THE WOOD-WEASEL
emerges daintily, the skunk—
don't laugh—in sylvan black and white chipmunk
regalia. The inky thing
adaptively whited with glistening
goat-fur, is wood-warden. In his
ermined well-cuttlefish-inked wool, he is
determination's totem. Out-
lawed? His sweet face and powerful feet go about
in chieftain's coat of Chilcat cloth.
He is his own protection from the moth,
noble little warrior. That
otter-skin on it, the living pole-cat,
smothers anything that stings. Well,—
this same weasel's playful and his weasel
associates are too. Only
Wood-weasels shall associate with me.
—Marianne Moore
________________________
I MAY, I MIGHT, I MUST
—Marianne Moore
If you will tell me why the fen
appears impassable, I then
will tell you why I think that I
can get across it if I try.
________________________
VALUES IN USE
—Marianne Moore
I attended school and I liked the place—
grass and little locust-leaf shadows like lace.
Writing was discussed. They said, "We create
values in the process of living, daren't await
their historic progress." Be abstract
and you'll wish you'd been specific; it's a fact.
What was I studying? Values in use,
"Judged on their own ground." Am I still abstruse?
Walking along, a student said offhand,
"'Relevant' and 'plausible' were words I understand."
A pleasing statement, anonymous friend,
Certainly the means must not defeat the end.
_________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)