Showing posts sorted by date for query D.R. Wagner. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query D.R. Wagner. Sort by relevance Show all posts

Friday, January 31, 2025

So Much Depends . . .

 —Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Joe Nolan, Lynn White, Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Cristina Chin, 
Jerome Berglund, and Caschwa
 
 
THE RED FIREPLUG

After William Carlos Williams, in the style of and
response to “The Red Chair” by Katy Brown,
Medusa’s Kitchen, 1/20/25 (https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2025/01/those-wacky-winds-of-warning.html)


So much depends upon
a red fireplug beside an industrial
road lining itself

with large gray structures
for making goods and money
on what was

empty weedy fields

for making O2
and nurturing furtive homeless
camps

and feeding pesky varmints
as well as songbirds

and flowers like poppies
that in their season explode
in golden flame.
 
 
 


IT’S YEAR-ROUND NOW

We’re burning brush piles,
always clearing for wildfire
season that’s always.
 
 
 

 
SILENT FLIGHT MACHINES
from “Are all owls night owls?” 
Interesting Facts email (Jan. 24, 2025)

Centuries have looked to symbols
of spooky death, captivating their stares
on a poet, as popular myth suggests
adaptations allow heads to turn
without cutting off brains like rodents
scratching in leaf litter, riffing
on a poem that gathers birds
to define a dictionary.
 
 
 

 
WOODS AND FIELD

Those old bedtime walks
our dogs scouting dark corners—
midwinter moonlight.

Statue up ahead
the dogs circling uncertain—
midwinter moonlight
it’s the great buck standing ground—
dogs come to your call: bedtime.
 
 
 

 
FROST ON THE RAILROAD

The midwinter moon has left its silver
brushed across the weathered ties
keeping rails from dancing.
 
 
 


SHORT WALK ALONG RR TRACK

As we start the trail
a young lady walks her phone—
waiting for someone?

Four Sheriff’s cars
pull up at the closed diner
across the road.

Police car stops at ranch gate,
drives away, comes back &
then leaves again—why?

Two ladies with 2-way radio
in chest harness
pass us, walking the track.

I’m in orange SAR vest
& hardhat because
of my rambunctious dog.

Are we all part of a story
or nine separate stories
plus the dog’s tale?

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:


USE YOUR NOSE
—Taylor Graham

A skunk had passed this way before
and left his mark along the fence.
I’ve studied tracks and scat, but swore
a skunk had passed this way before
without the teaching of a score
of experts. It’s just common scents.
A skunk had passed this way before
and left his mark along the fence.

___________________

When Taylor Graham sent her poems to me this week, she wrote “I’ll soon be off to Denny's to hear a talk on what to do if I meet a cougar.” Those who walk the woods of the foothills need to be concerned about such things… Anyway, we’re grateful for TG’s fine poetry and photos, as always—but watch out for those pesky cougars!

Forms TG has used this week include a Haiku (“It's Year-Round Now”); a Response Poem (“The Red Fireplug”); a Hainka (“Woods and Field”); a Triversen (“Short Walk Along RR Track”); a Kimo (“Frost on the Railroad”); a Triolet in response to a recent Ekphrastic photo on MK (“Use Your Nose”); and a Found Poem (“Silent Flight Machines”). The Triolet and the Found Poem were last week’s Triple-F Challenges; a recent Tuesday Seed of the Week was “Midwinter Moonlight”; and, well, what can you say about skunks? Always charmers, they are…

Taylor’s response to Katy Brown’s “The Red Chair” has the two of them teamed up again after a long hiatus, and we’re so glad to see it! Time was when the two of them and D.R. Wagner formed The Meduskateers, three fine poets writing responses back and forth. Of course, D.R. is gone now, but there’s no reason the other two can’t reunite—and we’d be all the better for it. By the way, Katy and TG will facilitate another Capturing Wakamatsu workshop on Feb. 9, a week from this Sunday.  Check it out and reserve your spot at https://www.arconservancy.org/wakamatsu/.

In El Dorado County’s poetry events this week, there will be a Poet Laureate Trail reading by El Dorado County Poet Laureate Stephen Meadows in El Dorado Hills on Wednesday, 1/29, 5:30pm. Plus, 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 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!  
 
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!


