—Public Domain Lark Photos Courtesy of Medusa
BLUE SKIES AND BOUGAINVILLEAS
A floral conference
eavesdrops on
the bridge's
huffs and whispers.
A journey begins.
***
I see some old friends smile
without their faces
pointed towards
any particular horizon.
Their eyes,
it seems to me,
are embedded
within the soil
and the sky
and the light winds
gently
touch them.
When Eden
finds
echoes in shades,
I don't call
out to them.
I just say
my name
to the closest wind
reaching my right ear.
Before the
winter haze
and the rains,
these muted manners
within this Eden
bring respite
to
troubles of the world.
A floral conference
eavesdrops on
the bridge's
huffs and whispers.
A journey begins.
***
I see some old friends smile
without their faces
pointed towards
any particular horizon.
Their eyes,
it seems to me,
are embedded
within the soil
and the sky
and the light winds
gently
touch them.
When Eden
finds
echoes in shades,
I don't call
out to them.
I just say
my name
to the closest wind
reaching my right ear.
Before the
winter haze
and the rains,
these muted manners
within this Eden
bring respite
to
troubles of the world.
FEATHERS
Let it be
the opposite of a tussle
for the bird.
Keep that one window latched
just before the ledge
where he comes to rest in mid-day.
Meet his eyes.
They don't drown in yours
or have the compulsion
or obligation to:
he's not your mirrored friend.
Let him cool his feathers
Let him incubate his day's rest
here.
He's not just another man.
Let it be
the opposite of a tussle
for the bird.
Keep that one window latched
just before the ledge
where he comes to rest in mid-day.
Meet his eyes.
They don't drown in yours
or have the compulsion
or obligation to:
he's not your mirrored friend.
Let him cool his feathers
Let him incubate his day's rest
here.
He's not just another man.
I THINK I TOUCHED THE VINES
I think I touched the vines.
I think I let them
congest my diaphragm
before reciting
my shortest poem.
Hubris
dictated
that I
use my loudest voice.
But all that
was in vain.
Sublime designs
appeared from up above;
like these
tiny jets
out of the cumulus:
a diorama
not beguiled by
words .
***
Dionysus can wait.
I think
today is meant
for light drizzles
and lutes being played
in this garden.
For us,
it's another ordinary day
touched by
the subtle art
of seeing
and believing
in these clouds
that spring eternal
over our city.
UNDERWATER
(Inspired by the ancient myth of
Hylas and the underwater nymphs.)
He dived deep into the abyss
to be marooned beneath,
as if among Atlantic ruins,
in a city that lives underwater for eternities.
The beguiling voices called out to him,
coming from yonder,
caught in the mesh somewhere between the
floating hyacinths
and weeds,
"Hylas, Hylas,
come, let us show you the afterlife
where bodies flit and swim,
coming up for air to the surface,
just like the myth of the mermen.
A netherworld in your reach,
only if you choose to come
and dive deep like a king of the sea"
Words to beguile the enduring ego of youth
Such a fate to divine in those last moments
between leaving shore
and entering a tempestuous watery grave.
Hylas, Hylas
'tis here is your tomb,
your desecrated youth,
the myth that history repeats in leaden circles.
Naïve, guileless young lad,
here is your cautionary tale.
FLIGHT
A flying nun
rests awhile.
When the afternoon
blinks,
the day's rhapsody
lightens its timbre.
She comes down
from her cosmic nest, then
to the humbler art
of stepping on that tall,
old lamp
and says,
"I am not a guest.
I am here
to stay
in this upper storey.”
We look at her
and forget
our immediate
preoccupations.
***
Time haunts us,
with the sky
a keeper of our thoughts.
This bird
is a surveyor.
She keeps her dates
with us.
She will rest awhile
or for as long
as we live
to hear her song
before
moon-dappled evenings.
Even on foggy days
and especially
shimmering nights,
we recall her pitch and sweet timbre.
***
She rests
awhile.
For it is always
chaos, otherwise,
always her time to get
away
from it all.
A flying nun
rests awhile.
When the afternoon
blinks,
the day's rhapsody
lightens its timbre.
She comes down
from her cosmic nest, then
to the humbler art
of stepping on that tall,
old lamp
and says,
"I am not a guest.
I am here
to stay
in this upper storey.”
We look at her
and forget
our immediate
preoccupations.
***
Time haunts us,
with the sky
a keeper of our thoughts.
This bird
is a surveyor.
She keeps her dates
with us.
She will rest awhile
or for as long
as we live
to hear her song
before
moon-dappled evenings.
Even on foggy days
and especially
shimmering nights,
we recall her pitch and sweet timbre.
***
She rests
awhile.
For it is always
chaos, otherwise,
always her time to get
away
from it all.
MONUMENTS
Beckon the shape of life
and
it offers us
monuments to remember.
Through the mists of time,
a clearing has emerged on concrete.
A crowd dispersed
when the very dust
cleared the way.
***
It is just the two of us
standing there
before the monument of life,
with the purple and
maroon hues
and the sky,
The speckle and splash
of evening lights,
like halos
spread across town.
From the mists of time,
a bird has now emerged.
The lark
sings here!!!
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Split the lark—and you’ll find the Music, Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled.
—Emily Dickinson
____________________
Today’s Newcomer is Prithvijeet Sinha, a proud resident of the cultural epicenter that is Lucknow, India. His published credits encompass poetry, musings on the city, cinema, anthologies, journals with national and international repertoires as well as a blog (https://anawadhboyspanorama.wordpress.com/). Prithvijeet says his life-force resides in writing, in the art of self-expression. All the above poems were self-published by the author on his WordPress Blog. Welcome to the Kitchen, Prithvijeet, and don’t be a stranger!
_____________________
—Medusa
Today’s LittleNip:
Split the lark—and you’ll find the Music, Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled.
—Emily Dickinson
____________________
Today’s Newcomer is Prithvijeet Sinha, a proud resident of the cultural epicenter that is Lucknow, India. His published credits encompass poetry, musings on the city, cinema, anthologies, journals with national and international repertoires as well as a blog (https://anawadhboyspanorama.wordpress.com/). Prithvijeet says his life-force resides in writing, in the art of self-expression. All the above poems were self-published by the author on his WordPress Blog. Welcome to the Kitchen, Prithvijeet, and don’t be a stranger!
_____________________
—Medusa
Prithvijeet Sinha
A reminder that
The Most Valuable Poets
Show & Awards
from Terry Freeman Moore
takes place tonight
in Sacramento, 8pm.
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!
The Most Valuable Poets
Show & Awards
from Terry Freeman Moore
takes place tonight
in Sacramento, 8pm.
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!
