Tattoos of Autumn

Today is the first day of Fall, and we're ushering it in with a Snake-a-thon Giveaway. Send Medusa (kathykieth@hotmail.com) your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26, and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems (or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book). Here are a couple of contributions from local poets. The first is by Rhony Bhopla, which does mention Fall—and a lot of other things...

THE TATTOOER
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento

Pulsing needle, sewing skin of an
unmoving body, bent over in a fast—
pressing flame and deliverable imagination

A lip of moon, bright blue days absorbed by
macrophages, skin pumped with
self-loving fingers against black ice

Hidden unbled tattoos under fall’s zippered trousers
unyielding, stretched
seemless nylon cotton, skin is decided

How does one show off
that pain, ecstacy and transitory illusion
presently in finitely sensuous imagination?

It is under those wrestled white blooming sheets,
unexpected triumphs,
freshly cracked from night’s lovemaking

It is in the glory found in deep
flesh penetration, erect liquid and
pulsing arrhythmatic sexuality.

_______________________

Thanks, Rhony! Here's another, from Taylor Graham:

YERBA SANTA
—Taylor Graham, Somerset

I eat chilled melon
at the cusp of equinox,
then set out with my dogs;
the last of summer summoning us
like scent:

past the great oak that stands
a graceful skeleton overlooking canyon.
I watched woodpeckers at work here,
that almost-autumn when the last
old dog was dying.

We pass through goat-pasture,
annual grasses brittle
as old paper. Only yerba santa
glistens, stiff and spiny, evergreen
as life in the driest places.

Holy herb, they say, it frees
the heart and lungs so the body
can breathe and the soul can grieve.
At last we reach the graves
of dead dogs past.

My three live dogs
go trotting on ahead.
Our morning’s walk
has brought us
into fall.

________________________

Thanks, TG! A fitting duet for the change of seasons from these two fine poets.

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)