* * *
 
 
 Last Week’s Ekphrastic Photo


Poets who sent responses to last week’s Ekphrastic photo included Joe Nolan, Lynn White, Nolcha Fox, and Stephen Kingsnorth:



ENIGMATIC SWIRLS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

These enigmatic, emblematic swirls
Could be so many things—
We can see the shape of cellos
The binding of the Tango
The swirling of galaxies
The rising of a sun,
All so colorful,
So hopeful of life,
Maybe an archetype
Of the marriage of
Husband and wife?

* * *

SWIRLS AND CURLS
—Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales


Colours of psychedelia
transcending
summer sunshine
swirling and curling
like creamy ringlets
of tie dyed hair
unbraided and free.
Psychedelia in waiting
for the spikes and razors
of punk to come.

* * *

DANCER
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY


She is a dancer swirling,
twirling in her rainbow skirts.

She’s kaleidoscopic wind,
a blur of flowers and autumn leaves.

She’s a dark seducer
disguised as lust and drugs.

* * *

MAGNET TEST
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales


Imagine scroll of violin,
viola, cello, woodwind, strings,
it being knurl of wood I see,
a treble clef, chromatic scale;
light orchestra, Palm Court perhaps,
beneath stained glass at Tiffany’s.

Maybe a hint of Northern Lights,
denied—though spiral twists be scene—
no trip the light fantastic dance,
for whirl and twirl or spin are seen,
but still, flat, -footed as AI,
no shimmer, shimmy, mystery.

I like perspective, groovy curls,
as if spokeshaved in awkward space,
too soon to be split-ends I fear—
that final judgement, crafted art.
With meagre serifs, what the plot,
the programmed plan or strategy?

From a grey world, or black and white,
its colours, shapes bringing appeal,
but do we question of what depth,
as we would ask of stroking brush?
Does this pass fridge-door magnet test,
as would the children’s fibre pen?

Exhibit place not masterpiece,
but Voice, his Master, grandchild crèche;
like snowflake—of unique design,
a comfort blanket in the wastes—
for grandpas’ tastes, gallery space,
what’s priceless, bloom of family.

Forget the psychedelia,
that mourning rise of mushroom cloud,
but trust in thrusting morning ring,
the web established underground
of mycorrhiza, and the child—
out mouths of sucklings prophesied.

* * *

Jerome Berglund and Christina Chin have spent us a Split Sequence:
 
 
  Queen of the Night


QUEEN OF THE NIGHT
—Jerome Berglund, Minneapolis (plain text) 
and Christina Chin, Malaysia  (italics)


Tan Hua viewing

hosting party
the anticipation
at midnight


less screen time they get

dance of the
sugar plum fairy
posh spice

the better performance seems

lucky
first teen love
he's honey for my tea



(Christina and Jerome say: “The Queen of the Night flower symbolism is derived from its short flowering time [of one night]. The flower's meaning is to enjoy the small moments because they do not last. A person that views an open flower will have good luck.”)


* * *

And here is a Found poem by Carl Schwartz:
 
 


RULES BY WHICH TO LIVE
—Caschwa

After you drive and use machines
for shopping errands, you should
not donate sperm for 90 days

Watching TV will expose you to
drowsiness, confusion, and dizziness
this is most common from 1 month
to 6 months after your tax return has
been submitted

Check with your union to see if they
have an active program to fight against
discrimination using signs of protest so
you have a higher chance of getting
noticed

what is the most important information
you should know about your cellmate?
Tell your guard about unexpected bruising
or fainting when they come around to do
their cell counts

____________________

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.) Howzabout one of the Haiku variants, the Kimo:

•••Kimo: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/kimo-poetic-form AND/OR poetscollective.org/poetryforms/kimo

•••AND/OR a Response Poem using the “Queen of the Night” theme (see poem and definition above):

•••Response Poem: creativetalentsunleashed.com/2015/11/18/writing-tip-response-poems

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

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

____________________

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

•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Found Poem: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/found-poetry-converting-or-stealing-the-words-of-others AND/OR poets.org/glossary/found-poem
•••Haiku: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku AND/OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Hainka: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/hainka-haiku-tanka-new-genre-of-poetic-form
•••Kimo: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/kimo-poetic-form AND/OR poetscollective.org/poetryforms/kimo
•••Response Poem: creativetalentsunleashed.com/2015/11/18/writing-tip-response-poems
•••Split Sequence: http://www.hsa-haiku.org/frogpond/2022-issue45-1/essay.html
•••Triolet: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/triolet-an-easy-way-to-write-8-lines-of-poetry
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
   
__________________

—Medusa
 
 
 
Guardians of the Woods
  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
 
 
 
 
 















 
 
 
 
 
For 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!
 

