—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday!!
OUT OF THE DARK
After the huff and puff, the flash and boom,
the days of pouring rain—would the storm ever
cease? Our little creek ran high with fallen
branches, torn-loose slate like broken
tiles across the driveway. Toil of shovel and sand-
bags against the waves of floodwash rushing
downstream. But our druid oaks held firm
on their rock-rooted trunks, and at last
the dark gives up to sunrise sparkling radiant
on every drop of rain still hanging
from leaf and limb. How long might it last,
this merciful morning smiling?
After the huff and puff, the flash and boom,
the days of pouring rain—would the storm ever
cease? Our little creek ran high with fallen
branches, torn-loose slate like broken
tiles across the driveway. Toil of shovel and sand-
bags against the waves of floodwash rushing
downstream. But our druid oaks held firm
on their rock-rooted trunks, and at last
the dark gives up to sunrise sparkling radiant
on every drop of rain still hanging
from leaf and limb. How long might it last,
this merciful morning smiling?
HIGH LAKES
On the trail to
a nameless place
I lost count of bowers
blooming paintbrush
against granite
raised by seismic powers
under clouds dark
as thunderstorm
gathering in towers
shot with sunlight,
columbine and
yellow monkeyflowers.
On the trail to
a nameless place
I lost count of bowers
blooming paintbrush
against granite
raised by seismic powers
under clouds dark
as thunderstorm
gathering in towers
shot with sunlight,
columbine and
yellow monkeyflowers.
SEARCHING AT MERCY OF WEATHER
Adrift on Sailor Ridge, I’m following my dog—high on wind that billows grasses and cloud, wind that draws him like a hooked line before it shifts and lets him loose, fickle wind that hides in hedges, caught at edges of Brush Bunny Lane. My dog sails green waves of grass, nose tuned to the Beaufort Scale, scanning horizon and just beyond, Mt Ararat. Could a bluster blow us that far? A lull. Wind changes course. My dog’s got the scent again, tacks, head-high toward a yet-to-be-discovered spot…
nameless on the map:
his quarry a human cast-
away to be found.
Adrift on Sailor Ridge, I’m following my dog—high on wind that billows grasses and cloud, wind that draws him like a hooked line before it shifts and lets him loose, fickle wind that hides in hedges, caught at edges of Brush Bunny Lane. My dog sails green waves of grass, nose tuned to the Beaufort Scale, scanning horizon and just beyond, Mt Ararat. Could a bluster blow us that far? A lull. Wind changes course. My dog’s got the scent again, tacks, head-high toward a yet-to-be-discovered spot…
nameless on the map:
his quarry a human cast-
away to be found.
WHOLENESS, A PEAR
Just outside the Nature Area,
reaching branches through chain-link fence,
a pear tree. Survivor of what used to be
forest cleared for orchard.
Orchard abandoned, forest comes back
around this pear tree with its clutch
of pears too small to harvest; stunted or
just not fully grown.
Through woven wire you picked one,
I fit my palm around another, took it home
to kitchen windowsill warmth and light,
a promise of soft, sweet wholeness.
At cusp of fall I bit into crisp-hard tartness,
a hint of trespass, of too soon/too late
or never. Deficient in perfection, but I ate it
to its seeds. It tasted wonderful.
Just outside the Nature Area,
reaching branches through chain-link fence,
a pear tree. Survivor of what used to be
forest cleared for orchard.
Orchard abandoned, forest comes back
around this pear tree with its clutch
of pears too small to harvest; stunted or
just not fully grown.
Through woven wire you picked one,
I fit my palm around another, took it home
to kitchen windowsill warmth and light,
a promise of soft, sweet wholeness.
At cusp of fall I bit into crisp-hard tartness,
a hint of trespass, of too soon/too late
or never. Deficient in perfection, but I ate it
to its seeds. It tasted wonderful.
MERCY FOR THE FROG
California: A frog that dies during a frog-
jumping contest cannot legally be eaten.
—The United States of Crazy Laws
It’s not really a contest—just a misconception
between me and the frog. I have no wish
to kill the leaping creature, much less eat it.
I save frogs from being eaten by my cat,
when they jump from my wet-mop to swim laps
in my wash-bucket, then a high leap
to skitter across the kitchen floor.
Droughty summer evaporated the ponds.
Tiny chorus frogs find my mop hung on the deck
to dry, and end up in my bucket.
I’ve learned to dunk my mop in water outside
while my cat watches behind sliding plate glass.
If I catch the frog, it goes in my pie-pan of water
never intended for frog-pie.
THIRD TRY
Green comet
once-in-our-lifetime
passes over in the night.
