Late Summer Radiance

 —Poetry by Linda Klein, Playa Vista, CA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

SUNFLOWERS

Standing tall on sturdy stems
in a long, milky white vase,
they sent out radiance
brightening the room
in the absence of sun
in my recessed apartment.

For seven days their petals
reached out to me.
I marveled at their heartiness
and deep yellow color.
Although cut from the ground,
they seemed alive still.

Cheerful circles of yellow fringe,
by the end of that seventh day
they began to bow and curl
inward one by one.
They gradually fell flat,
faces obscured on the kitchen counter.
By morning of the eighth day, I knew—

they had given me all they had to give.

 

 

 

 

NO ALTERNATIVE TO TRUTH

Truth
what we know in our hearts to be true
Truth
we see it in innocent eyes
Truth
bears out after we sift through old and new
Truth
clear yet solid is rarely a surprise

Truth
what we need to know to keep going
Truth
the righteous path to follow in life
Truth
reveals itself to those who seek to know it
Truth
a goal worth some sacrifice

Truth
in the stars that light up the night
Truth
the calm that follows a storm
Truth
the freedom for which we fight
Truth
must be our only accepted norm

 

 

 

 

MEMORY CHALLENGE

I never could remember numbers.
I don't like them, find them unpleasant
to think about, too precise.  There is
no room to imagine them another way.
With numbers, I feel trapped.

My mind was always drawn to letters.
Letters lead to words and names,
create images and take me on journeys.
Now I still see those images, but can't
always remember their names.

The words and names are stored
safely somewhere in my mind.
I strain to remember them,
but as hard as I try, I cannot.
When I stop trying, there they are,

dancing around, eluding me,
challenging me to relax, minimize
their importance. When I do,
they sheepishly reveal themselves.

 

 

 

 

FEAR AND LOVE

Fear of uncertainty
the unknown
or differences
is a feeling that can lead to hate
intangible
inhibiting
immobilizing

Combat fear with
reason
intention
boldness
love.

Love uncertainty
its mystery
excitement
possibilities.

To conquer fear
embrace it
become familiar with it
understand it
regard fear as a wily child
to be soothed by love
Never fear love.

________________________

Today’s LittleNip:

LET US BE SENSIBLE
—Linda Klein

There is chaos in calm,
seeds of shame in any psalm,
that can feed dissatisfaction
and spur us on to angry action.

When suspicion rules our thought,
we are feeling over-wrought.
It is wise to take some time.
Ignore disorder, stay sublime.

_________________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Linda Klein for today’s fine poetry and her end-of-season sunflowers!

 

 

 

For you, Linda, with our thanks!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For info about
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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waiting To Begin

 Time

 —Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Art by Joyce Odam

 

 

To where it all begins,

at some edge
of some dreamed sea—
some cove of blue that draws me there
to sit enclosed, to hide in the blue shadow
of the blue air and listen to the white cries of
gulls—watch the patient crawling of the waves
—the solitude of loneliness one learns to love . . .

or was it real—
only some composite of time spent
beyond the measured memory that thrills and fails.

I’m here—I’m there—walking toward this moment,
—who I am—under the wide imperfect sky that
fills with its vast moodiness, moving so darkly,
laying swift blue shadow everywhere—and
the white gulls that sound so anguished,
though beautiful and low—and I keep
them with me to become at least their
curiosity—never having left—no
matter how many cities later . . .

I knew this place
—as well as my life—it’s long
unreachable distance—this shore beside this sea.


—Joyce Odam

                                                               
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/22/16) 

 

 

 

 Untitled

PROMISES
—Joyce Odam

Mother, I will put you
in a poem
with long corridors
and years
and you will have
anything you want and need
and I will be there with you
forever, if you want me there
and we will be halfway
between young
and never old
and we will laugh
at funny things discovered
and you will have good eyes
and many books to read
and crossword puzzles
and I will never
argue with you
or try to have my way
and, Mother,
I will let you have
my calendar to mark upon,
the way you do
first thing each morning,
marking off the day arrived
and what it holds for you.

                              
(prev. pub. in Passager, Winter 1991;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/14/24)

 

 

 

 The Darkness Opens

THE MESSENGER
—Robin Gale Odam
After Van Gogh. The Postman. April 1889

At home it starts before the day,
the slow and careful rise from bed,
the bitter sip of compromise, the buffing
of the weathered shoes, the smoothing
of the uniform, the head-on scrutiny
at the mirror—

the proper incline of the hat,
the unreadable warmth of disregard,  
the straight and steady countenance,
and the one glance at the background wall,
papered with the scatter of mums in puce
on the landscape of the nameless green—
and the closing of the door.