 
















 







Thursday, November 21, 2024

Still Dancing After All These Years

 Scan Me
—Poetry and Visuals by Smith, Cleveland, OH
 
 
I push my rock up hill
watch as hill falls down

In empty want of will
I'm too stupid to go around

Dancing light distracts me
from my terror time

Shows a better be
a finer fine to find

I turn in search of lovely
leave lonely in the lurch

Seek some truths beyond me
weigh the man . . . and church

Both are judged and wanting
says the writing on the wall

Must be sort of daunting
God's middle finger and all

Rock and hill and finger
keep messing up the page

But as long as my luck lingers
I'll survive this culture cage
 
 
 
 Hang On
 

Sisyphus and I worship
at the cat box
we kneel
bow to clumped piss
and clayed shit
when done
we smooth the sand
with Zen
then
do it again
and again
and again

we are happy
we have a steady job

it reminds us of eternity
 
 
 
Run On


Drinking the talky coffee
in pre-dawn dark
by firelight
me jabbering away
ear-sore wife suffering
dog waiting impatiently at feet
for talk to end
morning walk's begin
me in caffeine-jacked now
and there ain't no not yet next
savoring the madness of moment
since minutes tend to the mundane

which is weird
since mundane ain't
simply can't be
in this miraculous whee of life
and lights
laughter
love

so leave me be
leave me
leave
be

and somehow pay the rent
(for you of the Capitalist bent)
 
 
 
 Heart and Soul


Sometimes I wear two shoes to write a poem
sometimes none
sometimes one shoe socks two
sometimes one'll do
depends on doing
poem coming
don't know where or why
they light on I
but grateful
adds glitter to gloom
lightens doom
swoons moons
fuels fumes
 
 
 
 Because the Night


I was beast man at my wedding

My first pun? Once a pun a time

I've got quite a few pieces
but missing some bits

Quantum creatures sneak my creases
eating what fits

Betting heart as feature
not fatal bug
 
Reality's creaky cum creature
one sum slog

Listening to bonging clock
grateful we agree

Inner silences in inner silence
carry the weight for me

Are figments baby figs?
Do they grow on trees like need on knees?

There is song in silence, song in noise
lesson in both

Steeple of day steeped in night
eat until eaten not very nice

We are mouth holding scream
 
 
 
Egg In...


Raise my face to sun
suck what source I can
closed lids peach red glow
and luminous yellows
knowing if I open them
I'll be damaged

flash to last year
staring at sun
eyes open
for four minutes
of total solar eclipse
it was alien
other
that burning thing up there
fuming fusion
everyday deadly

stare now eyes closed
letting the lid light warm
skin wrap my face
in shine

fine time
 
 
 
 No 
 
Old dog wants
but doesn't know what
so stands in existential angst
glancing at door
at kitchen
at me

I am an old man with an old dog
I don't know either
 
 
 
Try Me 
 

I may look empty
but fumes still fuel my quest

Seems like it's all Go Go Americana
these days down at the
All American Gas Station Beer Stops

I drank MD 20/20 once
and once was enough
but for pure power glory
a drug dealer in low-class high rise
who cut coke at my place
cuz wife didn't understand
once brought moonshine along
and WOW
stuff glowed all the way down
then smiled

Still smiling my 33 years sober
47 years later

Now follow full-spectrum flower
to ease hours
when wind on wrong side of strong

Going on a dope run
running with the wind
then after we're done
we'll do it again

There are silences in the silence
unsilences in the unsilences
lotus grows pure from muck
while I'm more dump truck

And yet
gotta believe good would in bad water

Tickle back of neck sweat
absentmindedly rubbed
killed bug
bug being bug
sweat being sweat
me being me
bug dead

My bad?
You've no idea
I was always outlaw
rogue
approaching scoundrel
wanting better

Push myself to edge with coffee
and stress of class less ness
you know what I mean
if not
you're part of the problem
and I've no solution
cuzs problem myself

Outside silence slows
to rush of wind and wheel
red thread of siren

Where's the punch line?
 