We’ll never
witness it again—
come outside to gaze with me.
But full moon
lightens the night sky
and clouds block the brightest stars.
We’ll have to view it virtually
or ride its green tail in our verses.
Green comet
once-in-our-lifetime
passes over in the night.
We’ll never
witness it again—
come outside to gaze with me.
But full moon
lightens the night sky
and clouds block the brightest stars.
We’ll have to view it virtually
or ride its green tail in our verses.
Today’s LittleNip:
STORM-DARK
—Taylor Graham
deep dark of canyon—
leafless oak canopies rise
brilliant with first sun
_____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for this morning's fine poetry and photos as we continue to clean up from the past storms. Forms she has used this week include a Haibun (“Searching at Mercy of Weather”); a Haiku (“Storm-Dark”); a Word-Can Poem (“Out of the Dark”); a Troisieme (“Third Try”); and a Sweetbriar (“High Lakes”). The Troisieme and the Sweetbriar were Triple-F Challenges last week.
Poetic License read-around has returned to Placerville, now on the second Mondays of the month, so one is coming up this Monday (2/13). Also in El Dorado County this week, Lara Gularte will be beginning her Writing Our Words workshop, Cameron Park Library on Thursday, 5:30pm. For more info about El Dorado County poetry events, and for photos and poems from past ones, go to Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/. El Dorado County Poet Laureate Lara Gularte also has a Facebook page to announce poetry events and all things poetic in the county; see www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. And/or see UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
Speaking of speaking (Spoken Word—get it?), if you’re down in Modesto tonight, Angela Drew will be featured at A Night of Spoken Word Poetry/Open Mic at Modesto Junior College, celebrating Black History Month. Also happening tonight, this one in Rancho Cordova, CA: Black History and Beyond: A Celebration of Black Music and Performing Arts. Check out UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS for details for both of these events.
And now it’s time for…
STORM-DARK
—Taylor Graham
deep dark of canyon—
leafless oak canopies rise
brilliant with first sun
_____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for this morning's fine poetry and photos as we continue to clean up from the past storms. Forms she has used this week include a Haibun (“Searching at Mercy of Weather”); a Haiku (“Storm-Dark”); a Word-Can Poem (“Out of the Dark”); a Troisieme (“Third Try”); and a Sweetbriar (“High Lakes”). The Troisieme and the Sweetbriar were Triple-F Challenges last week.
Poetic License read-around has returned to Placerville, now on the second Mondays of the month, so one is coming up this Monday (2/13). Also in El Dorado County this week, Lara Gularte will be beginning her Writing Our Words workshop, Cameron Park Library on Thursday, 5:30pm. For more info about El Dorado County poetry events, and for photos and poems from past ones, go to Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/. El Dorado County Poet Laureate Lara Gularte also has a Facebook page to announce poetry events and all things poetic in the county; see www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. And/or see UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
Speaking of speaking (Spoken Word—get it?), if you’re down in Modesto tonight, Angela Drew will be featured at A Night of Spoken Word Poetry/Open Mic at Modesto Junior College, celebrating Black History Month. Also happening tonight, this one in Rancho Cordova, CA: Black History and Beyond: A Celebration of Black Music and Performing Arts. Check out UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS for details for both of these events.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
There’s also a newly dusted-off 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. 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
Nolcha Fox and Stephen Kingsnorth responded to last week's Ekphrastic photo:
I’d be a lovely coconut
on a tropical beach,
caressed by the sun,
rocked and rolled
by the wind
into warm waters
to float to new shores.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
* * *
PAP
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Eaten by birds, then dropped somewhere,
squashed, achene patch, strawberry fields,
or copter down with blades from tree;
blown by the wind further afield,
then parachuted, landing clear.
But here’s a floater, beached on strand,
drift, rafted beyond coral reef,
a buoyant seed, pap milk to feed.
From open palm, bare soles grip-climbed,
hack back thick coat to fibrous coir,
then break its back to drink its fill
and chew the cud, white pap again.
Shell company, well packaged, hid,
it’s here called Bounty, chocolate wrapped,
milk clear, opaque in climate change,
oil used for cooking, washing skin,
cosmetic range, full fat applied,
emulsified and dandified.
How self-contained as castaway,
until landfall, but sand to grow—
what castles in the air, sea dreams.
Am I as fruitful, when compare
this nut whose nature tours the rim,
pacific in integrity,
as spreads its bounty through the world?
Do I adapt, as seeds, seem learned,
aware of their environment,
the better way to navigate,
to spread survival chance for genes—
or we evolve, too slow apace?