The messenger delivers once again,
a professional portage of the news—

the night was long, the day was short,
the one is departed, the one . . .

                                  
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/14/23)

 

 

 

 Theatre

FORGOTTEN SOUVENIRS
—Joyce Odam

long
after,
opening the

book,
dried leaves
fell out

and broke
like old
whispers

they were
stiff and brown
she could not

remember
why she
saved them

from
what moment
of what season

next time
she vowed
instead of tears,

for instance,
or some moment
meant to keep

forever in its joy,
she’d press
snowflakes

in her winter book
and leave no trace
to haunt


(prev. pub. in Acorn, Winter 1997
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/1/11; 8/4/15)

 

 

 

 Through The Meaning

TEARDROPS FALL FROM TREES
—Robin Gale Odam

i didn’t know this in my life but now
here they are—in the groves, in titles
and in the landscape of chapters and

footnotes—how a visual phrase, such
as fingers pressed over silver frets in
rosewood, could simply let them fall


(prev. pub. in Medusa's Kitchen 4/25/23) 

 

 

 

 Prayer Bird

TO WRITE YOU A LOVE POEM
 —Joyce Odam

Now do I speak to you from my art of silence,
my mind mute with longing,
words pouring out of my pen in new exertion—

oh, where
is the right one! You are fading from me,
even as my mind creates you.

Wait, Love—wait for me.
I have a thing to say to you—
something about want—something about need.

But language fails. I try a red pen, a blue one,
a dull pencil—to force the words—I stab
my mind for them—shake the gray thoughts

loose. You become vague—impatient—
turn toward the vast important window,
begin to hum.

I look at you from my broken pages,
scattered all around me, my serious shadow
crumpled in a pose of yearning.

I beg you . . .   I beg you . . .
here is my little written song, so unfinished . . .
so sorrowful . . .

you stand at the window, a radiant sheet
of white paper in your hands, an opening look
on your face—unreadable.

 

 

 

The Breath of Night Air

                                           
            
PLANTING CORN
—Joyce Odam

I want to write about the corn
but these hard kernels of dull gold
fail to remind me of
all I know about the corn…
     the way it listens in the summer for
     the wind that always finds it . . .
          the way it speaks
          and moves from speaking . . .
               rustle bend rustle rattle bend.

This wrinkled corn in my earth hand
cannot pretend to be
the finished product of my eye,
cannot acclaim itself that far . . .
     this dried up
     secret thing . . .
          with all its miracle inside itself
          in my cupped hand . . .
               waiting to begin.

               
(prev. pub. in In a Nutshell, Summer, 1979;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/30/14)

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

SHADE
—Robin Gale Odam

counterpoint of light
no one knows that she is gone
into dark of day
searching for a memory
searching for a memory

               
(prev. pub. in Brevities, December 2017;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/8/25)

____________________

The First Acorn: Our Seed of the Week, harbinger of the season to come. Many thanks to Joyce and Robin Gale Odam for these fine poems and pix today. “Shade” is a nod to those among us whose loved ones’ memories are slowly slipping into the shade.

Our new Seed of the Week is “Moving Day”. 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 to choose from. 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

 

 

 

 “. . . at some edge of some dreamed sea . . .”
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that the
Community of Writers workshop
on Langston Hughes begins
ttoday online, 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 at 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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Go Nuts For Acorns!

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

* * *

—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Joe Nolan, and Nolcha Fox

—Original Artwork by Shirley Smothers
—Public Domain Visuals Courtesy
of Stephen Kingsnorth, and Medusa

 

 

FIRST ACORNS
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA

They wear a crusted beanie cap
that only healthy oaks can make.
We walk the oak-tree trail, enrapt:
they wear a rugged beanie cap,
even when they take a nap
that all of nature needs to take.
Ah, that snuggy beanie cap
that only healthy oaks can make. 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Stephen Kingsnorth

SANCTUARY
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

Sow—are we back to chicken, egg—
as what’s first, seed, or by whom laid?
Or more prosaic, seasonal?
Is teleology implied,
or stores grown, as by squirrels sown
that offspring’s borne both bark and bite?

