Polyethylenes and Hellbenders

Medusa's Worst Day EVER...

 

BEYOND PURE
—Tom Goff, Carmichael

Every so often, a woman student, taking short

breaks, ambles around the Center, drinking

deeply, unselfconsciously from a square plastic

half gallon bottle of water. Elegant, feminine

upward tilt of face meets mouth of bottle:

doesn’t she emulate the turbaned “Arab”

on old Hills Brothers Coffee cans?

Mr. Arab lifts up his face unto heaven,

heaven in a shallow tilted coffee dish,

the bend of his arms as easy and supple

as a violinist’s perfect stroke of bow. And

the brown liquid he quaffs is the sun!

Oh, I wonder what nourishment you absorb

from the light cube, what clarity you ingest,

dear young student. From what cosmic fount?

Will it quell spring fever? Replenish gaze-

juices the monitor tractor-beams into its glow?

O drink your fill of the water beyond pure,

clearer than heaven’s eye, burnpoint hotter

than the insanest, unsafest fireworks, purity

brighter than the flesh made of the Word.

Drink till it hurts, young one, drink

down the pure beyond (how

many of us hoist, and then sip from,

the expanding cube of the universe?)…

__________________

SUNBURST

—Tom Goff

The day runs long; sinking sun

clings to afternoon, claws sunk

in the tinge of thin copper coating

my lenses. Light lozenges paint

transparent anti-radioactive facepieces

on eyes and noses behind wheels:

where are my isotopes?

Or have my driver’s eyes turned ocelot’s

gaze in the rear-view mirror?

Sunglasses, safety glass, drivers’ visors!

How we old ones do shield ourselves

at every turn. Oh for the sheer

nit wit to stare and keep

on staring at the Great Round

Thing, sun-blinded, sun-seeing at

last.

_________________________

SPRING FEVER SYMPTOMS

—Michael Cluff, Corona

The nose runs

faster than the speed

of sound

and snot

and the eyes produce

more water per hour

than Niagara after

an intense ice melt

in northern Canada

due to global warming.

Yet the smell

of orange blossoms

goldenrod

and purple peonies

creates pleasure

irritation

that appeals, repels

the sadist/masochist

dichotomy

within me.

A plastic head-bubble

would work sometimes

but not when

my claustrophobia

and allegry to polyethylenes

kick in.

__________________________

 

SPRING SOUP
—Kathy Kieth, Diamond Springs

Lilies-of-the-valley brush the cheeks of stone

Buddhas as white coral bells ring in a new season;

sharp-eyed daffodils bend to watch

a dedicated honeybee mine the muscari;

pastel fairy rings of wildflowers hem

vernal pools in rickrack;

a Mallard pair makes careful circles, then

skids in for a slick landing on the glassy pond;

calla lily goblets offer up cups of their own nectar

to make wine out of last night's rain;

ferny carrots ripe for pulling rub

shoulders in chocolate soil;

an orange tabby tiptoes along the grape arbor, covets

the tiny, quick hummingbird feeding below;

arching rosemary reaches up to cerulean skies

with long arms dressed in sleeves of mauve;

turkey toms fan showy tails in thanksgiving

for willing hens;

but darkness still brings frosty breath

and pinpricks on bare skin,

and bluebellies still sleep in burrows

we'll never find.

_______________________

FOLLOW THE HELLBENDER

as he paddles the shallows over

shiny wet stones of pumice and

dendrite: slim, sleek agate he is,

swimming over the rocky creekbed:

legs tucked tight against his long

comma of a body: oars that reach out

for a push: tuck back in again as

his muscle of a tail-rudder takes

over: snakes him along: curves him

around the pre-history of a mossy

boulder and that tricky bend

in the bed. . .  Through crystal

water, dark shadows dapple him—

tease the hovering sunbeams,

threaten them with nightfall: light

and dark: dark and light: shape-

shifting sunplay as the aging

afternoon follows the hellbender

along this pebbly backdrop of

a winding crystal stream. . .

—Kathy Kieth

 ___________________________

 Thanks to today's cooks in the Kitchen! Tom Goff says his second poem is in honor of poem in your pocket day. BTW, I think John Adams advised young John Quincy Adams (himself a poet), in more or less these words, "You will never be alone, with a poet in your pocket."

And Michelle Kunert, who has a new photo album on Medusa's Facebook page, was inspired by the story of a mini-van-sized meteor exploding over California, and she challenges readers to write a poem about it, especially if they saw or heard it. See lightyears.blogs.cnn.com/2012/04/25/nasa-meteor-over-california-and-nevada-was-size-of-minivan  or   news.discovery.com/space/meteor-the-size-of-a-minivan-exploded-over-california-120423.html

Speaking of  inspiration in the news, don't forget to keep an eye on Medusa's News-SOWS over there at the right on our green board. Like the news, those links change a lot, and sometimes they're poems just begging to be written!

_________________________

Today's LongerNip:

AKERUE

—Caschwa, Sacramento

Bowlers reach a block where

They can’t score any higher

Sit still and watch the experts

Act humble and inspired

Worse than an enigma

More detested than dilemma

It was a problem for which

No solution was desired

Let it be, surrender

Resistance is futile

There’s nothing to salvage

Forget it, you’re fired

If something is worthless

No value can be proven

Just roll with the punches

No effort is required

This is not where a good

12-step program can help

Diffusing a time bomb

That was cleverly wired

Some day you’ll just be gone

Off lists, out of memory

Your energy all dissolved

A motor now retired.

_________________________ 

—Medusa

 Michelle Kunert reads at Sac. Poetry Center—

Be sure to check out Michelle's new photo album,

Storytellers' Fest at Carol's Books,

on Medusa's Facebook page!