We’ll know—or those grandchildren will—
if we the stranded castaways
or master of our stewardship—
more mistress with our mother earth.
* * *
Here is a Villanelle from Jackie Chou, a new visitor to the Kitchen from whom we’ll hear more tomorrow:
A NEW YEAR’S REFLECTION (a Villanelle)
—Jackie Chou, Pico Rivera, CA
The year has begun with gloom,
my smile fallen to the floor,
to be swept away with a broom.
I feel a momentary peace, and then boom,
my fears enter through the door.
The year has begun with gloom.
I pace back and forth in my room,
pondering what God made me for,
to be swept away with a broom.
My anxiety is in such full bloom,
that I can't stand it anymore.
The year has begun with gloom.
There were days before all this doom,
memories stored inside a drawer,
to be swept away with a broom.
I know I ought to go look for a groom,
but sorrow keeps gnawing at my core.
The year has begun with gloom,
to be swept away with a broom.
* * *
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has written a rhyming poem based on abab cdcd, etc. This poem is similar to the Lilt (https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/abab-cdcd-efef-ghgh/) except for its accentuation:
—Jackie Chou, Pico Rivera, CA
The year has begun with gloom,
my smile fallen to the floor,
to be swept away with a broom.
I feel a momentary peace, and then boom,
my fears enter through the door.
The year has begun with gloom.
I pace back and forth in my room,
pondering what God made me for,
to be swept away with a broom.
My anxiety is in such full bloom,
that I can't stand it anymore.
The year has begun with gloom.
There were days before all this doom,
memories stored inside a drawer,
to be swept away with a broom.
I know I ought to go look for a groom,
but sorrow keeps gnawing at my core.
The year has begun with gloom,
to be swept away with a broom.
* * *
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has written a rhyming poem based on abab cdcd, etc. This poem is similar to the Lilt (https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/abab-cdcd-efef-ghgh/) except for its accentuation:
WORSE THAN BAD
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
it is our fate to love to hate
our beginning was a revolt,
prisons are full, we’re still irate
bad feelings grow until they molt
and pave the way for worse to come
no penalty is too severe
for open sores that will not numb
as we, the victims, dwell in fear
there was that speech, ‘twas heard by all
his breach of trust clear off the charts
some consequence should now befall
that draws and quarters all his parts
we cannot feed him to the beasts
they so deserve much better lot
some guidance does come from the priests:
pray for his soul….then let him rot
* * *
Joe Nolan’s poem here rhymes xxxa xxxa xxxa xxxa:
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
it is our fate to love to hate
our beginning was a revolt,
prisons are full, we’re still irate
bad feelings grow until they molt
and pave the way for worse to come
no penalty is too severe
for open sores that will not numb
as we, the victims, dwell in fear
there was that speech, ‘twas heard by all
his breach of trust clear off the charts
some consequence should now befall
that draws and quarters all his parts
we cannot feed him to the beasts
they so deserve much better lot
some guidance does come from the priests:
pray for his soul….then let him rot
* * *
Joe Nolan’s poem here rhymes xxxa xxxa xxxa xxxa:
DREAMING WHILE DESPERATE
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
I dream more
When I’m desperate—
Flouncing for things
I cannot find.
I know what they are,
But can’t describe them—
Something’s slipped from
A corner of my mind.
If you chance upon
My search,
Please shout to me, behind.
Announce to me
The things I need,
Since to my needs
I’m blind.
* * *
This poem by Roe Brown is in Free Verse (vers libre). See more from Roe next Monday:
PAIN AS AN ALLY
—Roe Brown, Sacramento, CA
The night before my open-heart surgery, when they set
the port for the heart/lung machine in the artery of my wrist,
I felt the pain couldn’t be much worse. But I knew what
was to come would be much, much worse. And I began
to spiral into a blind panic.
It was then I remembered The Teachings of Don Juan.
A shaman needs an ally.
I decided then and there that pain would be my ally.
No longer to be feared, pain was my guide. If I woke up
in pain, I could rejoice because it meant
I lived through the surgery.
The new surgery I face will not be “as bad” but will be painful.
Internal geography will shift, there will be incisions,
muscles will be severed. It will hurt.
I will call on my old nemesis/ally Pain.
I will have reason to rejoice. Reason to pay attention.
Reason to practice patience.
Cancer sneaked up, gave no warning. Having discovered
the deadly cluster growing in me, it must come out.
I am more aware of pain now than ever. And, again,
it will be my guide. The last time, I learned much about limits
and how to test those limits to recover.
I expect to learn a new set of skills from my Ally.
And pain? I will have a whole new relationship with it.
