Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Melissa LeMay, Nolcha Fox, Lynn White,
Joe Nolan, and Stephen Kingsnorth
THE MOON SPEAKS
Yes, I’m your Moon again tonight,
what you and your kind (Mankind) term
a crescent moon, sliver of moon, saber-
blade moon. Your fickle human languages.
My cycles are more reliable than any
on Earth, since you-all have been messing
with Nature’s lands, waters, atmosphere
for so long. That’s “long” in your
chronography, not in mine. Right now
you can’t even see me for the clouds.
You call me a sliver—like a splinter
in your thumb, or a cat’s claw
or a fingernail paring. Up here so far
above you, I’m as round and alive
as I’ve ever been, and will remain after
you and your kind pass on to your rewards.
Yes, I’m your Moon again tonight,
what you and your kind (Mankind) term
a crescent moon, sliver of moon, saber-
blade moon. Your fickle human languages.
My cycles are more reliable than any
on Earth, since you-all have been messing
with Nature’s lands, waters, atmosphere
for so long. That’s “long” in your
chronography, not in mine. Right now
you can’t even see me for the clouds.
You call me a sliver—like a splinter
in your thumb, or a cat’s claw
or a fingernail paring. Up here so far
above you, I’m as round and alive
as I’ve ever been, and will remain after
you and your kind pass on to your rewards.
ELEGY FOR WHOM
How can I make you a wild
four-footed Lycidas in the pastoral style
when I don’t know who or what
you were? scattered over last year’s rotting
leaves and early winter’s grasses twining
with vetch months before its bloom—
how Nature brandishes her scythe, her cycles
recycling us all. Walking a morning trail,
I found these signs: part of a rib cage
holding neither breath nor heart, and bones
of one leg (where are the other three,
hoof or paw for touching down to earth?)
I’d guess the long leg of a racer,
a leaper who in each brief bound could fly.
Just moments before, I startled
a doe on the trail, as she startled me
on my walk of finds and losses.
How can I make you a wild
four-footed Lycidas in the pastoral style
when I don’t know who or what
you were? scattered over last year’s rotting
leaves and early winter’s grasses twining
with vetch months before its bloom—
how Nature brandishes her scythe, her cycles
recycling us all. Walking a morning trail,
I found these signs: part of a rib cage
holding neither breath nor heart, and bones
of one leg (where are the other three,
hoof or paw for touching down to earth?)
I’d guess the long leg of a racer,
a leaper who in each brief bound could fly.
Just moments before, I startled
a doe on the trail, as she startled me
on my walk of finds and losses.
WHY DID THE BEAR CROSS THE ROAD?
Before the bear went over the mountain
he stopped by the beehives along the creek
and bear-humming “Honeycomb be my own”
he feasted, golden honey dripping from
his jowls and then he ran across two lanes
of homebound traffic and up the cutbank
into tangles of chaparral and was
way gone over the hills and far away.
RAIN MUSIC
Wiper metronome—
staccato raindrops break free
from clusters of oak.
DON’T FENCE ME IN
There’s always music in my head.
Today I’m walking to the beat
of your beloved freedom song,
a favorite at open-mic.
And here I am in stride behind
my dog whose common time is fast
but who can tell the meter? Is
it trot or pace or something else?
Does he have music in his ear?
I wonder as we let the steps
go by like leaves that fall from oaks
in time with seasons of the wind.
We walk a right-of-way between
those horses in their pasture fence
and fields that dream in winter’s sleep,
wide-open country of a song.
DANCING WITH OTIS
In his mood between repose and zooming
big-dog puppyhood, in the narrow
space between futon and computer table
he weaves himself in 3/4 circles a sort
of waltz around center partner
(me) stroking his sunlit obsidian pelt
his spine arching, tail pluming, eyes
like a child at Christmas and I receive
a gift woven of everyday surprise.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
SEASONALS
—Taylor Graham
flaming bonfire in the stormy woods—
firemen with chainsaws and a match
sweeping storm-fall leaves off the deck—
chimneysweep comes tomorrow
__________________
Taylor Graham writes today about the moon and death, wind and fire, bears and deer and rain, and dancing with her sidekick, Otis. Our thanks to her for her fine pix and poems with their many shades of nature.
