Latches
—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—And scroll down to Form Fiddlers’ Friday!
VIRTUAL REALITY MAGIC
I’m on Zoom, internet-connection “unstable” for sharing poetry—poems by definition shaky in the literal sense, forever trying to balance the seen and unseen, imagined &/or true. In this case, poems of wildfire catastrophe almost beyond imagination; ash and char, phoenix-flight of forest from the land. My black cat, Latches, has joined the session, marching across my keyboard, panther-stalking the screen. I’m about to read my poem. But it isn’t Latches. It’s the magic cat of fairytale, the cat-king in-waiting, the bodiless feline grin—
trickster, shape-shifter—
one keystroke, cat-paw wipes out
my Zoom like magic.
I’m on Zoom, internet-connection “unstable” for sharing poetry—poems by definition shaky in the literal sense, forever trying to balance the seen and unseen, imagined &/or true. In this case, poems of wildfire catastrophe almost beyond imagination; ash and char, phoenix-flight of forest from the land. My black cat, Latches, has joined the session, marching across my keyboard, panther-stalking the screen. I’m about to read my poem. But it isn’t Latches. It’s the magic cat of fairytale, the cat-king in-waiting, the bodiless feline grin—
trickster, shape-shifter—
one keystroke, cat-paw wipes out
my Zoom like magic.
JANUARY ITCH
Warm winter sun,
my garden beckons—can it
be too soon?
The air’s alive with
swarming bugs,
they must think it’s spring.
Soil black with
compost of years, our leftovers
shall feed us.
Where is birdsong, where
is bluebird?
A chill in the breeze.
Oak shadow lengthens
across the field, sunset comes
early these days.
Warm winter sun,
my garden beckons—can it
be too soon?
The air’s alive with
swarming bugs,
they must think it’s spring.
Soil black with
compost of years, our leftovers
shall feed us.
Where is birdsong, where
is bluebird?
A chill in the breeze.
Oak shadow lengthens
across the field, sunset comes
early these days.
DUPLEX TIME
Bare oak with the gibbous moon in her arms—
by moonlight I fetch an armload of oak.
I crave a woodstove fire, the house still dark
with just one kitchen light, its pretend fire.
This January dark of the new year
swallows the old, soundless-dark as owl-flight.
You lie asleep in dreams that break daylight.
With no alarm you wake up still in dreams.
Calendars beg us, reinvent ourselves.
We’re inventors of our futures, our pasts.
Winter daylight is a long time coming,
it wears a greatcoat for the long coming.
The almanac keeps count like rings of oak,
bare oak with a waning moon in her arms.
Bare oak with the gibbous moon in her arms—
by moonlight I fetch an armload of oak.
I crave a woodstove fire, the house still dark
with just one kitchen light, its pretend fire.
This January dark of the new year
swallows the old, soundless-dark as owl-flight.
You lie asleep in dreams that break daylight.
With no alarm you wake up still in dreams.
Calendars beg us, reinvent ourselves.
We’re inventors of our futures, our pasts.
Winter daylight is a long time coming,
it wears a greatcoat for the long coming.
The almanac keeps count like rings of oak,
bare oak with a waning moon in her arms.
WALKING MY LAND
Small feathers in clumps
on new green grass pushing through
an old year’s dead-fall—
creekside grandfather willow
has lost a gray wrinkled arm—
I almost missed
these lone surrenders as each
subsides to the whole.
Small feathers in clumps
on new green grass pushing through
an old year’s dead-fall—
creekside grandfather willow
has lost a gray wrinkled arm—
I almost missed
these lone surrenders as each
subsides to the whole.
OUTLOOK
It’s only for awhile, till something better
turns up, a re-do of prospects. You’ll scrub
the windows just because. Scum of old
loneliness left by people who used to live
here. 2nd story up, its view of sidewalk,
a curb of parked cars, one empty space
like a missing tooth. Settle in to this apart-
ment.
It’s only for awhile, till something better
turns up, a re-do of prospects. You’ll scrub
the windows just because. Scum of old
loneliness left by people who used to live
here. 2nd story up, its view of sidewalk,
a curb of parked cars, one empty space
like a missing tooth. Settle in to this apart-
ment.
