at me as if I was only dreaming . . . )

As the red crest rises, it becomes a red cowl—
unbreaking, but curving ever higher—over the
shore-front shops and narrow boardwalks and the
indifferent people.

(That I still bear the weight of that terror is part
of the old distance—the sea was Kelly-Red—
rendered into a permanent dream that I once
dreamed and still can feel : the ultimate crashing
and my urge of warning . . . )


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/31/22) 

 

 

 

  Well-Rehearsed

 

SCRIBBLE
—Robin Gale Odam

above a thunderous rinse cycle
in the laundry room

over the din of commercials pleading
inside the television

a short distance from breakfast in peril
on the stove

the fracture of poetry

                             
(prev. pub. in Brevities, June 2020;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/21/24) 

 

 

 

About Virtue

 

SERMON
—Joyce Odam

a mute in the land of silence
a sage in the land of praise
a singer in a field of song birds
a gossip amid rumorous bell-ringing . . .

these are the tellers of what we ask
these are the tellers of what we answer
these are the voices and non-voices of all
the babble with which the world is filling . . .

oh, go to the mute for silence
go to the sage for opinion
go to one who is hushed by birds
and let the old bells keep ringing . . .


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/22/13; 7/17/18;
7/9/19) 

 

 

 

Eureka

  

 

Today’s LittleNip:

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING CALM
—Joyce Odam

You don’t do anything about it.
You do everything in the same pattern
play the radio
get the news and the weather
numb-off for the commercials
fill up the silence with din
so you can think . . .

It doesn’t matter
accept everything the way it is
there isn’t anything to solve
or make better
it is already written the way
it is going to be.
Just turn the page.

___________________

Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam have dealt with our Tuesday Seed of the Week with their usual deft hands today, and we thank them, as always, for their fine craftsmanship. Robin writes: “Joyce's ‘From Din to Quiet Music’ and ‘Nascent’ are identical twins, same DNA, different names, and just enough difference for each to stand alone . . . “ We can live with that. If it’s worth saying once, it’s worth . . . well, you know . . .

Our new Seed of the Week is “Birds of a Feather”. Is this about politics? Business? (S)crappy families? Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from. And see every Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry form challenges, including those of the Ekphrastic type.

And be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.

___________________

—Medusa

 

“unbreaking, but curving ever higher”

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Twin Lotus Thai in Sacramento
features Lawrence Dinkins, Cloudy,
and Patrick Grizzell tonight, 6pm,
with reservations stronger advised.
For into 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 at 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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every-Day Bedlam

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
* * *
—Poetry by Nolcha Rox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Joe Nolan, and Claire J. Baker
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan and Medusa

 

 

BEDLAM
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

The birds are screaming
as they fly, espying glitter
of the fishy’s scales.

The stream is muttering,
stuttering over rocks
that block its way.

The deer are grunting
as they’re hunting
for a flower feast.

Rain is plunking,
gossiping about
the things they’ll hit.

I am leaving, grieving.
All I want is quiet,
not the bedlam of the day.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa

BEDLAM
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

That Bedlam born from Bethlehem,
named hospital for the insane—
at least those thought out of their mind;
not so spectators at this zoo,
who paid their fee, poke fun and face,
for out of mind, eye, not required.

Confusion is the theme rehearsed,
mad mix, emotions, norms revoked,
delighted laughter of thought sane.
Here is a meeting of the minds—
authorities of powerful, rich,
to keep not understood at bay.

It measures our society,
as how we treat our mental ill—
at stake, are we community,
the family of human, kind,
for selfless proves a selfish gene,
as said, to be or not to be?

Some hum and hover, bedlam’s site,
a swirling air as clouds descend
with squadrons screeching cross the sky;
in buzz reply some wasp pursuit,
those hornet drones in swift flyby.
A scene played out in sickened minds? 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

BEDLAM
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

Polyphony, the
presentation of many
false statements at once

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

BALANCED SERENITY
—Caschwa

(After a recent Seed of the Week, Serenity)

Dvořák’s Piano Concerto in G Minor,
played by Sviatoslav Richter
got to hear a pianist, a Concertoist,
and a Dvořákist play all three in one

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

A SAD STORY CONTINUES
—Caschwa

For Juneteenth

(After a recent Seed of the Week, Fences)

    I.