Forms TG has used this week include a Persona Poem (“The Moon Speaks”); a Common Time which was written as a response to the reent challenge from Modesto-Stanislas Poetry Center (“Don't Fence Me In”); a Haiku (“Rain Music”); an Elegy (“Elegy for Whom”); and a Nonce Poem that is also a response to last week’s Ekphrastic Challenge from Medusa (“Why Did the Bear Cross the Road?”).
In his mood between repose and zooming
big-dog puppyhood, in the narrow
space between futon and computer table
he weaves himself in 3/4 circles a sort
of waltz around center partner
(me) stroking his sunlit obsidian pelt
his spine arching, tail pluming, eyes
like a child at Christmas and I receive
a gift woven of everyday surprise.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
SEASONALS
—Taylor Graham
flaming bonfire in the stormy woods—
firemen with chainsaws and a match
sweeping storm-fall leaves off the deck—
chimneysweep comes tomorrow
__________________
Taylor Graham writes today about the moon and death, wind and fire, bears and deer and rain, and dancing with her sidekick, Otis. Our thanks to her for her fine pix and poems with their many shades of nature.
Forms TG has used this week include a Persona Poem (“The Moon Speaks”); a Common Time which was written as a response to the reent challenge from Modesto-Stanislas Poetry Center (“Don't Fence Me In”); a Haiku (“Rain Music”); an Elegy (“Elegy for Whom”); and a Nonce Poem that is also a response to last week’s Ekphrastic Challenge from Medusa (“Why Did the Bear Cross the Road?”).
TG says her "Common Time" (or '4/4 time") poem comes from the annual MoSt New Year challenge [now closed]. The Common Time is four stanzas of four lines each, syllable count 4, 8, or 12 (she used 8).
TG’s Nonce form, which was one of our Triple-F Challenges last week, goes like this: all lines have the same syllable count; it’s based on a song title or phrase in the first and last line and a line somewhere in between. Feel free to make up your own Nonce poem—no deadlines on any of our challenges.
In El Dorado County’s poetry events this week, Poetry in Motion will NOT meet in Placerville next Monday morning due to Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. 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, too (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html). Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
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!
* * *
Poets who sent responses to last week’s Ekphrastic photo included Melissa Lemay, Nolcha Fox, Lynn White, Joe Nolan, and Stephen Kingsnorth. As spring crawls toward us, so do the birds and the bees:
EH-OH
—Melissa LeMay, Lancaster, PA
In a flowery field
By a shrubbery wall
Up over the hills
Five multicolored
Beehives sit
On boxy pillars
There is a baby
In the sun—the bees
Are wondering why
Four creatures
That have TV bellies
Keep on walking by
“Eh-oh” they say
While on their way
Equally as confused
If one of them is
Aquamarine—they
Didn’t get the news
* * *
FOR SALE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Houses on the blocks are getting
too high-priced to buy.
In our modest neighborhood,
millionaires are purchasing
our worn-out homes
and building big high-rises.
Soon I’ll have to sell to them
and move somewhere
where I can see the sky.
* * *
TELLING THE BEES
—Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
Bee hives look pretty in the garden
humming in harmony
each community sweet
as its honey.
But to keep them healthy,
they have to be told what’s going on
in the world around them.
And each hive must be told separately.
The bee community does not include other hives,
the other bee lives.
Honey bees are more akin to The Establishment
than to We The People,
only caring for their own, barely tolerating the rest.
Like us they produce a Leader,
a Queen,
and grow her from her own own
ordinary egg.
Then, she is fed by Workers,
groomed by Carers,
protected by Soldiers.
It’s nurture not nature that makes her queen
and keeps her queen while she is useful.
Then they kill her and breed another
and so it goes
on and on and on
just like with us.
They’re just like us.
That’s what I shall tell the bees.
* * *
ALL ABOUT THE EGGS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
It’s all about the eggs.
They come and go,
A woman’s got them
All lined up
Since birth.
Dropping down
One by one
Each month.
When they come
Her hormones surge
Bringing on her loving urge
For life
To spring abundant
From life.