#99 D
Eloquence of voices haunting an empty room,
an old apartment complex deserted now. Grumble
of a door opening for me and my dog. We’re looking
for a girl. Her expression on the flyer, joy
in a moment of leisure, maybe, or hearing a favorite
song—the instrument is her smile. This abandoned
place is not her habitat, but where someone
might have left her. My dog is checking corners,
every closet. Could that bit of pink thread
hold human scent? He continues on, kitchen,
bedroom, bath; we memorize the floor plan, my dog
and I. One apartment and another, another.
All the same. All silent.
Eloquence of voices haunting an empty room,
an old apartment complex deserted now. Grumble
of a door opening for me and my dog. We’re looking
for a girl. Her expression on the flyer, joy
in a moment of leisure, maybe, or hearing a favorite
song—the instrument is her smile. This abandoned
place is not her habitat, but where someone
might have left her. My dog is checking corners,
every closet. Could that bit of pink thread
hold human scent? He continues on, kitchen,
bedroom, bath; we memorize the floor plan, my dog
and I. One apartment and another, another.
All the same. All silent.
Today’s LittleNip:
MISTRESS MORNING
—Taylor Graham
January dawn’s so slow in coming
and the woodstove flame just catching. I wait
and write dark lines on white.
The morning news will knock like Fate
or past-due letters with the wrong address.
My coffee’s black and hot and bottomless
until it’s gone, and Late
arrives like all of a false-spring’s insects humming.
___________________
Many thanks to Taylor Graham for her luscious poetry this January morning. It’s true—the birds seem confused as to whether to get up and lay eggs, or to stay a-bed in their wee warm nests…
Tonight, Friday at 6pm, Jennifer Pickering and Georgina Marie will read online. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/jennifer.j.pickering.9/posts/10217741181953292
If you missed the Kitchen yesterday, chedk out US Inaugural Poet Amanda Gorman reading her inaugural poem, “The Hill We Climb”, at the Inauguration last Wednesday: www.nbcnews.com/news/nbcblk/hill-we-climb-inaugural-poet-amanda-gorman-steals-show-n1254992/. She seems to have captured the hearts of many who saw her—a very good thing for a poet to do!
Taylor Graham has sent us forms today: a Word-can, based on 10 words this time (“#99D”); a Boketto (“Walking My Land”); both types of Lunes (“January Itch”); a Mistress Bradstreet Stanza (“Mistress Morning”); and a Haibun “Virtual Reality Music”). Hey—check out the Mistress Bradstreet Stanza at www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/mistress-bradstreet-stanza-poetic-forms/!
When I asked Taylor if she knew how the Word-can originated, here’s what she said:
‘Way back in the early-mid-‘70s, when I was just starting to be published, I read every contributor’s copy cover-to-cover, and when I wanted to write but nothing came, I'd jot down the 1st word of the 1st poem, 2nd of 2nd, etc. till I had some words that sparked something. It became my way out of writers block. I think the concept came spontaneously; I was pretty much a closet-poet back then. When our Tuesday at Two workshop started (June 1999), I had each of us come up with a word (open a book, close your eyes, jab a word with your finger), and we used all the words, on the spot, to write a poem. It was fun, we laughed a lot. Back home, I typed lots of words I found in poems and put the moon pieces of paper in a can. Every session ended with "the word can." We still do it (modified now for Zoom, since we can't pass the can). There are a dozen of us, and more coming, so we cut it off at 10 words for now. We've done as many as 11!
I don't know that I've come across ‘word-can’ for other, similar exercises like "6 word poems" (Poetic Asides, with 6 random words) or Carole Dwinell's ‘Ms Word Bowl’, using 7 words collected from a class she took somewhere. Other online poetry places have random word prompts. I don't know of any where participants each contribute a word, or any that use as many words as T@2 does (not to say there aren't any!).”
Thanks, TG! The Tuesday at Two workshop meets in Placerville on—you guessed it—Tuesdays at Two. We’ll get you some info if you’d like
And now it’s time for…
MISTRESS MORNING
—Taylor Graham
January dawn’s so slow in coming
and the woodstove flame just catching. I wait
and write dark lines on white.
The morning news will knock like Fate
or past-due letters with the wrong address.
My coffee’s black and hot and bottomless
until it’s gone, and Late
arrives like all of a false-spring’s insects humming.