The acorn stands for English oak,
as native rodent, being red;
though grey more common, dominant,
invasive species from the States,
and now the subject of a cull—
a project with widespread support.

As dusty kicks search conker streets,
we stoop to conquer foreign rats,
those bushy-tailed that fancy selves
as smugglers on a pirate ship.
Forgetting horde they buried last,
yet want more, bury future’s gold.

Beneath brass laid meridian
set tarmac of Observatory—
the strip at zero, me astride
(a Time Lord, then but Dr Who)—
as boy I did it, Greenwich Park,
still, fed those bead-eyed greys by hand.

Before the urban fox arrived
in London streets of neon lights,
I crouched, Mean Time, a spellbound child;
what titbits I do not recall—
confection, not an acorn, sure,
for fall fruit would not fool my mark.

This symbol speaks, the nation’s trust,
set way of life, our calling holm,
fixed, sessile, part of British plot
so deeply rooted in our soil;
a people knowing well their place,
but welcome abroad refugees.

 

 

 

 No acorns here~
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

MISSED OUT
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

We lived in a suburb of Los Angeles
where we didn’t have a first acorn
we had palm trees, a peach tree, a
grapefruit tree, a Chinese Elm, but
no oaks.

We didn’t have snow, either,
except a barely measurable
speck on rare occasions

And I learned later that some
of us had never seen the ocean

We had movie companies, car
dealers, coffee shops, cemeteries,
libraries, rental yards, and places
or worship

I don’t believe I have ever held
an acorn in my hand, or felt one
underfoot

went on backpacking excursions
where I probably encountered one
or another oak tree, but the recognition
was not there, so no kiss-and-tell
experience 

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

ALWAYS RESETTING THE CLOCKS
—Caschwa

That foul smell in the air is not me. No way.
I bought a very special bar of bath soap that
offers the fortunate owner a medusal veil of
immunity, so don’t look my way, wasn’t me.
I’m covered.

A duende, with only 4 fingers and no thumb
could easily blend in with a fine orchestra,
sitting in the back row playing tuba and
counting rests, and counting rests…

During the daytime I was very busy getting
lots of stuff done. Now that night has fallen,
“The Dues of Night Arise” using all its powers
of multiplication to convey an infinitely long
scroll listing the tasks that were left undone,
revealing an exponentially large gap in today’s
To Do List.

***

My Dad used to drive our family to visit cousins
who lived in Long Beach. Once there, we’d
walk a few blocks over to the Colorado Lagoon
to take a dip and cool off, come back to the
house and enjoy a round of Flying Saucers for
dinner.

On one occasion we decided to go to the Pike
and ride its wooden roller coaster. I was a child
of diminutive size and my cousin an adult of
much larger proportions. We were both properly
strapped in and the fun began. Motion up, down,
sideways, and visions of the ocean blue which
was considerably greater depth and stronger
currents than found at the Lagoon.

After getting moved in all directions we finally
rode straight ahead and ascended the last peak,
until we could see our awesome future: the car
was going to drop downhill, gain speed, and come
to a sharp turn! Terrible scenarios danced in
our heads, remembering news accounts of
motor vehicles going too fast to negotiate a
turn, or aircraft veering off-course, which
resulted in gruesome outcomes. But here,
our coaster car gradually slowed until we
could hear the structure of the roller coaster
moan as if stressed, as we successfully made
a safe turn, then stopped and exited. Been
there, done that. Not a repeater. 

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

PROTECTED
—Caschwa

I have teeth missing,
so “Don’t eat with your mouth full”
doesn’t work on me.

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

 

WORDS THAT BIND
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

Super Glue, of all
things, is Trademark protected
Ya’ think that will stick? 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

GAMES TRILOGY
—Caschwa

(Growing up in a movie town, I saw
endless stretch limos driving around
local streets)

 
        I. The Piñata Game

The target was sweet treats
bagged and hung from a tree
contestants were blind-folded,
handed a stick and set free

some lucky young one
would release all the treats
and everyone would celebrate
indulging on the eats

        II. The Limo Game

Try and spot the celebrity
through a window with dark tint
parades of limos, lots of chances
windows closed, not one hint

sometimes a fanatic
would posit who it was
and the power of suggestion
would set the crowd abuzz

        III. The Combination

Kids of all ages
blinded by star lust
thankfully no sticks
for windows to bust

the limo could be empty
just the driver and thin air
imagination filled the void
your favorite star was sitting there

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

STILL MINE?
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

It’s all right.
It’s just a major
Issue in the night—

How love is
Left in blight
And you are not
Here with me
Through the night.

