—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
LIVING WITH MONSTERS
Bleach diluted in a bottle
to spray the little monsters of contagion.
A mask of rag and rubber bands
against the little monsters of worry.
A pair of old silk glove-liners—
survivors of avalanche country—
to hold off the little monsters of fear.
Two yardsticks of social distance
against little monsters of getting too close.
One’s isolated personal space
for talking to one’s own little monsters.
RECHARGING THE PICKUP
(a Skeltonic fantasy in time of Covid)
Dog-treats getting low?
Loki wails Oh No!
Her reward, you know,
a biscuit-bone
for staying home
(she loves to roam).
We shelter in place,
she makes dog-face.
It’s a disgrace—
store’s out of biscuit-bone.
Shall I make my own?
Store’s out of flour.
A bad-luck shower…
Feeling power-
less? go google Yelp
for a bit of help.
Oh look, a Lucky
Dog Bakery—ducky!
But it’s closed. Oh well,
no sense to dwell
on the unlucky.
We’ll get plucky.
The open road we’ll hit,
grab us a wee bit
of world sun-lit….
Let’s take the truck,
keep its battery up.
So Loki, hup-hup
in the truck, lucky pup!
Her best reward,
all-aboard!
a ride in the old Ford.
GREEN VALLEY INVENTORY
one car on the two-lane headed east
humans out of sight, sheltered in place
one black cow high on a hillside
three wild turkeys foraging a field
goat-kid rush-bumping his mom for milk
two wild geese ready for nesting
one blaze-face draft horse
redbud in bloom
one church behind a locked gate
school empty on a Tuesday
Old Glory on a front porch
poppies golden where nothing else grows
sun and clouds on schedule
SIJO OF ALMOST SPRING
Rain rinsed the foothills again, gouging creek-banks and falls,
leaving fenceposts dangling or gone, causing misunderstandings
between neighbors at the edge of forgotten ancestral grounds.
In a chimney corner beyond the reach of evening lamplight,
a spider meditates its web to catch six-leggeds—insects
spun into silk morphed as a compass rose of this dark world.
FOR WHAT COMES AFTER
We’re hunkered in place—our island of oak-hill in a green tiding ocean of grass soon turning flammable. The future’s uncertain. Will it be firestorm? When will we step beyond our gate and walk unmasked together? The present is a yapping dog down the hill. No sound of traffic, but on TV a cadre of experts discuss by millimeters how to sanitize, to safely maneuver the grocery aisles. We’re under invasion by microscopic little monsters. Smell, taste, especially touch—every sense is suspect. Imagine fragrance of baked scone—this virus steals it away. Yet there will be a future. On TV, we watched Wuhan unlocked, a light-show extravaganza of city streets and skyscrapers. Ballet of bright color against the night. This morning,
our island of oaks
a presage, a something—hope—
in a summer’s day
Today’s LittleNip:
NON-VIRTUAL GUEST
—Taylor Graham
Hardly bigger than a mortar-joint,
he comes unmasked, ungloved,
waiting at edge of porch-precipice.
He’s left his shelter-in-place
on this gray hardly-spring morning,
the only question in his eye:
what does human-with-iPad want?
________________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for today’s fine bouquet of poems and photos, some of which are based on our recent Seed of the Week: Little Monsters. She sends us a Golden Shovel, a Skeltonic, a List Poem, a Sijo (not silo, Spellcheck!), and a Haibun. (Taylor does love her Haibuns, but Spellcheck insists on calling them halibut!) Here are references for three of her forms:
•••Skeltonic Verse: www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/skeltonic-verse-poetic-form
•••Sijo: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sijo
•••List Poem: clpe.org.uk/poetryline/poeticforms/list-poem
Don’t forget to stop by James Lee Jobe’s Facebook page today at 7:30pm (www.facebook.com/jamesleejobe) for a virtual reading. And at 4pm, Nick LeForce facilitates a weekly writing workshop based on email prompts sent to you earlier in the week. See zoom.us/meeting/register/upwkde-opjkpnyQECAVBKolY4hKCdl61uA/ to register.
For up-coming virtual poetry events in our area, including those which are being cancelled due to COVID-19, 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.
