Old Country
—Photos by Christopher Moon, Jacksonville, FL
HAIR WREATH FOR MOM
(An Octo)
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
I’ll see my precious mom no more;
my mother has gone to heaven.
My grief! so much of it remains—
my grief’s beyond the prairie grass.
I’ll weave a hair wreath to outlast
my grief—so much of it remains.
My mother has gone to heaven.
I’ll see my precious mom no more.
Dead Oak
THE BLUE BERG
(A Palindromic Poem)
—Jennifer Fenn, Fresno, CA
On deep Antarctic sea,
this upturned iceberg glistens
in aquamarine brilliance,
catching the midnight sun.
It drifts
past scientists living like exiles
amid craggy rocks
carved by ancient, cutthroat winds,
rusted boats fallen on ice,
graves marked by wooden crosses.
Spellbound by blue glimmer, they forget
graves marked by wooden crosses,
rusted boats fallen on ice
carved by ancient, cutthroat winds
amid craggy rocks.
Past scientists living like exiles
it drifts,
catching the midnight sun.
In aquamarine brilliance,
this upturned iceberg glistens
on deep Antarctic sea.
Man And His Birds
THE SILENT PUMP ORGAN
(A Palindromic Poem)
—Jennifer Fenn
This wooden brown spinet...
it awaits in a back room
in this Clovis museum
till someone can fix it.
Played at a home or church?
Its last song?
How long must it stay voiceless,
its last song
played at a home or church
till someone can fix it?
In this Clovis museum,
it waits in a back room,
this wooden brown spinet.
Dragon's Tongue
BRAHMS REVISITED
(A Tuanortsa)
—Janet L. Pantoja, Woodinville, WA
Alleluia!
Brahms Sonata No. 1 in E minor—
for Cello or Piano.
Senior Recital done!
Sonata was archived in piles of music.
A pianist asked me to play Brahms
thirty-five years after my recital.
At first I balked...
as we rehearsed, any worry abated.
I accepted the challenge—
I reacquainted myself with Brahms.
It took a year of practice to resurrect.
I approached performance day with joy.
The crowd gathered in anticipation.
Brahms Cello Sonata No. 1—
Restored!
↑
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WHITEOUT
(A Palindromic Poem)
—Janet L. Pantoja
It’s snowing!
I’m mesmerized as evergreens turn to white.
Trees become whip-cream coated,
as wind whips snowflakes around.
A soft and fluffy blanket covers the ground.
Deep quiet ensues.
A soft and fluffy blanket covers the ground,
as wind whips snowflakes around.
Trees become whip-cream coated—
I’m mesmerized as evergreens turn to white.
It’s snowing!
Single Sunflower
RUNNING DOWNHILL
(A Palindromic Poem)
—Carol Eve Ford, Kenai, AK
It was all so simple.
The wedding, the flowers, the church,
the love...
all flowed naturally like pouring water.
He prayed the engine remain untouched,
the honeymoon would go without a hitch—
he was no mechanic.
He got his wish.
fifty years have passed full of hitches—
and flowing water.
fifty years have passed full of hitches...
He got his wish.
He was no mechanic.
The honeymoon would go without a hitch.
He prayed the engine remain untouched.
All flowed naturally like pouring water—
the love,
the wedding, the flowers, the church;
it was all so simple.
Open Road
TRAVELING
(A Palindromic Poem)
—Carol Eve Ford
Travel is said to broaden one’s perspective.
My parents slipped into Nevada
on their honeymoon, giggling,
wanting to say they’d once been out of California.
They didn’t know
he would be flung half way around the world
before their first anniversary.
She crossed the continent alone
to be with him before he left.
They made their lives both broad and deep
by loving the places, the people, the Earth they knew
when he returned.
They deepened their perspective by staying home
when he returned—
by loving the places, the people, the Earth they knew.
They made their lives both broad and deep.
To be with him before he left,
she crossed the continent alone.
Before their first anniversary
he would be flung half way around the world.
They didn’t know.
Wanting to say they’d once been out of California,
on their honeymoon, giggling,
my parents slipped into Nevada.
Travel is said to broaden one’s perspective.