Slumber leaves its message,
Gray, then somewhat bright,
As dreams
Course their realm of time
And every overnight is
Calling,

“Please!
I need you,
But not
All the time.

I’ll call you
And tell you
And see
If you’re still mine.”

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

TRANSPARENT ICING
—Joe Nolan

Transparent
Is the icing on the cake.

Most of us don’t see it,
We think there’s only cake,
But the sweetness of the icing
Is what makes the cake
So delicious!

We keep coming back for more,
But fail to understand
Just why.

It’s because of things
We cannot see
But taste.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

EXPLODING PAGERS
—Joe Nolan

A world of grave
Ambivalence,
Painted in
Various shades of gray,
Slumbers in Jerusalem
Within a veil of hate,
That sends exploding pagers
Into Lebanon,
To blow the faces
Off those
Who respond.

How did we get here?
Tiny bombs
In pagers,
Like exploding cigars
The CIA sent
Into Cuba
To kill Castro
To kill his Communist ass? 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

FLOWER TO TREE
—Joe Nolan

What a flower
Says unto a tree, is,
“Dancing in
Kabuki majesty,
Internally,
May set you free,
If you can let go
Of roots
In all the ways
You used to know
Or thought you, so.”

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

TIME FOR A WARDROBE CHANGE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

First acorn falls and tips its hat
When fall is in the air.
A kind reminder that it’s time
to get our sweaters out.

____________________

Don’t go nuts over acorns, our Seed of the Week (“The First Acorn”), even if they are starting to appear here and there! Many thanks to today’s contributors, some of whom did write about the seed of the mighty oak.

The fine artwork you see down below is from Newcomer Shirley Smothers of San Antonio, TX. Shirley says she is an amateur Artist, Writer and Poet who mostly writes short stories, some of which can be viewed at Shirleysmothersf@storystar.com/. Last year, Shirley self-published her second book, which can be found at ShirleysmothersSolasta@pothi.com/, and she was named Artist of the Month, June 2025, for Glomag submissions, Facebook. Welcome to the Kitchen, Shirley, and don’t be a stranger!

____________________

 

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Medusa

—Original Art by Shirley Smothers

of San Antonio, TX

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Sacramento Poetry Center
remains closed thru August.
For info about
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!

 

 

 

Who is Guarding the White Rhino?

 —Tan-Renga by Jerome Bergland, 

Minneapolis, MN (Italicx), and

Christina Chin, Malaysia
(Plain Text)
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Medusa

 

 

stirring in
a dollop
of sour cream
clouds swirl in a porcelain sky
the spoon stops

 

 

 

 

3am sleep
through the rumble
of freight train
second notification
printed in red

 

 

 

 

a practiced motion
sliding
into pockets
caught by surveillance
cameras 

 

 

 

 

while receiving
massage he puffs
the hookah 
ash grows longer
the smoke curls

 

 

 

 

killer whale
is the yacht
to a seal
view from the moon
just two ripples

 

 

 

 

give it up for
the next
contestant
spotlight shrinks
to a drying sweat 

 

 

 

 

who's guarding
the white
rhino
dust to dust—
the savannah holds its breath

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Life is not a solo act. It's a huge collaboration, and we all need to assemble around us the people who care about us and support us in times of strife.

—Tim Gunn

__________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Christina Chin and Jerome Bergland for today’s fine Tan-renga! For more about the Tan-renga, go to https://www.graceguts.com/essays/an-introduction-to-tan-renga/.

 

 

 

 The spoon stops…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For info about
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!

 

 LittleSnake’s African pals~
Who is guarding the white rhino?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 













 

Rust Rose Rain

 —Poetry by Sarah Mahina Calvello,
San Francisco, California
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

Walking up late
Espresso by the sea
A good day ahead

* * *

Couch sleeping
Buying costly coffee
Fire maples

 

 

 

 

 

Feisty Bluejay
Cornflower free sky
Saving moments

* * *

Daydreaming
Watercolor memories
Hopeful blossoms 

 

 

 

 

Wild blue sky
Try not to unravel
Soft candlelight

* * *

Afternoon sun
Feeling like a tilted world
Tequila

 

 

 

Through it all
Tomato sandwiches
Let me go back

* * *

Moonlight Shores
The possibilities
To open up to

 

 

 

 

 

No more hiding
A shift in my paradigm
Dust begins to clear

* * *

Second chances
Rust rose rain
A story to tell

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Adversity is the diamond dust Heaven polishes its jewels with.

