Snakes in Bath; photo by Katy Brown, Davis
No, not Snakes IN a bath, Snakes in Bath—England, that is. This is one of the wonderful photos Katy took in England this year, and it also appears in Rattlesnake Review #12, now available for free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac.
FLOWERS BY THE SEA
—William Carlos Williams
When over the flowery, sharp pasture's
edge, unseen, the salt ocean
lifts its form—chicory and daisies
tied, released, seem hardly flowers alone
but color and the movement—or the shape
perhaps—of restlessness, whereas
the sea is circled and sways
peacefully upon its plantlike stem
_______________________
THE MANOEUVRE
—William Carlos Williams
I saw the two starlings
coming in toward the wires.
But at the last,
just before alighting, they
turned in the air together
and landed backwards!
that's what got me—to
face into the wind's teeth.
_______________________
THE WELL DISCIPLINED BARGEMAN
—William Carlos Williams
The shadow does not move. It is the water moves,
running out. A monolith of sand on a passing barge,
riding the swift water, makes that its fellow.
Standing upon the load the well disciplined bargeman
rakes it carefully, smooth on top with nicely squared
edges to conform to the barge outlines—ritually: sand.
All about him the silver water, fish-swift, races
under the Presence. Whatever there is else is moving.
The restless gulls, unlike companionable pigeons,
taking their cue from the ruffled water, dip and circle
avidly into the gale. Only the bargeman raking
upon his barge remains, like the shadow, sleeping.
________________________
Patricia Wellingham-Jones sent us a poem about Love; we've been tossing the subject around lately, as you'll recall. She says this was a tough one, came to her many years after the events.
THE SHERIFF KNOCKED ON MY DOOR
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama
He didn't have
to tell me.
You were dead
I was far away
our house had just sold.
Feet on backwards
took me to the phone
numb fingers
dialled your daughter.
Her scream
pierced my skull
blamed my love
for your death.
We got through
those first days
in unshared pain.
Moving day came
four weeks later.
Boxes, bundles
cat and I
howled our way north
in driving rain.
The new roommate
is soft and cuddly
but she comes
with litter pan.
When I work in the garden
I hear you call my name
through petals of lilies
the prick of a rose.
On your death corner
glass shards
bounce in the sun.
______________________
Thanks, Patricia. Watch for more of her work in Rattlesnake Review.
—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.)