Hate revision? Take a look-see at Robert Lee Brewer’s article in Writer’s Digest: How to Revise Poetry: One Simple Rule (www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/how-to-revise-poetry-one-simple-rule). It should keep you busy until they let us out of our cages after our stay-cation is over.
_______________________
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.
For the last two weeks, we’ve been talking about the Renga and how to make a Renga Chain. Caschwa (Carl Schwartz), from Sacramento, sent us some 3-line stanzas, to which Sue Crisp of Shingle Springs sent some 2-line responses, as follows:
TIME WARP (Five Renga Chains)
—Caschwa/Sue Crisp
I inherited
good looks and talent galore
lost them years ago
it was a time of magic
now no trace of who I was
* * *
haberdashery
beautiful window displays
look but don’t touch…yet
now is not the time to stray
from what is keeping you safe
* * *
came to visit you
but they would not let me in
left teardrops at door
for the things I left unsaid
now you are untouchable
* * *
hands and face shielded
my heart is an open wound
bleeding just for you
I would change places with you
to have you back in my life
* * *
we have to do right
this is not bumper bowling
flatten the damn curve
follow the space-tested rules
time lets you follow your heart
And here are Taylor Graham’s responses to Caschwa’s same stanzas:
TWO RENGA CHAINS
—Caschwa/Taylor Graham
hands and face shielded
my heart is an open wound
bleeding just for you
—love will leave no fingerprints,
no proof of human presence
* * *
we have to do right
this is not bumper bowling
flatten the damn curve
—if we just pay our taxes
we’ll be flattened out for good
Bravo to these SnakePals for fiddles well played!
—if we just pay our taxes
we’ll be flattened out for good
Bravo to these SnakePals for fiddles well played!
—Public Domain Cartoon
Taylor Graham sent a Golden Shovel this week, based on one of Joseph Nolan’s poems that appeared on Medusa a couple of weeks ago:
GOLDEN
—Taylor Graham
a Golden Shovel based on Joseph Nolan’s
“How Rude!” (Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/6/20)
That WinCo checkout lady—we
always got her biggest smile. It cannot
penetrate a protective mask? But see,
in spite of social distancing, each
of us smiling bigger at the other,
our glad-to-see-you eyes-alive! smile.
Always fun to talk to each other through poetry!
___________________
Another one of our Pals, Michael Brownstein of Jefferson City, MO, has sent us a Limerick, a Quatrain, an Experimental Haiku, and two Panku Poems. First, the Limerick:
There once was a leader named Thumps
who led his nation into the dumps.
He put money before people,
ignored a disease that was 'way lethal,
and now we all sit on our rumps.
—Michael Brownstein
* * *
Then his Quatrain:
TP
—Michael Brownstein
So where is the toilet paper?
The reams of paper towels?
Where rice used to be only vapor—
And we use napkins to clean our bowels.
* * *
His Sorta-Haiku:
the wind sheltered the leaves
somersaulted
turning light into glitter
—Michael Brownstein
* * *
And two Panku poems:
in a quest for rice
I found one bag on one shelf—
join me
* * *
I left items
on your counter
I knew you needed
so why not use them
—Michael Brownstein
* * *
About the Panku Poem, Michael says: “It is the invention of Dr. Vivekanand Jha (and maybe Richard Grove/Tai via Universal Oneness). Panku is defined by its creator(s) as a cross between the words “Pandemic” and “Haiku”, therefore “Panku”. It is meant to be a humourous play on words. The rules for a Panku Poem consist of the following:
•••Panku Poem can be no more than 15 words
•••Panku Poem can be no more than 4 lines long
•••Panku Poems do not have to have a title, but if they do, the title will be no longer than 15 characters, including spaces.
By the way, Dr. Jha’s Poetry Pandemic Project is calling for submissions of Panku Poems for a future book (online or print), called In These Strange Pandemic Days. Send us your uplifting, fun, light, amusing, entertaining pandemic poems in the form of a Panku. Your Panku can be ironic, sarcastic, satirical and even sardonic—but NO poems with the theme of fear, anger, doom and gloom, will be considered. Panku Poems have an important pandemic twist to them about being locked down, in isolation, coming out of quarantine, the new rules of life, the new order in nature, resurrection of thought, new social rules, etc. Tell us what impact the pandemic is having on your life—no more than 10 poems put into 15 words and sent to pankupoems@gmail.com; no deadline as of yet. Send poems in the body of emails only (no attachments), with your name in italics above each poem; below your name include your country/state in italics. No bios, resumes, etc.