—Thomas Carlyle

_____________________

—Medusa, with another fine presentation of poems by Sarah Mahina Calvello. See last Saturday’s post at https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-little-more-time.html/ for more of Sarah’s lovely work.

 

 

 

 Sarah Mahina Calvello










 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Moira Magneson will read
today in Berkeley with other
Sixteen Rivers Press poets, 3pm.
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!

 

A little rusty rose rain

would be great right now!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mushrooms in August!

—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Joe Nolan, and Caschwa

 

 

MUSHROOMS IN AUGUST

It’s the wrong season
for florally headdressed gents and ladies
in bygone bonnetries and cavalier chapeaux.
And yet, here’s one lying on the fair-
grounds lawn, felled it seems, but
apparently alive. A fungus, in its
questionable state of scientific classification.
Flora or fauna?
This one is simple, white-capped,
no frills. But in a dry month it gives us
hope for fungi futures, as mosses and lichens
hold fast to our trees—some of them
already dreaming of dropping their leaves.

 

 

 

 

DANCE WITH PADLOCK

I line up numbers till they’re right
and can’t imagine what went wrong.
The lock should open like a song.
Instead it stays shut brassy-tight.
I line up numbers till they’re right

for dancing with a summer’s throng
of bees and birds. I’d step along
if just this lock would see the light.
I line up numbers till they’re right.

Dead silence is the loser’s gong.
This ornery lock is stubborn-strong.
If I could I bust it with sheer might—
I line up numbers till they’re right... 

 

 

 

 

PARALLEL LINES

A steep hill separates me from neighbors
I’ve never met, who moved here a year ago.
A buried water line has sprung a leak
bringing us all together over a problem.

 

 

 

 

FRUITS OF THE TRAIL

Beside the trestle we begin our August walk
by a wall of bramble, berries ripe, plump and juicy.
As my dog chews tips of marsh-grass, I pick
blackberries. Ambrosia! If I stayed here snacking,
would I become a Greek spirit of the clouds?
We move on, away from RR track, a dirt path
edged with berry-tangle and summer’s dead
sticker-weeds. What’s this? an empty can
of sliced peaches in light syrup. This is no place
for a picnic. We move on, thankful for shade
of oaks. On rising ground, the berries
are tiny but sweet. A fringe of wild plum trees—
pale-gold fruit too high to pick, and a single
fallen plum. Bramble presses against
the path and plumps its berries. I can’t resist
as August can’t last forever—Otis
is bored with just standing still
and my fingers red-stained with sweet.

 

 

 

 

TO WHOEVER BOUGHT & LOST IT

Vanilla sheet cake tumbles from its box,
landing face-down on gravel. There’s precious
little you can do to resurrect it
for your mid-afternoon get-together.
So you leave it where it lies, for the birds
if they’re on a sugar diet. Walking
my dog around strip-mall fringes, I work
on “leave it!” Otis is a snacking fiend—
crumbs & chicken bones—& here’s ambrosia
lying on the ground. Excellent training
opportunity! Will he go berserk
for cake with icing & sprinkles? Can I
be confident that leash this handler’s words
will get the better of my dog’s desire?
“Leave it!” And he stops, turns & looks at me.

 

 

 

OTIS NEEDS A DOG FRIEND

At
the
rescue
place we meet
Belle, Freya, Indy.
Who will be Otis’s partner?
Shy little Indy is race-car
red, a lady who
can keep him
chasing
for-
ev-
er.

_______________

Today’s LittleNip:

OFF RED HAWK PARKWAY
—Taylor Graham

    Golden Shovel on a line by Stuart Kestenbaum

Hawk soars above the cars
eastbound, westbound on
rising and falling arcs, different
trajectories, speeds—above paths
the natives trod centuries ago, the
ways of red sunrise and sunset to dark.

________________

Shrooms in August! Otis needs a dog friend! Wasted cake! Snarky lock! And a leak up the hill! Taylor Graham has had an eventful week, and many thanks from us to her for writing about it, as the hunt for an Otis-pal goes on.