 
 
 Bible Box


Today’s LittleNip:

Awful slippery slidery
this thing called truth
it finally settles
then WHAM
it's gone again

But thanks
for the blue skies
the green leaves
the wind

Pleasures treasures


—Smith

___________________

Smith (Steven B. Smith) reminds me that this post brings his visits to the Kitchen to nine years—and we’re all the better for his rockin’ wordplay (and truthplay!), dancing along with us for almost a decade now. (And thanks to D.R. Wagner, sadly now deceased, for, on a trip to Cleveland, giving Smith the tip that Medusa’s Kitchen might not be such a bad place to hang out.) Here’s our thanks to Steven B., looking forward to another nine and another nine and another…

___________________

—Medusa
 
 
 
 I See You
—Visual by Smith



















 
 
 
 
 
A reminder that
Straight Out Scribes & Noa Sanaa
will read tonight in Sacramento.
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.

Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
 to find the date you want.

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!
 
 Sisyphus rocks and rolls~~
and rocks~~and rolls~~












 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Sunday, May 19, 2024

Buying Drinks With Good Karma

City
—Poetry by John Grochalski, Brooklyn, NY
—Photos  by John Grochalski
 
 
top suite at the roosevelt avenue subway stop

as
the commuters
swear and stomp
and spit

walking past him
heading toward their hell

the man
sleeping on the subway steps

yawns
spreads his arms wide

then turns over
like he’s sleeping

at the st. regis
or the times square marriott.
 
 
 
 Dirty Rain


saturday, walking
in the freezing rain


my heart
is shattered

as the tears fall
to the cracked pavement

i think
only art
knows my truth

and how even that’s
a goddamned lie.
 
 
 
Trash


spider

today
i didn’t kill a spider

instead
i put it in a plastic cup
and set it free outside

so that tonight
at the bar

i can buy
all of my drinks

with good karma.
 
 
 
Street Toilet


capitalist poem 3

the shithouse sighs
of crazed men

who lock themselves
inside of public restrooms
for their own lunatic eternities

remember that america has failed them

and don’t think
for a second

that it won’t fail you too.
 
 
 
 Half Full


nirvana

to not be able
to remember the tragedy of birth

to not be concerned or afraid
of the comedy of death

and to blissfully be able to ignore

all of the bullshit
they put us through
in between.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else.
 
―Italo Calvino,
Invisible Cities

_____________________

—Medusa, thanking John Grochalski for his return to the Kitchen this morning, brining us his fine poetry!
 
 
 
 
Edinburgh in the Rain
—Public Domain Photo
 
 
 
 
 
 
 















A reminder that the
D.R. Wagner Celebration of Life
takes places in Locke today, 1pm;
Louise Moises will read at
The Poets Club of Lincoln’s Open Mic
in Lincoln this afternoon, 3pm;
and Storytelling Sunday presents
Laureate Lineup in Placerville, 6pm.
For info about these and other
uture 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.

Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
 to find the date you want.

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!
 



















Tuesday, April 23, 2024

Belonging

Musing
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Artwork by Joyce Odam
 
 
BE LONGING : BELONGING.
—Joyce Odam

The sky, so wonderful—so close—so far with its
panoramic clouds, its endless-ness, how it sets me
to gazing : Does sky touch earth. If not, where does
sky begin its invisible texture—and the night sky,
with its nomadic moon, wandering the huge sky
until it is almost gone—feeling my eyes follow. Of
course, I know this is not thus, but the mysterious
continuations of sky that compel me so. And I roll
this earth around under my feet with great 
imaginary skill, feeling it go round, and marveling 
why I don’t fall off . . .
                                                    

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/11/17)
 
 
 
Little Butterfly
 
 
field of olden blooms
perfume sighing over graves
promises to keep

—Robin Gale Odam


(prev. pub. in
Brevities, May 2017)

________________________

                FISSURE
           —Joyce Odam

              …if     once
         I stand     in rain
        and feel     myself
             wear     away
 feel the dark     heaviness
            of me     slip
            down     feel me
            stand     like a
           mortal     flower
        in liquid     earth
         feel me     glisten
               and     brighten
         with all     the new tone
      of myself     make a
       sound of     river
              with     myself
            as the     sea
           and all     that is
       swift and     urgent
        hurrying     mysteriously
                into     me


(prev. pub. in The University Review, June 1968)
 
 
 
Raindrops
 
 
IN BLUE REFLECTION
—Joyce Odam

After "Water", Photo enhancement
by D. R. Wagner, in Medusa’s Kitchen



Now water separates against the land.
Now earth has broken away.

