—“Trees on Vacay” Photos by Caschwa
* * *
—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa,
Sayani Mukherjee, and Joe Nolan
—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa,
Sayani Mukherjee, and Joe Nolan
THE SIERRA CLUB IN HAWAII
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
A hundred years ago,
I was a Sierra Clubber—
this time in Hawaii, threat of a big storm.
Faking courage, I slept on the beach.
When driven waves nibbled dawn toes,
I sought the camp restroom hut. There,
our strongest hikers geared up for
the volcano trek. A shivering woman
and I were asked to pick them up
after their adventure; their leader,
spouted brief directions, handed us
the keys, pointed out the pickup van.
As they left, we thrust our arms high
like children sometimes do. YAY!
Good Sierra Clubbers, we kept our word.
Meanwhile, we toured the island at leisure,
unforgettable waterfalls, ferns, grottos,
mangos we savored, juice dripping to elbows. . .
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
A hundred years ago,
I was a Sierra Clubber—
this time in Hawaii, threat of a big storm.
Faking courage, I slept on the beach.
When driven waves nibbled dawn toes,
I sought the camp restroom hut. There,
our strongest hikers geared up for
the volcano trek. A shivering woman
and I were asked to pick them up
after their adventure; their leader,
spouted brief directions, handed us
the keys, pointed out the pickup van.
As they left, we thrust our arms high
like children sometimes do. YAY!
Good Sierra Clubbers, we kept our word.
Meanwhile, we toured the island at leisure,
unforgettable waterfalls, ferns, grottos,
mangos we savored, juice dripping to elbows. . .
NO MORE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Each visit to my doctor,
he told me I must take
another pill to fight against
another body ache.
I know I’m getting older,
but now I have less money.
It all went toward my medicine,
not to my dream vacation.
The more the pills, the worse I felt.
I dumped them in the trash.
Now I rely on doggie love.
It makes me feel much better.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Each visit to my doctor,
he told me I must take
another pill to fight against
another body ache.
I know I’m getting older,
but now I have less money.
It all went toward my medicine,
not to my dream vacation.
The more the pills, the worse I felt.
I dumped them in the trash.
Now I rely on doggie love.
It makes me feel much better.
Drop in Anytime
VACANT POSSESSION
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Whichever manacles are used—
indentured, irons, poverty,
indebted, blackmailed, tenant trapped—
here hosts of other binding cords.
Where workers free from slavery,
their rest is dressed in many clothes;
at varied pace through time and place
the break from stress of work addressed.
Domestic servants’ families
were visited on Boxing Day,
small holy pay, St Stephen’s day,
though aristocracy dismayed.
For Londoners the hop farm crop,
East Enders to the fields of Kent,
a camp around the harvest poles,
clear air beyond clogged city streets.
The factory fortnight, workplace closed,
with charabancs on common trail
to concentrated camps prescribed,
this was the postwar holiday.
But better paid, white-collared say
that their work piles, after, before,
then what advantage comes their way,
save in being a family?
Vacation always being free,
absence, responsibility,
a root to where work is unknown—
but are such preparations worth?
Vacation, vacant intertwined,
the break, time emptied of our tasks,
or empty break, with usual toll?
That collar tells us how folk tied.
I learnt my Greek at ‘Summer Vac’,
how Cambridge crammed a four-week term
into the Long Vacation break—
‘No world trips, undergraduate!’.
Know alpha rarely marked that work,
though city life of punting, Cam,
and Grantchester with honeyed tea
were due reward in grading terms.
Standing Room Only
THE GIFTED VACATION
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
In older days when the State
of California had to hire a
special Receiver to manage the
funds going to different programs
because prisoners were filing
lawsuits against the State alleging
violation of Constitutional rights
I was hired under the title of
Office Tech and tasked with
helping to set up the paper-work
trail to deal with the occasion
when various prison employees
were served with notices of
Adverse Action
This was all part of a new Pilot
Program, meaning there was no
one to mentor me in dispatching
all of my duties, so I set up a
system that I was comfortable
with and everyone was happy
Down the road it came time for
me to take a Vacation, and the
bare facts were no one else really
knew my paperwork system. I
didn’t let this bother me, because
I knew when I returned I would
be welcomed with more of the
work that I loved doing, and I
could handle that easily
Eventually, I was able to teach
my system to a very bright lady
who would continue to use it
when I retired.