When they go
They drag away
Dreams and hopes
Of future days
With babies
Thus surrounded,
Marked by flow of blood.
* * *
GIFT ECONOMY
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
No bumbling here, nor overload
defying aeronautic law,
or droning liftoff, barely space,
like hovercraft with excess weight.
For these are workers, organised,
a colony, established ranks,
herbaceous border for their box,
just as their rôle is ordered, ticked.
But they have breeding in their case—
how else on royal household roll?
In pollination-aid to blooms,
and as suppliers for the crèche.
Hive of activity we see—
though not that honeytrap for spies—
in pastel palette, terraced row,
a garden city, detached homes.
I’m buzzing, gift economy,
at what those birds and bees can mean;
for nectar, blooms and honey too
are gifted by sky-woman, earth.
As stewards, youngest in the chain,
so poorly have we yet performed,
as web of mycorrhiza speaks,
the Greenman saving where they can.
Our sweetgrass braids are loaned not owned,
indigenous, of native lands
have learned and known, free-gifted ways—
where’s Jubilee in Palestine?
The Law has failed, as Torah too,
as terror reigns, as rained before,
spread on the floor. Of silent night,
the church may sing, but grief attends.
* * *
Stephen Kingsnorth sent us a Pantoum:
braided sweetgrass
DRINK DEEP OF NATIVE DRAUGHT
—Stephen Kingsnorth
After reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimnerer
DRINK DEEP OF NATIVE DRAUGHT
—Stephen Kingsnorth
After reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimnerer
I learn our kind is not alone,
though claiming peak genetic tree,
for I am taught that animate
as key to being, complement.
Though claiming peak genetic tree,
’tis sweetgrass, mushrooms, trees I know
as key to being, complement,
intent of mutual respect.
’Tis sweetgrass, mushrooms, trees I know,
though not our endowed wider craft—
intent of mutual respect,
the subject of a wholesome art.
Though not our endowed wider craft—
in mycorrhiza converse now;
the subject of a wholesome art,
lone rangers masked, intend powwow.
* * *
And here is an Ekprastic poem from Stephen, not about bees, but about fleas. It was written a while back In response to a prompt, "Fleas and their trappings" . . . Stephen also sent the following fine foto of the flea (I'm calling this Steve's Fleas):
though claiming peak genetic tree,
for I am taught that animate
as key to being, complement.
Though claiming peak genetic tree,
’tis sweetgrass, mushrooms, trees I know
as key to being, complement,
intent of mutual respect.
’Tis sweetgrass, mushrooms, trees I know,
though not our endowed wider craft—
intent of mutual respect,
the subject of a wholesome art.
Though not our endowed wider craft—
in mycorrhiza converse now;
the subject of a wholesome art,
lone rangers masked, intend powwow.
* * *
And here is an Ekprastic poem from Stephen, not about bees, but about fleas. It was written a while back In response to a prompt, "Fleas and their trappings" . . . Stephen also sent the following fine foto of the flea (I'm calling this Steve's Fleas):
NESTLED
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Captured in the compost crop,
teems of micro, streaming, stealth,
cleansing tilth, best dirt of earth,
ready, spreading, years’ soiled ground.
Gathered seed from jewelled land,
’copters, wing spans, parachutes,
down-wind drones through silent space,
achenes rotting, last term’s fruit;
birds that dropped by, leaving mark,
fleas from cats in nestled grass.
____________________
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!
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!
•••Pantoum: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pantoum.html AND/OR https://poets.org/glossary/pantoum
•••AND/OR how about the prompt Taylor Graham took ahold of (see above) from Modesto, the Common Time:
•••Common Time: four stanzas of four lines each, syllable count 4, 8, or 12
•••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 “Winds of Warning”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Common Time: four stanzas of four lines each, syllable count 4, 8, or 12
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Elegy: https://poets.org/glossary/elegy
•••Haiku: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku AND/OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Nonce: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/nonce-forms-what-they-are-and-how-to-write-them
•••Pantoum: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pantoum.html AND/OR https://poets.org/glossary/pantoum
•••Persona Poem: https://poets.org/glossary/persona-poem
__________________
—Medusa
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
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!
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!
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