Twenty some years ago in Long Beach,
California a young, black fellow approached
me right in front of my house and pointed a
gun at my face, demanding my wallet. It had
my ID plus about $11 cash and a credit card.
I surrendered the wallet to him without resistance,
and he disappeared into a waiting getaway car,
which, by the way, looked much more expensive
than my old automobile. I filed a report with the
police, who told me that both the gun and the car
were also probably stolen, and they were not very
hopeful about reuniting me with my property. 

    II.

A few days later when I reviewed the charges
on my credit card, one stood out as a charge
for meals that I hadn’t initiated, which was made
at a local coffee shop near LAX that I sometimes
had visited.
.

    III.

Never in my life have I ever pointed a gun in
someone’s face before casually going out to a
coffee shop to buy a meal. How truly sad that
this young man’s history denied him the open
window of opportunities to seek employment
so that he could afford to dine out with his duly
earned funds. My own work history includes a
range of jobs from meagerly employed to gainfully
employed, and there were a few occasions where I
was just not the right fit for the job, so I moved on
to find another. I suspect this young, black man
did not enjoy the same path of opportunities that I
did, and was that much more desperate just to fit
in with the crowd.

    
    IV.

This morning I went out to eat at one of the
Sacramento locations of that LAX area coffee
shop and got the news that someone with a
stolen credit card had tried to redeem that card
to pay for their meal. In this instance the valid
card owner was promptly notified of this attempt
to use the stolen card, and police were dispatched
to take the suspected thief into custody. The color
of the thief was not disclosed. 

    V.

And so it continues. We amended the Constitution
to free the slaves, fought a bloody Civil War over
this issue, witnessed a popular President die by
assassination, and yet to this day people of color are
still regarded at best as second-class citizens by an
alarmingly high percentage of whites. So sad.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

LUDDITES OF THE WORLD, UNITE!
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

Little disposable things,
Ex-natura,
Neo-tech, post-tech,
Like operating systems
Obsolete in four years
Sending old computers
To their graveyards
And software
To its compost heap.

Luddites of the world, unite!
It’s time for us to regress
To save our landfills
From overload
And shutdown.

Surely a universal patch
Can be downloaded
And installed
To make everything
Work
Alongside the
Old and superseded
As though it were
As good as new
And treat the tech industry
As a public utility
Instead of
Bill Gates’ Gouging System,
Where everything is licensed,
You own nothing
And you’re not happy
Shelling out money
Year after year
For things
You used to own forever,
Once you bought them.

 

 

 

 

—Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa

SQUIGGLY, A WORM
—Joe Nolan

Squiggly
Ducked for cover
Under birds
Perched on branches
Or on the look
For things
To eat
On wings,
In flight.

Squiggly
Was just a worm,
But wanted to survive
Even though
He was just a worm,
Lower than a bird,
Who needed him
To feed his chicks
Squeaking in their nest.

Even lowly Squiggly,
Who was completely blind,
Could foresee
How easily
He could be
Dropped into a gullet
From a gracious beak.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa

MODERN DATING
—Joe Nolan

I wish I had a woman
Who adored me,
But women don’t
Adore men, anymore.

The days of reckless love
That rocks and rambles
Have left the stable,
Gone, now, bye and bye.

Women have recovered
From oppression—
Out, now, roaming
Through the realm.

Old ways of flirting
Won’t work anymore.
Kneeling, offering flowers
Is so passé.

Cynicism
Cuts through
Meat and feathers
Leaving men
Stripped,—
Cut down
To the bone.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa

THE CUTEST GRAND-BABY IN
THE ENTIRE WORLD
—Joe Nolan

When I say
He’s the cutest
Grand-baby
In the entire world,
I really mean it.

Not just because
He’s mine.

I claim to know,
Across the globe,
That no infant
Could surpass him.

Whether I
Am right or wrong,
My heart will sing
Its grandfather’s song
Of love for its
Second generation,
Across a field of time.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

BED-LAM
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA

In my first bed, I was a lamb.
But then I grew into a lion.
This triolet is not a scam.
In my first bed, I bahhed, a lamb,
and no one ran or shouted SCRAM.
But soon I roared and took life on!
Once I was a cuddled lamb,
but now (just kidding) I’m a lion.

