Salt Wind & Cherry Blossoms

 —Poetry by Joshua St. Claire, York County, PA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

Sa redbud leaf
comes to rest
eastern amberwing

    ~ ~ ~

how could anyone
ever love you
cherry blossoms

    ~ ~ ~

Traumsprache
keening through dawn mist
cats in love

    ~ ~ ~

The Rite of Spring
the cowbird chick
fatter and fatter

 

 

 

 

puffing and strutting
a greater prairiecock
begins

    ~ ~ ~

nightspoom
dying in an oyster shell
Verlaine’s moon

    ~ ~ ~

Buson’s palette
burrowing into the sand
a arc-en-ciel of coquina

    ~ ~ ~

gathering altocumulus
the gulls circling
flotsam

 

 

 

 

stratus scud
low over the mouth of the Cape Fear
pelican squadron

    ~ ~ ~

a life twists
and browns
drought days

    ~ ~ ~

Gesamtkunstwerk
the play of evening sun
on a fawn skull

    ~ ~ ~
    
moonlight
striking
his
face
darkness
again

 

 

 

 

whisper dusk
talk of chemtrails
at little league

    ~ ~ ~

schlepping into the office
every Tuesday
stratocumulus clouds

    ~ ~ ~

country church
the lightning rod
on the cross

    ~ ~ ~

morning commute
a river of fire wraps around
Harrisburg

 

 

 

 

just skip
the metaphor
horned lark

    ~ ~ ~

stuck
in my throat
sprucewind

    ~ ~ ~

unhappy marriage
how she waned
to a pale crescent 

 

 

 

 

the speed of the raindrop depending on its size the buck

    ~ ~ ~

do they have a deadline too?
                                                    rain drops

    ~ ~ ~   

check engine light
not with a bang
but a whimper

    ~ ~ ~

salt wind
Bernini shaping
the juniper

 

 

 

 

conchoidal fracture
ChatGPT lies to me
with a straight face

    ~ ~ ~

a place for everything
and everything its place
paint-by-number lotus

    ~ ~ ~

in their own image
three boys
making mud pies

    ~ ~ ~

after snow
vultures circling the mountains
of the moon

 

 

 

still life
the homeless man
begging for change

    ~ ~ ~

winter grasses
a boar bristle brush
in mummy brown

    ~ ~ ~

gathering to open
Wallace’s briefcase
mackerel clouds at dusk

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.
 
―Lauren DeStefano, Wither

__________________

Newcomer Joshua St. Claire is an accountant from a small town in Pennsylvania; he works as a financial director for a non-profit. His haiku and related poetry have been published broadly, including in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, The Heron’s Nest, and Mayfly. Welcome to the Kitchen, Joshua, and don’t be a stranger!

__________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Joshua St. Claire

A reminder that
The Int’l Peace Festival
meets in Elk Grove today
2-6pm (poetry at 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!