___________________
Many thanks to Taylor Graham for her luscious poetry this January morning. It’s true—the birds seem confused as to whether to get up and lay eggs, or to stay a-bed in their wee warm nests…
Tonight, Friday at 6pm, Jennifer Pickering and Georgina Marie will read online. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/jennifer.j.pickering.9/posts/10217741181953292
If you missed the Kitchen yesterday, chedk out US Inaugural Poet Amanda Gorman reading her inaugural poem, “The Hill We Climb”, at the Inauguration last Wednesday: www.nbcnews.com/news/nbcblk/hill-we-climb-inaugural-poet-amanda-gorman-steals-show-n1254992/. She seems to have captured the hearts of many who saw her—a very good thing for a poet to do!
Taylor Graham has sent us forms today: a Word-can, based on 10 words this time (“#99D”); a Boketto (“Walking My Land”); both types of Lunes (“January Itch”); a Mistress Bradstreet Stanza (“Mistress Morning”); and a Haibun “Virtual Reality Music”). Hey—check out the Mistress Bradstreet Stanza at www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/mistress-bradstreet-stanza-poetic-forms/!
When I asked Taylor if she knew how the Word-can originated, here’s what she said:
‘Way back in the early-mid-‘70s, when I was just starting to be published, I read every contributor’s copy cover-to-cover, and when I wanted to write but nothing came, I'd jot down the 1st word of the 1st poem, 2nd of 2nd, etc. till I had some words that sparked something. It became my way out of writers block. I think the concept came spontaneously; I was pretty much a closet-poet back then. When our Tuesday at Two workshop started (June 1999), I had each of us come up with a word (open a book, close your eyes, jab a word with your finger), and we used all the words, on the spot, to write a poem. It was fun, we laughed a lot. Back home, I typed lots of words I found in poems and put the moon pieces of paper in a can. Every session ended with "the word can." We still do it (modified now for Zoom, since we can't pass the can). There are a dozen of us, and more coming, so we cut it off at 10 words for now. We've done as many as 11!
I don't know that I've come across ‘word-can’ for other, similar exercises like "6 word poems" (Poetic Asides, with 6 random words) or Carole Dwinell's ‘Ms Word Bowl’, using 7 words collected from a class she took somewhere. Other online poetry places have random word prompts. I don't know of any where participants each contribute a word, or any that use as many words as T@2 does (not to say there aren't any!).”
Thanks, TG! The Tuesday at Two workshop meets in Placerville on—you guessed it—Tuesdays at Two. We’ll get you some info if you’d like
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers, in addition to those sent to us by Taylor Graham! 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, by golly! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for links to definitions of the forms used this week.)
This poem is from Carol Louise Moon today. She writes: “This form is called an Alliteration Poem. Some call it a Single-Letter Poem: every word begins with the same letter. We dubbed the Sacramento poet, Mabel Mello, the “Queen of Alliteration.” Her skill was evidenced by the fact that she wrote a poem for every letter of the alphabet, then proceeded to write a whole other set of poems, A through Z! She was amazing. This would be a very fun form for our Form Fiddlers to try.” Thanks, Carol Louise. I remember Mabel Mello, who passed away a while ago. Here is Carol’s poem of Alliteration:
FOR FINER FLOWS
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
Fixed forms flummox few
Friday Fiddlers focused,
finding favorite forms
(Fibonocci, Founds, Fragments)
fearlessly facilitating further
formulations.
Furthermore, fine-fiddling
fills file folders, fuels fellow
form-fiddlers’ form fever.
Five, fifteen, finally, fifty!
Farewell, future Fiddlers.
This poem is from Carol Louise Moon today. She writes: “This form is called an Alliteration Poem. Some call it a Single-Letter Poem: every word begins with the same letter. We dubbed the Sacramento poet, Mabel Mello, the “Queen of Alliteration.” Her skill was evidenced by the fact that she wrote a poem for every letter of the alphabet, then proceeded to write a whole other set of poems, A through Z! She was amazing. This would be a very fun form for our Form Fiddlers to try.” Thanks, Carol Louise. I remember Mabel Mello, who passed away a while ago. Here is Carol’s poem of Alliteration:
FOR FINER FLOWS
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
Fixed forms flummox few
Friday Fiddlers focused,
finding favorite forms
(Fibonocci, Founds, Fragments)
fearlessly facilitating further
formulations.