Now there is only sky and water,
there is only dream, with its
ancient illusion.

The sky is caught in blue reflection
of nothing there—

where is the gasp of warning—the
change that will change again—
surge back against

the awesome beauty of destruction.
Is this but a held breath—
 
time’s elasticity
that let's go a cosmic sigh
that settles back into a reflection.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/7/21)

____________________

WEEDING
—Joyce Odam

pulling the roots
out
pulling them right out
straight out and up
through the heart and flesh
of the earth
laying them exposed to the air
which will shrivel them
pulling them right out
of the reluctant earth
which holds them so firmly
which tugs at your fingers
for grip
you and the earth
struggling for
the weeds


(prev. pub. in Poet News, August 1992;
Brevities Mini-Chap, 2002; and
Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/3/20)
 
 
 
Gathering
 
 
OUT THERE IN THE FOG
—Joyce Odam

Out there in the fog
the farmer is working with his hoe.
I can almost not see him.

The two white geese are
hunched in the wet grass by the pan of water.
Silence is sifting upon everything,
cold and gray.

The farmer is wearing a white wool sweater
and moving in and out of motion
in swirls of energy.
He seems far away.
The sun is icy white above him,
the fog between.

The window I look out of is dark with morning.
I am the farmer’s wife,
his recent lover.
I watch him work
with an awesome pride.
He is stronger than winter.

He is turning and turning the earth that he loves
with a methodical determination.

The dog with the cowbell around her neck
is allowed off the chain
and she lets me know where he is
whenever he drifts out of vision.
                                                  

(prev. pub. in Interim, 1997; and
Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/20/18)
 
 
 
Visionary
 
 
SPRING FERVOR
—Joyce Odam

This worried sky, this field of yellow grass,
this birdless hour,

and that lonely man, lonely or not,
taking a simple walk through fields of swollen light—

oh, here the season changes—maybe not this day
or moment, but soon—

soon as the rustling starts and builds
and the sky overwhelms the shadow-heavy earth

and the man heads home, and may not make it,
this blending man, caught

in the roil of swarming shadows that move in and
out,
this man, at one with everything, storm caught.

                                                              
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2019
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/23/21; 09/26/23) 
 
____________________

AT THE SHORELINE
—Robin Gale Odam

He wears dark as a tribute in the
sorrow of the mountainside, at the

shoreline where salty waves gather
memories, lay rings of salt at his feet,
offer pearly shells for his grief—for his
deep and grave pockets to keep.  


(prev. pub. in Brevities, July 2017) 
 
 
 
Tapestry
  
WE ARE
—Joyce Odam

all particle—of the earth—of the air—
of every whispering voice and every

tear fallen from grief, or joy, and every
tear for the silk fabric of fog, mist over

water, sound of crying, the harsh notes
of rage, the emptied stare,

looking at everything—brooding,
crying—the very act of this—the

very rhyming in every windowed
reflection made of glass, the sensation

of touch, the rush of pleasure, the feel
of darkness to the grope, the sunrise,

the sunset, the blur of hope in the frazzled 


mind, the very hope of existence in the doubt,

the distance and the near—the everything,
and everywhere—in this moment, here.

                                                 
(prev. pub. in CFCP)

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

at the seventh hour
when the artist takes his rest
then creation stirs

from the ether and the dust
into ether     into dust


—Robin Gale Odam


(prev. pub. in
Brevities, March 2020)

______________________

Our Seed of the Week was Mother Earth, in honor of yesterday's Earth Day 2024, and Joyce and Robin Odam are celebrating the earth with their fine poetry and photos today. We send them thanks and good wishes!

