—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Medusa
DEAD LAKE
What could these be?
The frightening images carved in a tree,
raggedly clothed skeletons with stiff collars,
shadowy monsters of the deep dripping sweet
venom.
Illusions,
all seen by deep divers as if taken into a dream,
seen by frogmen on their long descents to the
bottom
from frosty morning air.
When the earth was quaking and took a strange
turn,
what was created filled with rain water,
and left a hidden spruce forest below,
with their top halves above,
looking like ships with tall masts, but no decks.
Observers on land can imagine ghastly admirals
to steer these ships.
There are no dry docks along the edges of the
dead lake,
but many wish there were due to cold water year
round,
a frigid, dormant lake still drawing those thrilled
by phantoms to it.
What could these be?
The frightening images carved in a tree,
raggedly clothed skeletons with stiff collars,
shadowy monsters of the deep dripping sweet
venom.
Illusions,
all seen by deep divers as if taken into a dream,
seen by frogmen on their long descents to the
bottom
from frosty morning air.
When the earth was quaking and took a strange
turn,
what was created filled with rain water,
and left a hidden spruce forest below,
with their top halves above,
looking like ships with tall masts, but no decks.
Observers on land can imagine ghastly admirals
to steer these ships.
There are no dry docks along the edges of the
dead lake,
but many wish there were due to cold water year
round,
a frigid, dormant lake still drawing those thrilled
by phantoms to it.
DOES MEMORY ALTER AN EVENT?
Before too long, possibly,
you’ll convince yourself
what you are seeing
is not what was first seen.
One day you might find
something has lost beauty.
That first memory will vanish in fog,
until you see nothing of the old.
You might wonder what’s wrong with you.
Close your eyes.
Then just as quickly you’ll tell yourself,
that as of today,
the event did not change,
you only changed your mind.
Before too long, possibly,
you’ll convince yourself
what you are seeing
is not what was first seen.
One day you might find
something has lost beauty.
That first memory will vanish in fog,
until you see nothing of the old.
You might wonder what’s wrong with you.
Close your eyes.
Then just as quickly you’ll tell yourself,
that as of today,
the event did not change,
you only changed your mind.
DAL(l)I(ANCES)
He began as a conventional artist,
trying to fit among his peers.
But with a head fit to burst,
the call of phantasmagoric hallucinations
became too loud.
With his 10-past-10 mustache,
and an outlandish fashion sense
screaming—“go have fun with your clothes”
and a “by the way, be what you want to be”
attitude,
he made bold artistic statements.
And like his pet ocelot, he refused to live in a cage.
He built his own dreams with imagery,
created big illusions for sale,
got our minds all tangled up.
If you asked for a party,
you got it on these canvases:
Melting watches,
Long-limber elephants,
Surrealist Spanish flamencos.
Playful even when he grew old,
he became as content as one of the Mads.
Viewing his bizarre juxtapositions,
we felt we’d been hypnotized into a comical state
by ludicrous idiosyncrasy.
And because we loved the comedian,
we all got the joke.
He began as a conventional artist,
trying to fit among his peers.
But with a head fit to burst,
the call of phantasmagoric hallucinations
became too loud.
With his 10-past-10 mustache,
and an outlandish fashion sense
screaming—“go have fun with your clothes”
and a “by the way, be what you want to be”
attitude,
he made bold artistic statements.
And like his pet ocelot, he refused to live in a cage.
He built his own dreams with imagery,
created big illusions for sale,
got our minds all tangled up.
If you asked for a party,
you got it on these canvases:
Melting watches,
Long-limber elephants,
Surrealist Spanish flamencos.
Playful even when he grew old,
he became as content as one of the Mads.
Viewing his bizarre juxtapositions,
we felt we’d been hypnotized into a comical state
by ludicrous idiosyncrasy.
And because we loved the comedian,
we all got the joke.
ESCALATORS AND ELEVATORS
We fell,
We crashed,
We broke,
We cried,
We hurt,
We crawled,
but before we surrendered,
we decided to emulate
those effortless flights of seagulls.
We began by creating celebrated structures.
Some with pitched roofs,
some with balustrades,
some the height of piers,
scores of druidical monuments,
breathtaking constructions, beautifully shaped,
with the faces of the Pharaohs.
In latter days,
we set our sites on a sophisticated array
of palace majors and minors in the sky,
clearly visible stately lighthouses,
the great nation of stars.
We have become architects of cosmic escalators
and elevators.
We fell,
We crashed,
We broke,
We cried,
We hurt,
We crawled,
but before we surrendered,
we decided to emulate
those effortless flights of seagulls.
We began by creating celebrated structures.
Some with pitched roofs,
some with balustrades,
some the height of piers,
scores of druidical monuments,
breathtaking constructions, beautifully shaped,
with the faces of the Pharaohs.
In latter days,
we set our sites on a sophisticated array
of palace majors and minors in the sky,
clearly visible stately lighthouses,
the great nation of stars.
We have become architects of cosmic escalators
and elevators.
HARPS PLAYED UNDER A PALE MOON
With a graceful symmetry
the ministrant songs
are strummed with
highly honored angelic wings.
Many of us are moved to tears,
hearing the choral work
reflecting the rhythm
of the pulse of the world.
Voices out of time
singing expressions of what is
most significant in us,
lyrically citing the pleasure
of the color of what has virtue;
ultimate expressions of truth and beauty
longed for by those with the most intricate dreams,
moral earnestness,
the heights of goodness and bonhomie.
This experience, so blessed,
standing together with loyal friends,
savoring good feelings in the air,
enjoying the same sky in a pleasing way.
All onboard the moonbeams.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Now come the whispers
bearing bouquets of moonbeams
and sunlight tremblings.
―Aberjhani, The River of Winged Dreams
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Linda Imbler for today’s fine poetry!
With a graceful symmetry
the ministrant songs
are strummed with
highly honored angelic wings.
Many of us are moved to tears,
hearing the choral work
reflecting the rhythm
of the pulse of the world.
Voices out of time
singing expressions of what is
most significant in us,
lyrically citing the pleasure
of the color of what has virtue;
ultimate expressions of truth and beauty
longed for by those with the most intricate dreams,
moral earnestness,
the heights of goodness and bonhomie.
This experience, so blessed,
standing together with loyal friends,
savoring good feelings in the air,
enjoying the same sky in a pleasing way.
All onboard the moonbeams.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Now come the whispers
bearing bouquets of moonbeams
and sunlight tremblings.
―Aberjhani, The River of Winged Dreams
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Linda Imbler for today’s fine poetry!
All onboard the moonbeams. . .
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
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!
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!