Forms TG has used this week include some Blank Verse (“To Whoever Bought & Lost It”); a Golden Shovel (“Off Red Hawk Parkway”); a Response Poem to a previous Medusa's Kitchen Ekphrastic photo (“Mushrooms in August”); a Bell Curve Fib (a Fib with a reverse Fib under it—“Otis Needs a Dog Friend”); a Jueju (“Parallel Lines”); and a Dansa (“Dance with Padlock”), as well as a couple of Responses to our current Tuesday Seed of the Week, Ambrosia (“Fruits of the Trail” and “To Whoever Bought & Lost It”). The Dansa and the Fib were last week’s Triple-F Challenges.

The Jueju (https://poetsonline.org/prompt.html) is a Chinese poem of four lines. The description says, “The first line contains the initial phrase; the second line, the continuation of that phrase; the third line turns from this subject and begins a new one, but the fourth line brings the first three lines together.”

El Dorado County poets will be here there and everywhere this week! If you’re in Berkeley on Saturday, El Dorado County Poet Laureate Moira Magneson will read with other Sixteen Rivers Press poets, 3pm. Then Poet Laureate Emeritus Lara Gularte will present a workshop in El Dorado Hills on Thursday, 5:30pm. And the Thursdays at Two Poetry Group (with Taylor Graham) will have a reading in Georgetown on Friday, 5pm. Plus, info about El Dorado Country’s regular workshops is listed on Medusa’s calendar (if you scroll down on http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html/). For more news about such events and 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 were Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth, and Joe Nolan:

WHAT’S HIDING IN THE PIPES?
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

The bathtub water wouldn’t drain,
so we called Plumber Joe.
He said the pipes were far
too small to handle such a flow.
We filed out, we knew that Joe
preferred to work in private.
Suddenly, he screamed and ran
in front of a huge wave
that carried sharks and polar bears,
some penguins, and a whale.
We applauded as the wave
got hold of Plumber Joe.
Water now flows freely,
and he didn’t leave a bill. 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Stephen Kingsnorth

POLAR BARE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

A puzzle, as this mass of fur
can swim and swirl, curl through freeze flow,
a bullish bear with paddle claws.
trapped bubbles raising in that twirl.
Soon polar bare, without a float,
floe ice needs check before dissolves.

Aerated lift through aqua blue,
a tinted hint of hunting whale
as flyby flesh, fresh living dead,
beluga, bearded seal, nest eggs -
some kelp side salad in the mix
for opportunist, well fed swell.

Though packed lunch melting, deepfreeze seep,
to cap it all with warming thaw;
reminded of that childhood sweet
four Peppy paws, precarious,
confused, as lad, by bear and fox,
so searching Aesop, fable there?

So slow go slide, slice under tongue,
mint burn, brand Fox’s, glacier,
was lumpen shape, long sucking chance,
the sort forgotten, pocket dust,
more, lining lost, loose exit stitch,
that gooey paste, held twist-wrap face.

A north pole logo, berg afloat,
best held in check as cheeky bump,
until so little, tongue-search slick,
then nowhere, nothing to be found;
’twas soon I took another, gum,
but clear that pack would soon be gone.

Translucent block, boiled treat, absurd,
a sign of contradiction, stored
in greaseproof, quarter pound, weighed out.
To Dad, a beacon, hilltop sign,
bright flame, dementia’s rambling land,
that pepper flood of hot ice, fire.

* * *

GREETINGS FROM A POLAR BEAR
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
 
Fancy meeting you here,
You beautiful seal!
 
If I have my way
You'll soon be my next meal.   

* * *

Joe and Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) have sent Ars Poeticae today:

 

 

 

MUSES ONLY WHISPER
—Joe Nolan

How many poems
Have I thought to write,
Delayed
And forgot the lead-in lines?

Muses only whisper.
If you delay, you deny.

Come again, another time?
You’d better try
Harder than that
To get whispers into writing
Before they float away.   

* * *

I WILL SEND YOU A MASTERPIECE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

It will take shape slowly
first I need to draw from the infinite
wisdom of everyone who is smarter
than I am, digest as best I can, and
and then manufacture happiness by
throwing old ideas, old drafts, old
too-good-to-be-true promotions,
and amazing skunk odor lotions into
the proverbial dumpster, whether it
takes the form of a metal bin or a fire
pit, or deleted text, or if the statute of
limitations has expired.