Our new Seed of the Week is for Arbor Day (last Friday): “Trees”. Tell us about the trees in your life. Trees I Have Known. Trees I Have Loved/Hated. I remember a huge, HUGE fig tree that I played under in my aunt’s yard. Then there are trees that I have lost because someone thought they should be cut down, like my uncle’s peach orchard in Modesto—the whole orchard was removed to build more suburbia (the fig tree went, too). But part of the income from that sale sent me to college.

Anyway, 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 from which to choose. And see every Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry form challenges, including those of the Ekphrastic type.

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

______________________

—Medusa, wishing a Happy Passover to our friends of the Jewish faith~
 
 
 
 
—Public Domain Photo



 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
A reminder that
there will be an Open Mic at the
Sacramento Native American
Health Center today, 6pm; and
Twin Lotus Thai Fourth Tuesdays
features
Bethanie Humphreys, Heather Judy &
Autumn Newman plus open mic   
 in Sacramento tonight, also 6pm.
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.

Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
 to find the date you want.

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!

 


















Monday, April 22, 2024

Celebrating Our Mother

Mother Earth
—Design by Nolcha Fox (with Microsoft Designer)
 
* * *

—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Michael Ceraolo, and Joe Nolan
—Visuals by or Courtesy of Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa, and Joe Nolan
 
 
MOTHER EARTH

wears roses in her braids. Her dress is leaves and dandelions. Gardens grow beneath her feet. When she changes her attire, autumn winds will blow spring flowers away.

—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
 
 
 
 Giant Plastic Tap by Benjamin Von Wong
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of 
Stephen Kingsnorth


MOLDED BY MADNESS
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
 
From rise to set, sun penetrates
as clouds of ancient warning brew;
from rise to fall, the tide recalls,
both waving, drowning, laps increase.
Our stalwart trees store while they stand,
but bark out shrinking rings unheard.
So much laid out here, sands of time,
this scene screened—though that sun less so—
the scree we see, but blind, our lot,
as stumble, tumbling, rubble drop.

We tick as plus, recycle box,
a make of plastic, self inflict,
because we’re molded, present past,
though imperfect, uncertain, tense.
Such giant steppes slow claim the globe,
dismissed as stuff of fairy tales.
But it’s not wicked, which to face,
for if ignored, the choice is made;
lagoons, retreat reefs of the rich
soon lost at sea, no landing, stripped.              

Dust devils swirl from stranded sand,
the islands soon to be engulfed,
and plastic balls once played on beach
long overshot as pellets, brine.
We’re woken, force of faucet gush,
but stop the cock, up underneath.
Poor pupils for the insights known,
we focus imperceptible,
sea, sky and tree with constancy,
but not ice melt, seep, drip of tap. 
 
 
 
 —Photo by Caschwa


TELL ME AGAIN
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

tell me again
your complaints
about too much dirt
but whisper, dearest
Mother Earth would be
most offended

tell me again
your opinions
about not enough time
but whisper, dearest
Grandfather Clock would
be most offended

tell me again
your concerns
about political trends
but whisper, dearest
Uncle Sam would be
most offended

tell me again
your loss of faith
in our government
but whisper, dearest
the Paparazzi repeat
all they see and hear
 
 
 
—Photo by Caschwa


A FEW IDEAS
—Caschwa

sometimes when a food item is used up
the container, if clean, can be recycled;
however other times, the potato salad
or peanut butter, etc. leaves a residue
that cannot easily be removed, so this
becomes garbage to go to the landfill

there have been suggestions to rinse the
item, which of course involves using water,
but I pay dearly for that water

WATER POLICE: Do not use too much water!

ok, got a low flush toilet, and there’s some
gadget in my shower head to reduce the flow,
and I only water the lawn on certain
specified days, and I replaced the sprinkler
system with a drip line

WATER POLICE: You are using more water
this year than in the same time period last
year. Your water use is out of control. You,
lowly scumbag, are not doing your part!

how about this? according to signs posted in
the parks, the Parks Department commonly
uses recycled waste water, so what if we just
left our peanut jars there for them to power
rinse, transforming the jar into a material easily
handled by the normal recycling process? 
 