_____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to today’s contributors, some of whom wrote to our Seed of the Week, Bedlam. Got some thoughts on the subject? It’s never too late to respond to our Seed of the Week~

 

 

 

—Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Joe Nolan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Poetry in Motion meets
in Placerville today, 10:30am;
Napa Book Mine presents
Sixteen Rivers Press readers
today in Napa, CA, 6pm; and
Sacramento Poetry Center presents
Joanna Drucker & Diane Ward
tonight in Sacramento, 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!

 

 Littlesnake adds to the bedlam~

Trying To Keep Up

 —Poetry by Richard LeDue, 

Norway House, Manitoba, Canada
—Public Domain Photos

 

 

TRYING TO KEEP UP WITH A DEAD POET

I can’t even drink enough
to keep up with a dead poet,
who made the drunken poem
look easy as changing a light bulb,
while I close the curtains
and try to go to sleep
with the tired idea
of a genius going unread in life,
only to be reborn as a best seller
after a most ordinary death,
but all I know is what I don’t know
(to plagiarize a deceased philosopher
instead of a decomposing poet),
leaving my empty glass with nothing
to fill it, except more whisky. 

 

 

 

 

NOT MUCH OF A PHILOSOPHICAL ARGUMENT

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while,
but the beers were always too busy
digging up stones in the garden
that my liver had become
and the whisky always was
jealous, so it dug up the yellow flowers
from the beer,
leaving me blacking out
the way death has been hiding
in my shadow from the day I was born
and how my every hangover
felt inevitable as a rebirth myth.

My friend at the time (over twenty years ago)
had testicular cancer
and wanted one last night out
before the surgery that would save his life,
so we went out, but made the mistake
of doing that on a Monday night,
when the bars were dead,
creating a dark premonition
and that was luckily just another
feeling we didn’t talk about.

Four of us went, or was it five?
Alcohol is often thought of as a lubricant
for socializing, but it’s sandpaper
to the memory, especially as you get older.

It was most unsettling,
sitting in empty bars,
where even our youth couldn’t quiet
the cold silence between songs
no one was listening to, or help the liquor
help us remember to forget
the reason we were there.

My sick friend was determined
to have a good time, ordering shots
and making Hitler testicle jokes,
yet I couldn’t drink enough.
Perhaps I was tasting my own mortality
too much, like a child kissing
their dead aunt’s forehead
at their first funeral,
while beer after beer failed
at stopping my mind’s dark clouds
from blocking out the sun
for the yellow flowers I needed,
but I smiled anyway
to look like the good friend
that I knew I wasn’t. 

 

 

 

I walked home by myself that night.

I left my friend
and the others drinking at the casino.
I wish I could claim
I won a philosophical argument
with the darkness,
but the night felt quieter than usual:
the trees in the park I passed scaring me
as their leaves seemed ghostly,
waiting for autumn to change
their colours and then to die
in winter, while my inability
to get drunk made me feel
like an overwatered patch of dirt
where nothing would ever grow.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you're allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It's like killing yourself, and then you're reborn. I guess I've lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.

―Charles Bukowski

_____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Richard LeDue for some fine poetry on this Father's Day, 2025!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Amatoria Fine Arts Books
features a reading by
Women’s Wisdom Art
in Sacramento today, 5pm.
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!

 

LittleSnake says, 

Happy Father’s Day!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Baggage

 —Poetry by Taylor Dibbert, Washington, D.C.
—Public Domain Illustrations Courtesy of Medusa 

MISTAKES

There are big mistakes
And then there’s
His ex.

 

 

 

 

BAGGAGE

He thinks
He can handle
Her baggage,
With time
He’ll understand
How wrong
He’s been.



This poem first appeared in Synchronized Chaos Magazine.

 

 

 

 

 

IN LOVE

Anyone can fall in love
It’s staying in love
That’s truly special.



This poem first appeared in Synchronized Chaos Magazine.

 

 

 




IN A HEARTBEAT

He's damaged
But not dead
And if you were
To have told him
Years ago
That that's where
He'd be
Right now
He would’ve
Taken it
In a heartbeat.



This poem first appeared in Alien Buddha Zine.


__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

THE BITTER TRUTH
—Taylor Dibbert

Stay away
From beautiful people
With big baggage
Things are bound
To end
In tragedy.



This poem first appeared in Alien Buddha Zine.

___________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Taylor Dibbert for today’s wisdom about love and relationships!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Youth Literacy Day
takes place in Sacramento
today, 12-4pm.
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!