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A poem in form still has to have voice, gesture, a sense of discovery, a metaphoric connection, as any poetry does.
—Robert Morgan
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Many, many thanks to Carol Louise Moon today for getting together some of her poetry pals to send us poetry using these three forms:
••• The Palindromic Poem: Mirror Poetry. The first half of the poem mirrors the second half with a pivotal line in the middle creating the turn. See www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/personal-updates/poetic-form-palindrome-poetry-or-mirror-poem/.
••• The Tuanortsa (“Astronaut” spelled backwards): This is a palindromic poem that reads the same up as it does down. The arrow on the last line indicates to the reader to continue reading the poem upwards. See poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tuanortsa/.
••• The Octo: (Syllabic Verse). The Octo is similar to the Palindromic Poem, except it has a syllabic requirement of eight lines with eight syllables each. Lines 4 and 5 aren’t mirrored, but they rhyme. See poetscollective.org/poetryforms/octo/.
All of these poets have appeared in the Kitchen before, and it’s always a pleasure to have them come back to visit!
Tonight from 7-8:30pm, Speak Up: The Art of Storytelling and Poetry takes place at The Avid Reader on Broadway in Sacramento, featuring a performance evening about “Holidays”. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
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FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
These first two are in the form of the Paradelle, a “form” made up by Billy Collins that parodies the Villanelle (see www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/poetic-form-paradelle):
PARADIDDLE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
One E and a, two E and a, three E and a, four E and a
One E and a, two E and a, three E and a, four E and a
snare drum, pedal bass, top hat, bell
snare drum, pedal bass, top hat, bell
snare one bass, drum two drum, pedal
a hat, top E, and a three four bell
There was only one trombone player
There was only one trombone player
marching alone in the band
marching alone in the band
The trombone marching band was
only one player, in there alone
All the flautists left the group
All the flautists left the group
fearing the band director’s stares
fearing the band director’s stares
The group stares left fearing
flautists all the director’s band
The director’s hat was all alone,
all alone, left in a snare drum. Only
one, two, three marching flautists
and a top trombone player: four
fearing bass stares there. E pedal,
the marching bell band group
* * *
TIME TO WRITE A PARADELLE
—Carol Louise Moon
Is it time to write a paradelle?
Is it time to write a paradelle?
Who says it should be summed up?
Who says it should be summed up?
Who says it: “Time should be
summed up”? Is it a paradelle to write?
Do we pretend knowing?
Do we pretend knowing,
as if we could write the right—
as if we could write the right?
Do we write, as if knowing?
Could the right end the pretend?
Pretending gets us nowhere. But
pretending gets us nowhere, but
somewhere. There is that answer.
Somewhere there is that answer.
Somewhere there is us pretending—
but that answer gets nowhere.
Who gets the right? Could time be
summed up? Do we write as if it is
a paradelle knowing the answer?
Somewhere there is us pretending—
but nowhere, it says, should that end
pretend to write.
And yesterday, Carl Schwartz sent me this cro cumaisc etir casbairdne ocus lethrannaigecht (see www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/cro-cumaisc-etir-casbairdni-ocus-lethrannaigecht-poetic-forms), his penning of an Irish form posted yesterday in the Kitchen by Taylor Graham:
TOO DIFFICULT
—Caschwa
Mosaic so colorful
it’s easy to see
and does the job wonderful
for you and for me
following good instructions
put dishwasher pod
sans logical deductions
in the door, though odd
swung the door closed completely
then heard the sound: plop
used artful words discretely
re the pod did drop
with the door now reopened
no pod was in sight
(unkind words best unspoken)
had pod taken flight?
been there before, already
just reach down and fetch
but history’s unsteady
not the same old sketch
remaining so devious
on multiple tries
the answer was obvious
not just for the wise
a white obverse diminished
one’s view of pod’s face
said the dishes unfinished,
“Get on with this race!”
Bravo, Caschwa, and congrats on the cojones for trying the cro cumaisc whatever…! Many forms float through the Kitchen during the week, so watch out for them and give yourself a little dusting off in sound and structure!
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—Medusa, celebrating the many arts of poetry!
—Artwork by Bailey Hau Ruth Moon,
niece of Carol Louise Moon
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.