—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
A DOG’S LIFE
You build your fences high to keep me in,
and talk of man’s dominion over beast;
you lead me snapped on leash to walk the creek
beneath a windblown sky. You see the world
as you perceive it, with your eye. The world
is more than that. I’d stalk the woods at night
and scent the bear—is that a shock to you?
I live inhaling winds that falcons fly.
Back home, inside your walls, you offer treats
to me, small cookie-cut reward for how,
rife with boredom, I slow my gait to yours;
your striding less adventurous each day.
I run in my sleep, whimper and sigh. You
call it chasing rabbits. I’m chasing life.
You build your fences high to keep me in,
and talk of man’s dominion over beast;
you lead me snapped on leash to walk the creek
beneath a windblown sky. You see the world
as you perceive it, with your eye. The world
is more than that. I’d stalk the woods at night
and scent the bear—is that a shock to you?
I live inhaling winds that falcons fly.
Back home, inside your walls, you offer treats
to me, small cookie-cut reward for how,
rife with boredom, I slow my gait to yours;
your striding less adventurous each day.
I run in my sleep, whimper and sigh. You
call it chasing rabbits. I’m chasing life.
IF NAMES ARE MASKS
You walk among the quiet flutter of hands
and fingers weaving stories like nests of birdsong
without sound, dancers in domino.
You’ve taught yourself some of their signs—
words and phrases. Still they won’t give you
a name. It can’t be bought. You must earn it, learn
it in your self—pulsing from heart to fingers.
Then it won’t be masquerade. Then
they’ll tell you your own soundless name.
UNMASKING
for Charley Parkhurst
It was a masquerade that lasted
past the last drawn breath—
an orphan arrived in the wild wild West,
become stagecoach driver with a wicked whip,
tobacco-chawing, patch-eyed, swearing
like a drover.
Yet at autopsy the masquerade
was over. Charley Parkhurst was a she.
ACERIA GENISTAE IN DISGUISE
Poufy white blossoms on Scotch Broom
(invasive species of our foothills;
vibrant yellow flowers)—
what are these blossomings
on one of our worst wildland weeds?
You tell me, gall mites: microscopic beasts
cause these growths that kill the Broom.
Gall mites are our friends!
newcomer critters
traveling long distance on winds
hitchhiking on footed creatures…
Let’s welcome gall mites to our hills!
Who knows what other unknown helpers
live among us, still in disguise?
PROVING YOURSELF
Real ID wants documents.
Your birth certificate—so long ago—
was lost in all the movings,
or maybe windstorm,
flood or fire. Your passport expired.
The land underfoot keeps you.
Is this a masquerade?
How shall you verify yourself
but in words, those potent tools,
proof of human existence?
Today’s LittleNip:
PRE-SPRING RITES
—Taylor Graham
Tom turkeys parade—
five of them for 20 hens
who quite ignore them.
_____________________
Thanks to Taylor Graham for sprightly poems and pix today, chronicling springtime life in the foothills for us, as she does so well, and weaving in our recent Seed of the Week: Just a Masquerade!
Tonight at Avid Reader on Broadway in Sacramento, Speak Up: The Art of Storytelling and Poetry meets at 7pm, with readings on the theme of “Magic”. (Sounds magical!) 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.
__________________
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
About her poems this week, Taylor Graham writes: "Carl's [Schwartz’s] rule-breaking sonnet [last week] reminded me of an unruly sonnet I wrote a few years back, so I'm sending it ("Dog's Life") [see above]; there's internal rhyme but no end-rhyme, sort of a Visser Sonnet [see everysonnet.blogspot.com/2012/11/visser-sonnet.html/]. "Aceria genistae" [also above] started as a Shadorma but it got too long, so I scrunched lines and all the stanzas together."
Taylor also sends us a Breccbairdne, an Irish form (www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/breccbairdne-poetic-forms/). So many fun rhymes here, both at the ends of lines and within them! You can hear the electricity in crackles, cattle, grackles! Sometimes forms can force us into some great sounds and sensations we wouldn't have thought of otherwise:
SKY’S FALLING
—Taylor Graham
Sky boils a kettle
of buzzards, then crackles
electric as cattle
stampeded by grackles.
Our trees hunch, wringing
leafless arms in warning.
The great black oak, writhing,
falls in clear morning.
Taylor also sends us a Breccbairdne, an Irish form (www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/breccbairdne-poetic-forms/). So many fun rhymes here, both at the ends of lines and within them! You can hear the electricity in crackles, cattle, grackles! Sometimes forms can force us into some great sounds and sensations we wouldn't have thought of otherwise:
SKY’S FALLING
—Taylor Graham
Sky boils a kettle
of buzzards, then crackles
electric as cattle
stampeded by grackles.
Our trees hunch, wringing
leafless arms in warning.