Furthermore, fine-fiddling
fills file folders, fuels fellow
form-fiddlers’ form fever.
Five, fifteen, finally, fifty!
Farewell, future Fiddlers.
And, I would add, F for (Dr.) Fauci, my hero!
Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) has sent us a flurry of fine forms this week, such as his Rannaigecht and his Rannaigecht Ghairid:
NO MORE GIVENS
Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) has sent us a flurry of fine forms this week, such as his Rannaigecht and his Rannaigecht Ghairid:
NO MORE GIVENS
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
enter now the circus clowns
guns are loaded with real rounds
image goal is only dumb
pandemonium abounds
enter now the circus clowns
guns are loaded with real rounds
image goal is only dumb
pandemonium abounds
moved to Florida....
BIG DAY COMING
—Caschwa
raging mad
White House never looked so sad
now encircled with barbed wire
can’t stop ire with iron clad
what a scene
high-definition big screen
lots and lots of food and drink
hard to think they were so mean
quiet here
start with normal, add some fear
media will explode news
sip some brews, sit on your rear
—Caschwa
raging mad
White House never looked so sad
now encircled with barbed wire
can’t stop ire with iron clad
what a scene
high-definition big screen
lots and lots of food and drink
hard to think they were so mean
quiet here
start with normal, add some fear
media will explode news
sip some brews, sit on your rear
About his next one, Carl says: "I fashioned one of the Rannaigecht thangs around an Acrostic." Such audacity is, frankly, beyond the pale:
BEYOND THE PALE
—Caschwa
I thought my band uniform
wasn’t so brightly adorned,
born to march in funerals
yesterday or sooner mourned
BEYOND THE PALE
—Caschwa
I thought my band uniform
wasn’t so brightly adorned,
born to march in funerals
yesterday or sooner mourned
Here’s a form Carl patched together. He says,”The key to this poem’s form is the process, not the particular structural aspects of meter and rhyme scheme. I started the first stanza by just putting down a few thoughts, and then conformed the ensuing chain of stanzas to that. So maybe “chain” best describes what I arrived at:”
ARTIFICIAL MEMORY
—Caschwa
beings with higher
intelligence
trickle down
to temper their
belligerence
the high wire
experience
circus clown
with preposterous
protuberance
situation dire
interference
wedding gown
over budget
exuberance
that’s right, sire
Your Excellence
proper noun
substitute for
militants
* * *
Did you ever get the feeling that ALL your memory—what there was of it—was Artificial?
ARTIFICIAL MEMORY
—Caschwa
beings with higher
intelligence
trickle down
to temper their
belligerence
the high wire
experience
circus clown
with preposterous
protuberance
situation dire
interference
wedding gown
over budget
exuberance
that’s right, sire
Your Excellence
proper noun
substitute for
militants
* * *
Did you ever get the feeling that ALL your memory—what there was of it—was Artificial?
Two weeks ago, I posted this poem of Carl’s and challenged readers to find the form:
SURFEIT
—Caschwa
I have NEVER been to the East Coast, but
am destined to never do that, because they are
surrounded by cold, by frigid, by brrr,
by snow in every shape and form and by
a weather front promising to bring a
surfeit of more cold weather, so painfully more
of that cold than suits a Southern Californian, as
angry and disgruntled as those unhappy, devilish
elves who realize they won’t get their own way,
forcing smiles onto little kids’ faces, but not
me, I’m going to stay right here where I get
to set my thermostat in the high seventies and
write poems without freezing off my fingers
this and every time I sit down to type
* * *
If you didn’t figure it out, it was an Acrostic. Remember, you can use either the first word or the first letter for your Acrostic…
SURFEIT
—Caschwa
I have NEVER been to the East Coast, but
am destined to never do that, because they are
surrounded by cold, by frigid, by brrr,
by snow in every shape and form and by
a weather front promising to bring a
surfeit of more cold weather, so painfully more
of that cold than suits a Southern Californian, as
angry and disgruntled as those unhappy, devilish
elves who realize they won’t get their own way,
forcing smiles onto little kids’ faces, but not
me, I’m going to stay right here where I get
to set my thermostat in the high seventies and
write poems without freezing off my fingers
this and every time I sit down to type
* * *
If you didn’t figure it out, it was an Acrostic. Remember, you can use either the first word or the first letter for your Acrostic…
Last week, the Fiddler’s Challenge was the Minute Poem. Here are Carl’s responses:
WAR PAINT
—Caschwa
starting with the anecdotal
perfect total
greater than sum
of parts, fo fum!