VOTE FOR ME
—Caschwa
(Birds of a Feather)
I could run for public
office, just hear my
resume:
I have heard of the
word bushel, but I
cannot define it
I have never measured
a bushel of anything,
nor have I ever had the
imprint of a bushel
bear weight on my
shoulder
when I was a substitute
teacher, I had the right
credential for the job,
as long as no bushels
were involved
If the bar was set low
enough, I could be a
respected expert on
the subject of bushels,
another member of
that growing group of
New Normal exemplars
Next election, look on
the ballot for a whole
list of people just like
me, but don’t vote for
them, vote for me
(no bushels were
harmed in any way
in the construction
of this poem)
—Caschwa
(Birds of a Feather)
I could run for public
office, just hear my
resume:
I have heard of the
word bushel, but I
cannot define it
I have never measured
a bushel of anything,
nor have I ever had the
imprint of a bushel
bear weight on my
shoulder
when I was a substitute
teacher, I had the right
credential for the job,
as long as no bushels
were involved
If the bar was set low
enough, I could be a
respected expert on
the subject of bushels,
another member of
that growing group of
New Normal exemplars
Next election, look on
the ballot for a whole
list of people just like
me, but don’t vote for
them, vote for me
(no bushels were
harmed in any way
in the construction
of this poem)
EVOLUTION OF A WHISPER
—Caschwa
(Whispers in the Night)
whispers of genius
gone with the wind
tornadoes of turmoil
night closes in
to softly convey
ideas in the brain
main point and elements
mocked in disdain
words formed carefully
robbed of their juice
bumblebees can’t fly
but then there’s Spruce Goose
From paper airplanes
fashioned by rote
to paper word planes
mostly unspoke
more edits, try again,
this just has to work
no more Titanic
sunk by iceberg
reread, fact check
cover all bases
turn down the volume
hide your spare Aces
stand at the pulpit
play with the mic
fly your ideas into
the dead of night
some folks in the crowd
will respond to your words
as you stand in the forest
surrounded only by birds
—Caschwa
(Whispers in the Night)
whispers of genius
gone with the wind
tornadoes of turmoil
night closes in
to softly convey
ideas in the brain
main point and elements
mocked in disdain
words formed carefully
robbed of their juice
bumblebees can’t fly
but then there’s Spruce Goose
From paper airplanes
fashioned by rote
to paper word planes
mostly unspoke
more edits, try again,
this just has to work
no more Titanic
sunk by iceberg
reread, fact check
cover all bases
turn down the volume
hide your spare Aces
stand at the pulpit
play with the mic
fly your ideas into
the dead of night
some folks in the crowd
will respond to your words
as you stand in the forest
surrounded only by birds
PROTOCOL
—Sayani Mukherjee,
Chandannagar, W. Bengal, India
The night is starry like heaven
A hibiscus flower upfront
The city is painted red
The crimson is tantalizing
My hands up on the mirror
It sends a signal off
To be in God's arms with happiness
Pluralism over this city
Protest of feminists and prototype
My verge is on the Bloomsbury gate
The gaze is on the death
Of rebirthing vocals of masquerade
Martyrdom of heavenly speech
They take your breaths away
Till you pass on the hellfire
To public transport and health issues
The protocol is current
It sends off the heavenly bodies.
—Sayani Mukherjee,
Chandannagar, W. Bengal, India
The night is starry like heaven
A hibiscus flower upfront
The city is painted red
The crimson is tantalizing
My hands up on the mirror
It sends a signal off
To be in God's arms with happiness
Pluralism over this city
Protest of feminists and prototype
My verge is on the Bloomsbury gate
The gaze is on the death
Of rebirthing vocals of masquerade
Martyrdom of heavenly speech
They take your breaths away
Till you pass on the hellfire
To public transport and health issues
The protocol is current
It sends off the heavenly bodies.