Give it a try and let off some steam about the pandemic! What’ve you got to lose?
In addition to his Rengas, Caschwa sent some other forms:
LET’S DO IT (Katauta)
—Caschwa
one finds plenty of
lunatic lovers under
a big plenilune
drop in a quarter
just one for each phase, and then
wait in line for kiss
* * *
PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME (Rondine)
—Caschwa
Our love is whole when we are together
carefully sorted by our face value
ready to contribute when they call you
despite mighty changes in the weather
wet or dry, indoors or in the heather
high school drop-out, doctorate from Cal U.
Our love is whole
neatly stacked in a wallet of leather
like a monster dunk with an alley oop
call it whatever you want, ballyhoo?
we must not flee and escape our tether
Our love is whole
* * *
WHAT’S FOR DINNER? (Gogyohka)
—Caschwa
we had that last night
please, please, not again
I cannot tolerate this
let me call it in
you go pick it up
* * *
Carl commented that he didn’t know if the following is a form or not, so I’m suggesting maybe it’s a Nonce (www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/nonce-forms-what-they-are-and-how-to-write-them). A Nonce is fun because nobody can boss you around about it. You can even make up a name for your fledgling form:
COUNTING STARS (a form or not a form?)
—Caschwa
daily horoscope warned me
my secrets were for me to keep
as if I had something else to say
that wouldn’t put other people to sleep
about that time in Jersey
City, we can’t talk about that,
or the dumbest prank I attempted
shh!! we must be as silent as a bat
here I sit with writer’s block
juicy secrets kept in the dark
waiting for an opportunity
like luxury cars with no place to park
* * *
TIPS ON BEATING THE VIRUS (7 syllables/line)
—Caschwa
consider the Sapien:
a wise individual
who encounters a railroad
crossing, does not see or hear
a train coming, but does heed
the warning signs and signals
consider the Erectus:
road kill, failed the test, no hope
Advice for the President:
do not be an erectus
You might be interested in checking out the painting of a naked woman (and a Deibhidhe, the Irish form that’s similar to the poem above) at poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/7777/.
* * *
FLEA CIRCUS (on Medusa’s Seed of the Week 4/13, “Little Monsters”)
—Caschwa
behold the diminished dragon
knocking the meager, minuscule
medusa off her wagon
while the wee werewolf causes
the picayunish phantom
to wrap in gauzes
hark, here comes a light weight
leviathan to darken the gimcrack
gargoyle’s fate
__________________
Okay—so join these brave souls and jump into the pool! Try your hand at a form or two—at least you can come up with a Nonce.
—Medusa (where else could you find picayunish phantoms and gimcrack gargoyles??)
always got her biggest smile. It cannot
penetrate a protective mask? But see,
in spite of social distancing, each
of us smiling bigger at the other,
our glad-to-see-you eyes-alive! smile.
Always fun to talk to each other through poetry!
___________________
Another one of our Pals, Michael Brownstein of Jefferson City, MO, has sent us a Limerick, a Quatrain, an Experimental Haiku, and two Panku Poems. First, the Limerick:
There once was a leader named Thumps
who led his nation into the dumps.
He put money before people,
ignored a disease that was 'way lethal,
and now we all sit on our rumps.
—Michael Brownstein
* * *
Then his Quatrain:
TP
—Michael Brownstein
So where is the toilet paper?
The reams of paper towels?
Where rice used to be only vapor—
And we use napkins to clean our bowels.