The great black oak, writhing,
falls in clear morning.
________________________
Joyce Odam has sent us a Doricimba this week, a form which is hard to find online, but here is the formula that Joyce sent. (If you’re wondering what Blank Verse is, go to literarydevices.net/blank-verse, and Free Verse is at literarydevices.net/free-verse/):
Joyce Odam has sent us a Doricimba this week, a form which is hard to find online, but here is the formula that Joyce sent. (If you’re wondering what Blank Verse is, go to literarydevices.net/blank-verse, and Free Verse is at literarydevices.net/free-verse/):
DORICIMBA:
Lines 1 through 4 – iambic pentameter (a, b, a, b)
Lines 5 through 8 – 4 lines of indented free verse
Lines 9 through 12 – iambic pentameter, blank verse
THE STENCH OF JEALOUSY
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
He can’t explain the stench of jealousy
that rose from everywhere and hung like dye
upon the yellowed air and covered him
with such a thought that broke to such a cry—
Sick with power—
with reprisal—He destroyed.
—It was not me—!
Oh, what’s the use!
He can’t explain the ancient mask of doubt
that will in turn beseech and then accuse
and make love answerless before doubt’s rage.
He can’t explain the stench of jealousy.
____________________
This past Wednesday, Claire Baker sent us a Blank Verse, in fact, which I shall re-post, in case you've forgotten it:
BREAKING UP
(with help from Millay)
(with help from Millay)
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
The human brain is convoluted, halved:
the right side clings to faded fantasy,
the left admits a shaky castle crumbled.
My feelings lag behind my made-up mind—
not crossing over, to end a long-held hurt.
In reading sonnets of Millay, I learn
just how the genius ended dumb affairs:
when both ends of a candle burn, the flames
will reach the middle, die a natural death,
she may have told a foe or lovelorn friend
before she wrote those famous candle lines,
that quatrain metaphor. Not coy nor shy
she told a scoundrel off: "I find this frenzy
insufficient reason for conversation
when we meet again." A gutsy poet,
Edna ends a sonnet: "I shall be gone,
and you may whistle for me!" Thanks, Millay.
The human brain is convoluted, halved:
the right side clings to faded fantasy,
the left admits a shaky castle crumbled.
My feelings lag behind my made-up mind—
not crossing over, to end a long-held hurt.
In reading sonnets of Millay, I learn
just how the genius ended dumb affairs:
when both ends of a candle burn, the flames
will reach the middle, die a natural death,
she may have told a foe or lovelorn friend
before she wrote those famous candle lines,
that quatrain metaphor. Not coy nor shy
she told a scoundrel off: "I find this frenzy
insufficient reason for conversation
when we meet again." A gutsy poet,
Edna ends a sonnet: "I shall be gone,
and you may whistle for me!" Thanks, Millay.
_____________________
Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) has been at it again, this time fetching himself some more forms with which to fiddle. Bravo to him for his industriousness and sense of adventure! First is a Naani (shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/naani.html/), in which he has also addressed the "Masquerade" Seed of the Week:
TRUTH SERUM
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
Start with real lemons
to make fresh lemonade
hide the truth wholly
for a fun masquerade
* * *
Then a Nonet (shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/nonet.html/):
CAMPAIGN
—Caschwa
We hold the power in our own hands
notwithstanding sinister ads
boldly defining our thoughts
without asking us first
trying to steer us
like animals
no, no, no
we will
vote
* * *
Then a Tanka (shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/tanka.html/):
VISITOR
—Caschwa
dog sounded alarm
intruder in our back yard
danger, untold harm
a chicken, alone, no peers
first time in eleven years
____________________
So that’s it for this edition of FFF, and thanks to our fine writers! Don’t be shy about trying some of these forms yourself; the snakes of Medusa are always hungry ~
—Medusa
Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) has been at it again, this time fetching himself some more forms with which to fiddle. Bravo to him for his industriousness and sense of adventure! First is a Naani (shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/naani.html/), in which he has also addressed the "Masquerade" Seed of the Week:
TRUTH SERUM
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
Start with real lemons
to make fresh lemonade
hide the truth wholly
for a fun masquerade
* * *
Then a Nonet (shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/nonet.html/):
CAMPAIGN
—Caschwa
We hold the power in our own hands
notwithstanding sinister ads
boldly defining our thoughts
without asking us first
trying to steer us
like animals
no, no, no
we will
vote
* * *
Then a Tanka (shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/tanka.html/):
VISITOR
—Caschwa
dog sounded alarm
intruder in our back yard
danger, untold harm
a chicken, alone, no peers
first time in eleven years
____________________
So that’s it for this edition of FFF, and thanks to our fine writers! Don’t be shy about trying some of these forms yourself; the snakes of Medusa are always hungry ~
—Medusa
—Photo by Taylor Graham
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.