—Poems by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
—Anonymous Photos
—Anonymous Photos
ON A WINTER STROLL
The sun at rest
on a bare branch,
a golden pearl at edge
of our galaxy.
Galaxy at the edge
of a golden pearl
on bare branch
where the sun rests.
AFTER THANKSGIVING DINNER
My sheltie and I hike
Ohlone-Orinda hills.
I remember NE Indians
furnished Pilgrims
with their first turkeys.
I bite a bay leaf—
the leaf's lifeline a history
of Ohlone rising,
falling,
hanging tough.
Shelley bounds beside
the reservoir, tries to herd
mallards, egrets. Giving
up, she flops on shore.
Ohlone Indians
watch from among oak,
laurel and buckeye trees.
IN A DUSKY FOREST
Tree moss & algae...
If lost in dense woods
we'll seek these vivid plants
on a tree's north side—
soft green compass needles
pointing to Polaris,
the North Star....and home.
GOOD IDEA, KARL MENNINGER
The renowned psychiatrist
urged patients to watch
rain falling, listen to
hushed rhythms humming
through trees.
Walk in rain, feel it splash
on eyelids, foreheads,
lips, taste the drops,
how pure.
Yes, Karl,
listen to rain on the roof,
bird bath,
wind chimes.
[Note: From author's chapbook, On Trails of Naming, Book 2]
YESTERNIGHT
How like
calming echoes
to hear that
a luminous
Stranger spoke
of the full moon
as softening
the dark waters
under the bridge
we had just crossed.
EARNED
Moths,
poets too are drawn
to heat & light
Over & over
balancing intent
with intensity,
returning warm
unburned.
COLETTE
(1873-1954)
Zany
with French zeitgeist
Colette balanced
a full moon
on her ring finger—
her own Parisian
natural pearl...
AMONG TREES
I retreat to a park
where only trees know
my name. They never
need me wealthy, clever
young.
Among pines, poplars,
aspen, my eyes close.
Birds carry off
tidbits of meditation—
a few silent phrases
to line their nests?
My eyes open
to a library of grass
with its unique
vocabulary....Some
poems write themselves.
INTERLUDES IN THE KEY OF CALM
Walk in the rain
stick out your tongue
as if it is a flower
When angry or hurt
sign-language a boulder
and wait for reply
Watch color/energy
believed lost, flutter back
as migrating butterflies
Prepare yourself
to experience the 100
silences.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A TRANSFERENCE OF LACE
—Claire J. Baker
A white lace
mandala
in south window
reflects crisply
on typing stand's
blank page.
____________________
Thank you and happy new year to Bay Area poet Claire Baker—always a welcome voice at the Kitchen table!
For up-coming poetry events in our area, scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info—and note that more may be added at the last minute. And don’t forget the Winter at Observing Winter at Wakamatsu workshop at Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville that’s coming up this Sunday from 1-3pm, facilitated by Katy Brown and Taylor Graham!
____________________
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers! Each Friday for awhile, there will be poems posted here from some of our readers using forms—either ones which were mentioned on Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some forms and get them posted in the Kitchen.
Here is a link to an article called, “What is Poetic Form?” by Emily Jarvis, a short description of how/why poetry is structured into forms (penandthepad.com/poetic-form-8726589.html). Also by the same author: “Examples of Musical Devices in Poetry” (penandthepad.com/examples-musical-devices-poems-20170.html). I particularly like her first paragraph, which begins: “Every word in a poem is carefully chosen because of its meaning or sound.”
Claire Baker’s “On a Winter Stroll”, her first poem in our post today, is a Palindrome: the second stanza reverses the first.
Walk in the rain
stick out your tongue
as if it is a flower
When angry or hurt
sign-language a boulder
and wait for reply
Watch color/energy
believed lost, flutter back
as migrating butterflies
Prepare yourself
to experience the 100
silences.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A TRANSFERENCE OF LACE
—Claire J. Baker
A white lace
mandala
in south window
reflects crisply
on typing stand's
blank page.
____________________
Thank you and happy new year to Bay Area poet Claire Baker—always a welcome voice at the Kitchen table!
For up-coming poetry events in our area, scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info—and note that more may be added at the last minute. And don’t forget the Winter at Observing Winter at Wakamatsu workshop at Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville that’s coming up this Sunday from 1-3pm, facilitated by Katy Brown and Taylor Graham!
____________________
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers! Each Friday for awhile, there will be poems posted here from some of our readers using forms—either ones which were mentioned on Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some forms and get them posted in the Kitchen.
Here is a link to an article called, “What is Poetic Form?” by Emily Jarvis, a short description of how/why poetry is structured into forms (penandthepad.com/poetic-form-8726589.html). Also by the same author: “Examples of Musical Devices in Poetry” (penandthepad.com/examples-musical-devices-poems-20170.html). I particularly like her first paragraph, which begins: “Every word in a poem is carefully chosen because of its meaning or sound.”
Claire Baker’s “On a Winter Stroll”, her first poem in our post today, is a Palindrome: the second stanza reverses the first.
Today, Taylor Graham sends us a Trizad, a little-known form that was introduced to us on Tuesday of this week by Joyce Odam:
WINTER-UNEXPECTED
—Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
In scant light
dust motes take flight
scattering flits by chance.
The year’s old
and winter’s cold,
calendar-days advance—
sudden rays
of sun strike day’s-
dust into moth-wing dance.
______________________
Thanks, TG, and bravo!
And Carl Schwartz (aka Caschwa) has done a form of his own in the next poem, interspersing a buncha 5-7-5’s with the occasional “Excuse me!” Is this a new form? Sure it is, if you’ve never seen it before. Maybe it needs a name...
EXCUSE ME
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
I, alone in the
kitchen, made some wonderful
coffee by myself
just the right flavor
a soothing temperature
I’ll have another
Excuse me!
Labor of others
designed, built, produced, widely
marketed and sold
your automatic
electric coffee maker
and accessories
Excuse me!!
likely slave labor
both grew and harvested the
coffee beans, roasted
them, ground them quite small,
using machines already
built and installed there
and then after that
put the product into cans
made by other folks
vacuum sealed and topped
the cans, stored, and shipped them all
to the marketplace
Excuse me!!!
Didn’t you take that
can of coffee out of the
refrigerator?
____________________
—Medusa, still trying to balance the full moon on her finger . . .
—Anonymous
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