 

 

Up & Running

 Pony-X, 2022

* * *
—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Christina Chin, and
Marjorie Pezzoli

 

 

UP & RUNNING    
     for the Pony Express Re-Riders

Head high, ears folded back
to hear me running behind him,
my dog’s a poor-man’s pony.

I think of the old Pony—
day & night ten days
crossing half the continent.

It’s a different world now,
asphalt under hooves
running with rush hour traffic.

We reach a country road,
I tell my dog “hustle!”
we’re safe on the other side.

That speeding truck
is heftier than any horse,
with a grille like flashing teeth.

Today our trail is earth
shaded by oaks and pines,
we travel light—no mailbags.

 

 

 

 

OPEN-AIR READING
       in time of Covid

Might he remove his mask out-
of-doors? Poems dare not shout

so’s not to spread more than words.
No virus in can’t-be-heards,

his just-between-you-and-me’s
lost somewhere under the breeze.

 

 

 

NOTES OF AN EARLY JUNE WALK

An ecstasy of flowers along the trail—
elegant brodiaea lifting its purple goblets,
passionate pink peavine as a chorus
of open mouths singing the hallelujah
of bumblebees, and even golden salsify
gone from blossom to seed-fluff
shining crystal-silver in noonday sun.
And here’s the lowly bindweed, twining
its pure white trumpets ever higher.

 

 

 

 

THE WEIGHT OF SERENITY    

It’s a bit muggy but not too
hot for walking this foot path down
thru blackberry bramble in bloom,
unnamed grasses high as my chest.
Trickle of creek water almost
lost among over-crowding green.
No hurry. Not a sound of the
world outside. And this trail narrows,
a plank bridge to side-paths over-
grown with bramble-vine whose blossoms
bode berries—later. So peaceful
the low mumble of creek, a song-
sparrow singing. I muse I could
stay here forever listening....
my legs getting heavier, air
weighing down my lungs. But the blue
dragonfly stirs a fragile breath
of cool air, suggesting I climb
back out, heart beating livelier
with every step by step, leaving.

 

 

 

 

WITHOUT LYRICS

Three-part harmony
greets me at gate coming home—
phoebe, nuthatch, finch.

 

 

 

 

MYSTERY ACROSS THE FENCE

I was out by the back fence, pulling
weeds, when I heard a voice break
the serenity of morning. A little doeling
was staring at me with deep brown eyes.
She spoke a word but I couldn’t catch
it. She said it again, mournfully.
She repeated. One short word—
what language? “Are you in trouble?”
I asked. The same word again, as answer.
This time it sounded a bit like “ma_”
but not quite. Then I noticed the buck
standing not far off, watching, listening,
not saying a word. The doeling
stopped talking and began nibbling weeds.

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

ACROSS THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
       for Janay

Your dog,
released at last
from all her sufferings,
is gone—so hard for you to bear.
But think,
she’s whole, young and strong again
running with the great pack
of good old dogs
you’ve lost.

___________________

Our thanks to Taylor Graham for today’s fine poetry and photos on this lucky Friday the 13th! Follow this year’s annual Pony Express Re-Ride at https://nationalponyexpress.org/re-ride/current-reride/,

Forms TG has used this week include a Triversen (“Up & Running”); a Barzelletta that uses Normative Syllabics (“Open-Air Reading”); a Haiku (“Without Lyrics”); a Response to our Tuesday Seed of the Week (Serenity) that also uses Normative Syllabics (“The Weight of Serenity”); a Butterfly Cinquain (“Across the Rainbow Bridge”); and a Response to a SOW (“Mystery Across the Fence”). The Barzelletta and the Butterfly Cinquain were last week’s Triple-F Challenges.

In El Dorado Country poetry this week, Poetic In Motion meets in Placerville next Monday, 6/16, at 10:30am. El Dorado County’s 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!  

 

Again, our congratulations to El Dorado County's new Poet Laureate, Moira Magneson. Moira will be part of the Sixteen Rivers Press reading this coming Monday, June 16, in Napa at the Napa Book Mine, 6pm. Info: https://napabookmine.com/event/2025-06-16/sixteen-rivers-press-reading/.
 
And now it’s time for…  

 
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!

 

It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers, in addition to those sent to us by Taylor Graham! Each Friday, there will be poems posted here from our readers using forms—either ones which were sent to Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some challenges—  Whaddaya got to lose… ? If you send ‘em, I’ll post ‘em! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for resources and for links to poetry terms used in today’s post.)