 
 
—Photo by Caschwa


ALLEGIANCE
—Caschwa

I filed a grievance to the gag order
of the most blighted judges of America,
and the leftists’ picnic for which they stand,
tarnation, heavy fog, indecisive, denying
puberty and mistress to me
 
 
 
—Photo by Caschwa


BACK ON COURSE
—Caschwa

there was an abrupt, loud knock
on my front door! Oh, what
could it be?

a neighbor stood there shyly
telling me that his little girls
were playing and their ball
came over the fence into my yard

it was not a meteor, did not leave a crater
not loose parts from a commercial airliner
just a colorful, adorable little rubber ball

which I found behind my backyard shed,
tossed back over the fence, and was
instantly rewarded with shrieks of
happiness from two little girls

this has happened before, from the neighbors
on both sides of my house, and I don’t mind it;
such a wonderful feeling being surrounded by
children who are delighted by such little things
 
 
 
 —Photo by Caschwa


TURNOVER ON DOWNS
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH

The former football-coach-turned-senator
show that he had sustained the brain damage
from the big hits taken by his players
 
 
 
Not Always Bringing Happiness…
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan


SPEAKERSHIP CAMPAIGN SLOGAN
—Michael Ceraolo

Jim Jordan 2023:
Because Molesters’ Lives Matter
 
 
 
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan


A DAY IN THE MULLIN PATCH
—Michael Ceraolo

The former fighter-turned-senator
showed he had sustained brain damage from those
blows to the head
when he lamented the change in the chamber's rules
that prohibited him from caning someone
 
 
 
 Every cat has a story…
—Public Domain Photo



MY LISBON LADY
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

It was out upon a limb
A Lisbon lady loved me.

She was also lesbian.
I asked her, “Why that might be?”
She said, “That’s how my maker made me.”

She said I was a funny man
And she took me lightly.

“Men are funny. Don’t you know?
They play at love and let you go.
It’s best
Not to pin
Too heavy a tail
Upon a reckless donkey.”

And so it was
We stayed together
For just a little while,
Until she heard her lover
Call for her return.
Whereupon, she left me there,
Running thither, sprightly. 
 
 
 
 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan


LONG YOURSELF INTO  LIGHT
—Joe Nolan

Long yourself into light,
Dear darling,
When the crushing darkness comes.

It will not be long,
Dear darling,
Before the darkness ends.

Love yourself into light,
Dear darling,
The way your love lit life.

Behold, his specter
Drifts across,
Happy you were his wife.

Long yourself into light,
Dear darling,
As the darkness disappears—
A new world is waiting there.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET
—John Keats

The poetry of earth is never dead:

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,

And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run

From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;

That is the Grasshopper’s—he takes the lead

In summer luxury,—he has never done

With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.

The poetry of earth is ceasing never:

On a lone winter evening, when the frost

Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills

The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,

And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,

The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.

____________________

Our thanks to today’s fine contributors as we celebrate that Other Mother’s Day today. Nolcha Fox is fiddling around with illustrations; thanks to her for today’s and for last week’s, as well. And thanks to Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) for wonderful photos of his garden. Poppies everywhere are glorious this year, and I'm glad he sent a close-up of one.
 
NorCal poets will be saddened to hear that Phillip Larrea passed away unexpectedly this past April 1. For more information and to submit memories, condolences, to send flowers, or to plant a tree in his name (Arbor Day is approaching!), go to https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/name/phillip-larrea-obituary?pid=206789478/.) To see some of Phillip's poetry which appeared in Medusa's Kitchen, go to https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2012/05/tricubes-leda-and-mom.html and https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2013/05/preserve-us-monsanto.html/.

Deadlines coming up: May 1 is the deadline for the next
VOICES 2024 anthology, this one honoring D.R. Wagner. Further down the line, July 18 is the deadline for the 20th Annual Voices of Lincoln contest. For details about these and all things NorCal poetic, go to UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html/).

____________________

—Medusa
 
 
 
 Our thanks to Squirrel, who wishes us
a most satisfying Earth Day~
—Public Domain Photo
















 
 
 
 
 
A reminder that
MoSt Poetry Book Club meets
in Modesto tonight at 6:30pm; and
Sacramento Poetry Center presents
an Earth Day Reading tonight, with
Stan Zumbiel & Julia Conner, 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.

Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
 to find the date you want.

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!