* * *
And here is an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth about spare parts—pieces of poems that are, like spare socks, waiting to see the light of day:
—Roe Brown, Sacramento, CA
The night before my open-heart surgery, when they set
the port for the heart/lung machine in the artery of my wrist,
I felt the pain couldn’t be much worse. But I knew what
was to come would be much, much worse. And I began
to spiral into a blind panic.
It was then I remembered The Teachings of Don Juan.
A shaman needs an ally.
I decided then and there that pain would be my ally.
No longer to be feared, pain was my guide. If I woke up
in pain, I could rejoice because it meant
I lived through the surgery.
The new surgery I face will not be “as bad” but will be painful.
Internal geography will shift, there will be incisions,
muscles will be severed. It will hurt.
I will call on my old nemesis/ally Pain.
I will have reason to rejoice. Reason to pay attention.
Reason to practice patience.
Cancer sneaked up, gave no warning. Having discovered
the deadly cluster growing in me, it must come out.
I am more aware of pain now than ever. And, again,
it will be my guide. The last time, I learned much about limits
and how to test those limits to recover.
I expect to learn a new set of skills from my Ally.
And pain? I will have a whole new relationship with it.
* * *
And here is an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth about spare parts—pieces of poems that are, like spare socks, waiting to see the light of day:
DRIFTWOOD
—Stephen Kingsnorth
My scrap file filled with the stillborn,
that made a couplet, stanza, two,
but crept away, tail between legs,
like watered wine that drained away.
But in this new, recycling world,
should I lay bare what hungered soul—
and offer hibernating themes,
the may-be puns, haunt should-be lines,
those rhythms, rhymes that caught my pulse?
I gambled, that addiction steal,
with cherries, horses, roulette wheel,
the bouncing ball that jumps too far,
and even raffles in good cause,
would set me up, three pages least.
But chance and serendipity,
the happenstance on which rely
proved too much art, my naïve stance,
who never wagered, staked a thing.
And then I heard Paul Simon sing,
and heard the saint in his bedroom,
music’s goddess, Cecilia,
and knew his lyrics shamed my muse.
How difficult to excise verse,
extract the tooth that chewed so much;
use cold storage, a reduced font,
but just in case, like junk yard scrap,
its moment comes, spare sock proves pair.
___________________
Many thanks to our SnakePals for their brave fiddling! Would you like to be a SnakePal? 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!
—Stephen Kingsnorth
My scrap file filled with the stillborn,
that made a couplet, stanza, two,
but crept away, tail between legs,
like watered wine that drained away.
But in this new, recycling world,
should I lay bare what hungered soul—
and offer hibernating themes,
the may-be puns, haunt should-be lines,
those rhythms, rhymes that caught my pulse?
I gambled, that addiction steal,
with cherries, horses, roulette wheel,
the bouncing ball that jumps too far,
and even raffles in good cause,
would set me up, three pages least.
But chance and serendipity,
the happenstance on which rely
proved too much art, my naïve stance,
who never wagered, staked a thing.
And then I heard Paul Simon sing,
and heard the saint in his bedroom,
music’s goddess, Cecilia,
and knew his lyrics shamed my muse.
How difficult to excise verse,
extract the tooth that chewed so much;
use cold storage, a reduced font,
but just in case, like junk yard scrap,
its moment comes, spare sock proves pair.
___________________
Many thanks to our SnakePals for their brave fiddling! Would you like to be a SnakePal? 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!
•••Lilt: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/abab-cdcd-efef-ghgh
AND/OR scroll down on Poets Collective’s Poetry Forms Index to the Abbreviated Haiku (Miku):
•••Abbreviated Haiku: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/example-index
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic photo.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Love, Regardless”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Abbreviated Haiku: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/example-index
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Free Verse: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/free-verse AND/OR
www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/thirteen-ways-of-looking-at-a-poem/free-verse
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Haiku: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Lilt: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/abab-cdcd-efef-ghgh
•••Sweetbriar: https://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#sweetbriar
•••Troisieme: https://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet
•••Villanelle (rhymed; can be unrhymed): www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-forms-villanelle
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them.
For more about meter, see:
•••www.studiobinder.com/blog/what-is-iambic-pentameter-definition-literature
•••www.pandorapost.com/2021/05/examples-of-iambic-pentameter-tetrameter-and-trimeter-in-poetry.html
•••nosweatshakespeare.com/sonnets/iambic-pentameter
•••www.thoughtco.com/introducing-iambic-pentameter-2985082
•••www.nfi.edu/iambic-pentameter
____________________
—Medusa
See what you can make of the above
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
***
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