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!

* * *

 

Travelling Artists Sketching An Arab Encampment, Cairo (1863)
Last Week’s Ekphrastic Photo

Poets who sent responses to last week’s Ekphrastic photo were Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth, and Caschwa:


OASIS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

Beneath a tree, the caravan rests.
They speak of high adventure,
of plodding through a nothingverse
of sand and blazing sun.
I wonder where these travellers go
when they are fully rested.
Although it looks romantic,
I’d rather stay at home.
How would I stand the pungent smell
of camels and their cud?

* * *

BUT LAUD THE TREE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

As if an auction catalogue,
long title in descriptive form.
It’s symptomatic, painter’s view,
‘travelling artists sketching’ sign—
encampment of the Arabs too.

But it’s this tree that dominates,
its shading, unexpected thrown,
to suit the focus, story told,
entitled artists spotlighted,
though western painters seek the shade.

It is that camel, canopy
which claim attention of the eye,
still life long-lasting in the sun
as bark to bark sounds as it should,
essential partners on the trek.

Sheen, luminous with chlorophyll,
thick ginger trunk, broad stretching branch;
this is oasis for the mind,
refreshing soul as body rests,
noteworthy as outstanding site.

As witness, conflict, centuries,
maybe a market, meeting place,
today acknowledge tree of life,
vitality, community,
see, bough before its majesty.

* * *

WAITING A WHILE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

At high noon, the tree’s canopy offered generous
shade to all below it but now the sun’s orbit has
taken it to a lower point, letting some full sun reach
those resting under the tree

One cannot fathom how tired those people must be,
trying to second-guess the rituals of the sky, they
can only wait a while right there under the tree while
rays of sunlight dart in, dart out, and  play games
lighting up their faces

* * *

Here are three Haiku from Carl: one that’s true, he says, and one that’s not (Haiku Hyperbole) and one that’s, well, whatever:

 

 

 

RANKING
—Caschwa

I am at best a
mediocre chess player
on timer, the worst

~ ~ ~

UNTIE ME
—Caschwa

Knots are trouble when
right in front of me, behind
me, impossible

~  ~ ~

THE GOOD OL’ DAYS
—Caschwa

Used to be that the
Customer was king, not the
Board of Director

* * *

Carl also sent a List Poem:

 

 

 

FULL CIRCLE
—Caschwa

The first car I bought was a 1963
Dodge Dart, GT. It had a slant 6
engine, push button transmission,
license plate ending in “063” and
it brought me a greater feel of
freedom than I had experienced before.

What it didn’t have was:
    power steering
    power brakes
    power windows
    right side mirror
    passenger seat belts
    FM radio or stereo
    radial tires
    air conditioning

Compare to the 2014 model car I
bought more recently, which has all
of those things the GT didn’t have
now as standard features.

* * *

And here’s a Renga from Christina Chin (Malaysia) and Marjorie Pezzoli (San Diego, CA):

 

 

RAW DEAL
—Christina Chin (plain text) and
Marjorie Pezzoli (italic)

whiskey on the table
a drunk man should
not bet

mixed signals
telephone game

someone's got to lose
be that winner when you
play smart

on hold
bottoms up

couldn't read
his cards but it's written
all over his face

rigged deck
the joker’s wild

counting
the aces hoping
for a trump card

fifty-two card shuffle
forty-seventh bluffs again

the dealing is done
he has a good hand
and walks away

__________________

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.) In honor of Friday the 13th, we shall do HexSonnettas:

•••HexSonnetta: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/hexsonnetta.html

•••AND/OR since nobody has any time for anything these days, we’ll have to be satisfied with The Brevette:

•••Brevette: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/brevette.html

•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one.

•••And don’t forget each Tuesday Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Bedlam”.

____________________

MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:

•••Barzelleta: https://poetscollectivepoetryforms.wordpress.com/2014/11/17/barzelletta
•••Brevette: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/brevette.html
•••Butterfly Cinquain: https://poetscollectivepoetryforms.wordpress.com/2014/02/21/butterfly-cinquain
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••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
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse AND/OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Renga: www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/renga-poetic-forms
•••Response Poem: creativetalentsunleashed.com/2015/11/18/writing-tip-response-poems
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
•••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/.

__________________

—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

 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Round-Up @ The Rink
Father’s Day Variety Show
takes place tonight in Sacramento,
7pm and 10pm.
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!