GRAZING COWS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
The cows, afield,
Have gone to graze
Where grass in green
In morning haze
That blocks the
Drying sun.
Across the glade
We see them, all,
Beneath the hill
Without a care
Since grass
Grown long
Is juicy, there.
MODELS WHO EAT CAN’T WIN
—Joe Nolan
A model was
Just a coat-rack,
Starved down
To the bone
By her
Employer-
Masters,
Who couldn’t really care,
Effects that might come after
Taking those diet-pills.
She was just a
Figure of beauty
Whose beauty
Went down to the bone
By mixing anorexia
And bulimia
That left her
At last,
Alone.
She couldn’t go
Out to dinner dates
Since eating was
A sin
In models’
Catechism,
Where models who eat
Can’t win.
—Joe Nolan
A model was
Just a coat-rack,
Starved down
To the bone
By her
Employer-
Masters,
Who couldn’t really care,
Effects that might come after
Taking those diet-pills.
She was just a
Figure of beauty
Whose beauty
Went down to the bone
By mixing anorexia
And bulimia
That left her
At last,
Alone.
She couldn’t go
Out to dinner dates
Since eating was
A sin
In models’
Catechism,
Where models who eat
Can’t win.
RED TERROR
—Joe Nolan
Seeking to rule
In undone
Dregs of dysphoria,
They split us apart,
One against the other,
With a two-party system,
So that there was always A against B,
Always against each other,
As though angels
Connived to deceive--
The larger measure
Of disharmony
Where notes and sounds
Clashed with each other
Bassoons against clarinets,
In a major-fifth discophony,
The better to set evil free.
“The worse it gets,” said Lenin,
“The better for us.”
The easier the overthrow,
With vast murder
Soon to follow,
In Red Terror
Against the murdered nation,
With its Czar shot dead
In a basement
Along with his wife
And five children,
Millions soon to follow,
In the basement of Lubyanka,
Their blood
Washed away with hoses.
—Joe Nolan
Seeking to rule
In undone
Dregs of dysphoria,
They split us apart,
One against the other,
With a two-party system,
So that there was always A against B,
Always against each other,
As though angels
Connived to deceive--
The larger measure
Of disharmony
Where notes and sounds
Clashed with each other
Bassoons against clarinets,
In a major-fifth discophony,
The better to set evil free.
“The worse it gets,” said Lenin,
“The better for us.”
The easier the overthrow,
With vast murder
Soon to follow,
In Red Terror
Against the murdered nation,
With its Czar shot dead
In a basement
Along with his wife
And five children,
Millions soon to follow,
In the basement of Lubyanka,
Their blood
Washed away with hoses.
STAR-BURST DREAMS
—Joe Nolan
Star-burst dreams
Collide in supernovas—
Hot, bright and tortured
For awhile.
After they burn out
All the heat is gone.
Light will not return—
It only goes one way.
The trick is to
Catch the magic moment
Before they realize
What’s at play
In their tragic
Galactic explosion,
Before the heat and light
Have gone away.
______________________
—Joe Nolan
Star-burst dreams
Collide in supernovas—
Hot, bright and tortured
For awhile.
After they burn out
All the heat is gone.
Light will not return—
It only goes one way.
The trick is to
Catch the magic moment
Before they realize
What’s at play
In their tragic
Galactic explosion,
Before the heat and light
Have gone away.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
OUR HUMMINGBIRD CONGRESS
—Caschwa
Each takes a turn sucking
the vital juices out of the
other, back and forth they
go for the longest time
flapping their wings until
both tire and waver and
they agree to just adjourn
and call it a day well spent.
______________________
—Medusa, with thanks to today’s contributors, for talking about our Seed of the Week—Vacation—and other subjects, too. And thanks to Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) for sending us some of his vacation tree photos.
. .A model was/Just a coatrack. . .
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
A reminder that
Poetic License meets
in Placerville today, 10:30am;
but Sacramento Poetry Center
remains closed throughout August.
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!
Poetic License meets
in Placerville today, 10:30am;
but Sacramento Poetry Center
remains closed throughout August.
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!