a history of hostile acts
unjust attacks
deny our race
insult our face
we will succeed to take you down
run out of town
when all is said
we’ll scalp your head
* * *
About the next poem, Carl says: “This poem follows all the Minute Poetry protocols, with one glaring exception: strict iambic meter. The reason I departed from this aspect of the form is:
WAR PAINT
—Caschwa
starting with the anecdotal
perfect total
greater than sum
of parts, fo fum!
a history of hostile acts
unjust attacks
deny our race
insult our face
we will succeed to take you down
run out of town
when all is said
we’ll scalp your head
* * *
About the next poem, Carl says: “This poem follows all the Minute Poetry protocols, with one glaring exception: strict iambic meter. The reason I departed from this aspect of the form is:
I don’t WANT to! I don’t WANT to! I don’t WANT to!”
THE 10 COMMANDMENTS
—Caschwa
the first 5 are chain of command
some real quick sand
authority
Who the boss? Me!
and then about relationships
between the hips
murder, covet
marriage, love it
there are other rules, by and by
don’t steal or lie
and that’s a wrap
now take a nap
—Caschwa
the first 5 are chain of command
some real quick sand
authority
Who the boss? Me!
and then about relationships
between the hips
murder, covet
marriage, love it
there are other rules, by and by
don’t steal or lie
and that’s a wrap
now take a nap
And now, there's nothing like a piece of Skeltonic Verse to wrap up an eventful week:
PAST MIDNIGHT
—Caschwa
3 a.m. alarm
sleep it did disarm
didn’t mean no harm
6 years of all 7 days
rose in a daze
silly caper reverie
newspaper delivery
usually shivery
car parked at curb
inactive with no verb
crowded to perturb
bumpers might disturb
off to office, short drive
snort meant alive
cup of java
hot as lava
smears like it’s paste
years of aftertaste
drink it all, don’t waste
consensually agree
eventually pee
can’t complain, it’s free
on to usual route
known by rote, about
the same each day, no doubt
Sunday larger papers
soak up sweat and vapors
calls for missing parts
ads for bras and tarts
vacation holds, new starts
all done, my favorite stop
was at the donut shop
apple fritters, bear claws
eat it all, no pause
hear the owner’s jokes and saws
smiling face was apt applause
__________________
And many thanks to our SnakePals for their brave fiddling! Would you like to be a SnakePal? All you have to do is send poetry—forms or not—and/or photos and artwork to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
__________________
FIDDLERS’ CHALLENGE!
See what you can make of this week’s poetry form, and send it to kathykieth@hotmail.com! (No deadline.) This week's challenge:
The Triquint: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/triquint.html
__________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Acrostic: literarydevices.net/acrostic
•••Alliteration Poem (Single-Letter Poem): Each word of the poem begins with the same letter. See www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-alliteration-in-poetry-alliteration-definition-with-examples#what-is-alliteration
•••Boketto: poeticbloomings2.wordpress.com/2016/05/11/inform-poets-boketto
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Lune: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-lune-poetry#what-is-lune-poetry OR
www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/poetic-form-lune
•••Minute Poem: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/minute.html
•••Mistress Bradstreet Stanza: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/mistress-bradstreet-stanza-poetic-forms
•••Rannaigecht: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/rannaigecht-poetic-form
•••Rannaigheacht Ghairid: www.deviantart.com/poetic-forms/art/Rannaicheacht-Ghairid-10904802
•••Skeltonic Verse: www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/skeltonic-verse-poetic-form
•••Triquint: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/triquint.html
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
•••Word-can Poem: putting lots of random words on slips of paper into a can, and then drawing some out and writing a poem using them.
_______________________
—Medusa
If you’d like to order a stuffed Dr. Fauci Superhero action figure, go to
www.click2houston.com/news/national/2020/05/01/toy-company-envisions-dr-anthony-fauci-as-coronavirus-superhero/.
Chicken School
—Public Domain Photo
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
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