(No skunks were harmed in the
creation of this message)

* * *

Here is a First Word,/First Letter Acrostic poem from Carl:

 

 

 STEADY ME
—Caschwa

Very distorted
Erratic visions of
Rapid paced
Turning around
Inside a calibrated
Gyroscopic balanced
Orbit

* * *

This is a Found Poem from Carl:

 

 

 

TOO MUCH, TOO SOON
—Caschwa

(In the US, final exams are typically given starting in middle school (grades 6-8) and continue through high school (grades 9-12). While the exact grade levels and subjects may vary by district, core academic subjects like math, science, English, and social studies often have final exams.)

Today, we have jumped ever so quickly
from dreamy stories told by cute elves
to life-death active shooter drills for kids
who cannot cross the street by themselves.

these are clearly final exams, no
matter what their shape or form,
money is the most important of all
so we mustn’t cross the norm

Sandy Hook, Uvalde, were lessons
that the sale of guns and ammunition
were more important than safety itself
revenue streams: the highest tradition

keep that money going to Congress
we’ve given them our final orders
sales of guns must go on unabated
no matter whom we let cross our borders

* * *

And Carl has created a new form, which he is calling an “Imagine That”. Here are the bones of the form:

aabbb
ccdddd
eefffff
gghhhhhh

 

 

 

IMAGINE THAT
—Caschwa

If below this line you find
another line of similar kind
it gets like counting waves at sea
but after 7 is a 3
something wrong, what could it be?

if Mother Nature falls apart
we’ll lose the beat of every heart
the grandness of a precipice
even the snake, its signature hiss
you swat a fly but barely miss,
your fresh baked pie its legs soon kiss

there is no end we can predict
the jury’s hung, cannot convict
spring forward if you have the time
to top that pie of lemon lime
you’re put in jail, there was no crime
it’s all made up, not real, sublime
we hope to live to reach our prime

at last you stop to go to bed
it’s King size, stretches past your head
waves and snakes and pies make dreams
you won’t remember, it just seems
each star above sends you bright beams
constellations, stars in teams
literature, just reams and reams
many choices, coffees and cream

____________________________

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.) Let’s tell a Fib or two this week:

•••Fibonacci (Fib) Poem: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/fibonacci-poetry-a-new-poetic-form AND/OR https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/68971/1-1-2-3-5-8-fun

•••AND/OR take your lead from Taylor Graham and write a Bell Curve Fibonacci:

•••Fibonacci (Fib), Bell Curve: a Fib which is on top of another Fib where the original Fib pattern is reversed; see https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/fibonacci-poetry-a-new-poetic-form

•••AND/OR try the new form TG brought us, the Jueju:

•••Jueju: https://poetsonline.org/prompt.html

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

•••And don’t forget each Tuesday Seed of the Week! This week it’s “The First Acorn”.

____________________

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

•••Acrostic Poem types: https://studybay.com/blog/how-to-write-an-acrostic-poem
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Blank Verse: literarydevices.net/blank-verse AND/OR www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-the-difference-between-blank-verse-and-free-verse#quiz-0
•••Dansa: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/dansa-poetic-forms
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Fibonacci (Fib) Poem: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/fibonacci-poetry-a-new-poetic-form AND/OR https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/68971/1-1-2-3-5-8-fun
•••Fibonacci (Fib), Bell Curve: a Fib which is on top of another Fib where the original Fib pattern is reversed; see https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/fibonacci-poetry-a-new-poetic-form
•••Found Poem: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/found-poetry-converting-or-stealing-the-words-of-others AND/OR poets.org/glossary/found-poem
•••Golden Shovel: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/golden-shovel-poetic-form
•••Jueju: https://poetsonline.org/prompt.html
•••Response Poem: creativetalentsunleashed.com/2015/11/18/writing-tip-response-poems
•••Tuesday Seed of the Week: a prompt listed in Medusa’s Kitchen every Tuesday; poems may be any shape or size, form or no form. No deadlines; past ones are listed at http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/calliopes-closet.html/. Send results to kathykieth#hotmail.com/.

__________________

—Medusa

 

 

  Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
 
 Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)

* * *

—Artwork Courtesy of Public Domain

 
 
 
 
 

For info about
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!

 

Now let’s see… how does that
Fibonacci thing go, again…?