Canyons Full of Ghosts

—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA—

plus our weekly fun ’n feisty Form Fiddlers’ Friday!

CLEANING OUT THE GLOVE COMPARTMENT
        the old 4WD Ford Ranger
 
bill of sale July 1998
2 decades of DMV registration, proof of insurance

letter of permission (exp 2001) for SAR K-9 training in State Parks
DOT encroachment permit (1997) for bird-nesting boxes on hwy r/w

tire pressure gauge, windshield scraper
roll of electrical tape, roll of glo-orange surveyors tape
multi-function camper’s tool
owner’s manual for Minox film camera long gone

2 decades of roads and off-road
white-knuckle jeep paths above the cow camp
now, the old truck’s broken by a smog test

we’ve signed the papers, transferred dog crate to our little car
you walk away on 2 sticks trustier than your 91-yr-old legs
pavement wavers in June heat—or is it just my eyes?

ACCIPITER PATROL

I saw the hawk droning that weedy plot
outside our window; eyes fixed, not
regarding me but as a landscape feature
too large for prey. She’s on hunt, I imagine.
I imagine Arctic sun outside its range,
dipping slightly toward midnight in mid-
day, skimming horizon, treeline
of our rocky hill, then rising to make
morning on the other side. Hawk hides
herself in images of my own making. 

CHERITA

We gathered in horseless pasture,
sitting in open circle
cooled by liveoak breeze,

each in our private distance

webbed by eyes and voices.
I slipped into shadow of a poem.

___________________

KING SOLOMON’S RING
(a book spine poem)
 
The world is charged
sailing alone around the room
the waking
rungs of the ladder

these canyons are full of ghosts
interrogations at noon
fire weather

above the river
the genius of birds
memories, dreams, reflections
barbs, prongs, points, prickers, & stickers

the language of life
delights & shadows
in the palm of your hand

words for the wind
coming into the country
astral light
the verse by the side of the road

AN INSTANT

The boy slipped away.
His sister was beguiled with jasmine
blossoming, a star blazing secrets. Whose
secrets? Worlds of possibility unrecognized.
She looked away for just an instant—
her brother was gone.
Did he find some jagged edge,
a break in familiar neighborhood
giving on Unknown
where he might dash through?
Or was he taken? A missing fence-slat,
crack in pavement. This sudden absence
ravels unravels
into necessary but impossible knots
never tying things together.

WHAT’S BROKEN

Mowing this morning, you found Yerba santa among pioneering plants taking over your field. Yerba santa, holy herb used as medicine by local tribes long before the missionaries came. It unclogs the lungs, it poultices hurts; anti-inflammatory; it might even fix a broken memory. It welcomes you today, trumpet flowers in bloom against sun-burned annual grasses. You mow around its edges—

so easy to miss
holiness in the midst and
overgrowth of life.

Today’s LittleNip:

RYŪKA

—Taylor Graham

Our world is opening again
though contagion’s still in the air—
If my mask is out of style, just
look at this yellow bud.

* * *

A merry morning to Taylor Graham, and thanks to her for terrific tales of the foothills on this Form Fiddlers’ Friday—the last Friday in June, signaling that this dreary first half of 2020 is almost over!

________________________

FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY! 

Astrocat with Fiddle

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. 


This week, Taylor Graham sent us a Cherita (see last week’s Kitchen at medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/search?q=cherita); a Ryūka (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka); a Book Spine Poem (law.marquette.edu/facultyblog/2020/04/national-poetry-month- create-book-spine-poetry); a Haibun and a List Poem. Check out her post above for examples of these.

Also from Placerville, Carol Louise Moon sent two Pleiades (www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pleiades.html), including one using the challenging letter X. Some poets use six syllables per line for this form, some use seven; Carol Louise and her Pleiades group go for the latter:


NAVAL
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
 
Nature vs. Nurture, this
naturalist suggests. He’s
new to teaching school. He is
navy-retired, so it is
nautilus shells and the odd
narwhals: single tusks. Hope he’s
not just a substitute here.

_________________

XAVIER
—Carol Louise Moon
 
X MARKS THE SPOT—Friday night
Xavier was here. He brought his
xylophone and his band named
Xanadu. Lots of friends... no
xenophobe here, he claims; makes
xylographs: engraves on
xanthic wood of yellow hues.

Green Apricots

—Photo by Caschwa

Here is Carl Schwartz (Caschwa), waiting for his fickle apricots to ripen. His first form uses a repeated line, a device which works very well for this subject. The second poem is an Imago chain; each stanza is 7-5-7-5-7-5-7-5:


TOO EARLY
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

Staring at the tree
waiting for apricots
they came early this year
at least a month too early

squirrels and birds also
staring at the tree
we had a handful
picked right off the tree

let the good neighbor know
some fruit was ripe and ready
staring at the tree
a few branches cross the fence

a lot fell to the ground
we weren’t ready yet
no more are showing
staring at the tree

* * *

TOTAL CHAOS 
—Caschwa

past the patio, and the
small strip of lawn, stands
a wooden shed made to look
like a barn with loft
no irrigation lines reach
that wall of the shed
but weeds flourish there, grow tall,
sassy, weedy, tall

beyond the shed our back wall
features a grape vine
black, seedless grapes, years in the
making, sharing the
fence with aggressive morning
glories, stretching out
over the grass, under trees
cutting renews them

apricots and plums grow on
their separate trees
while the aprium, itself
has yet to produce
it is upright and flimsy
secured to some posts
so it doesn’t tip over
and lie in the grass

* * *

And in the next poem, Carl says he has “employed the Tanka (poets.org/glossary/tanka) for Medusa’s current Seed of the Week, ‘Quick Fixes’ ”:

THE FIXER
—Caschwa

in the good old days
of boomer photography
there was a fixer
darkroom chemical agent
to keep the image desired

we see that today
with “fixer” press releases
stopping an image
from developing into
political disfavor

oh—the very thought
of turning on bright, white lights
in the dim darkroom
could be enough to ruin
anyone’s reputation! 

Next Wednesday, our new SnakePal, Linda Klein from Los Angeles, will be bringing us some more of her poetry. Meanwhile, here is a Sonnet variation from her:
 

TIME, MY FRIEND
—Linda Klein, Los Angeles, CA
 
How do I make a friend of time?
He's nothing but a garish mime
who mocks me.

He traps me with his playful dance.
I can't escape his stubborn stance.
He blocks me.

I'm frightened by his painted face.
His bulbous nose is out of place
It shocks me.

If I greet time with open arms,
pretending that his teases charm
and rock me,

will he accept me as a friend,
and ease my way until the end?

____________________          

Okay! Stay cool, stay safe, and be sure to greet our friend, Time, with open arms!

—Medusa

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com.
The snakes of Medusa are always hungry!

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clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
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