* * *
His Sorta-Haiku:
the wind sheltered the leaves
somersaulted
turning light into glitter
—Michael Brownstein
* * *
And two Panku poems:
in a quest for rice
I found one bag on one shelf—
join me
* * *
I left items
on your counter
I knew you needed
so why not use them
—Michael Brownstein
* * *
About the Panku Poem, Michael says: “It is the invention of Dr. Vivekanand Jha (and maybe Richard Grove/Tai via Universal Oneness). Panku is defined by its creator(s) as a cross between the words “Pandemic” and “Haiku”, therefore “Panku”. It is meant to be a humourous play on words. The rules for a Panku Poem consist of the following:
•••Panku Poem can be no more than 15 words
•••Panku Poem can be no more than 4 lines long
•••Panku Poems do not have to have a title, but if they do, the title will be no longer than 15 characters, including spaces.
By the way, Dr. Jha’s Poetry Pandemic Project is calling for submissions of Panku Poems for a future book (online or print), called In These Strange Pandemic Days. Send us your uplifting, fun, light, amusing, entertaining pandemic poems in the form of a Panku. Your Panku can be ironic, sarcastic, satirical and even sardonic—but NO poems with the theme of fear, anger, doom and gloom, will be considered. Panku Poems have an important pandemic twist to them about being locked down, in isolation, coming out of quarantine, the new rules of life, the new order in nature, resurrection of thought, new social rules, etc. Tell us what impact the pandemic is having on your life—no more than 10 poems put into 15 words and sent to pankupoems@gmail.com; no deadline as of yet. Send poems in the body of emails only (no attachments), with your name in italics above each poem; below your name include your country/state in italics. No bios, resumes, etc.
Give it a try and let off some steam about the pandemic! What’ve you got to lose?
—Public Domain Artwork
In addition to his Rengas, Caschwa sent some other forms:
LET’S DO IT (Katauta)
—Caschwa
one finds plenty of
lunatic lovers under
a big plenilune
drop in a quarter
just one for each phase, and then
wait in line for kiss
* * *
PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME (Rondine)
—Caschwa
Our love is whole when we are together
carefully sorted by our face value
ready to contribute when they call you
despite mighty changes in the weather
wet or dry, indoors or in the heather
high school drop-out, doctorate from Cal U.
Our love is whole
neatly stacked in a wallet of leather
like a monster dunk with an alley oop
call it whatever you want, ballyhoo?
we must not flee and escape our tether
Our love is whole
* * *
WHAT’S FOR DINNER? (Gogyohka)
—Caschwa
we had that last night
please, please, not again
I cannot tolerate this
let me call it in
you go pick it up
* * *
Carl commented that he didn’t know if the following is a form or not, so I’m suggesting maybe it’s a Nonce (www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/nonce-forms-what-they-are-and-how-to-write-them). A Nonce is fun because nobody can boss you around about it. You can even make up a name for your fledgling form:
COUNTING STARS (a form or not a form?)
—Caschwa
daily horoscope warned me
my secrets were for me to keep
as if I had something else to say
that wouldn’t put other people to sleep
about that time in Jersey
City, we can’t talk about that,
or the dumbest prank I attempted
shh!! we must be as silent as a bat
here I sit with writer’s block
juicy secrets kept in the dark
waiting for an opportunity
like luxury cars with no place to park
* * *
TIPS ON BEATING THE VIRUS (7 syllables/line)
—Caschwa
consider the Sapien:
a wise individual
who encounters a railroad
crossing, does not see or hear
a train coming, but does heed
the warning signs and signals
consider the Erectus:
road kill, failed the test, no hope
Advice for the President:
do not be an erectus
You might be interested in checking out the painting of a naked woman (and a Deibhidhe, the Irish form that’s similar to the poem above) at poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/7777/.
* * *
FLEA CIRCUS (on Medusa’s Seed of the Week 4/13, “Little Monsters”)
—Caschwa
behold the diminished dragon
knocking the meager, minuscule
medusa off her wagon
while the wee werewolf causes
the picayunish phantom
to wrap in gauzes
hark, here comes a light weight
leviathan to darken the gimcrack
gargoyle’s fate
__________________
Okay—so join these brave souls and jump into the pool! Try your hand at a form or two—at least you can come up with a Nonce.
—Medusa (where else could you find picayunish phantoms and gimcrack gargoyles??)
And there’s always a squirrel or two to add to the inventory…
—Public Domain Photo
—Public Domain Photo
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.