—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—And scroll down for Form Fiddlers’ Friday!!
BELOW THE SURFACE
Morning on the pond, ripples on water
stirred now by breeze, alive with ducks and geese,
egret at shoreline. No river otter
in these headsprings, but currents keep their code
of shadowed unseen movement without cease,
a deep connection as the land is owed.
We’re temporary here, an early hike
to soothe the TV news, its crisis-talk
and hype, its hidden hazards and the like—
such matters aren’t this living pond’s affair.
It’s sunny, let’s not worry such a walk—
flight and skitter of small birds everywhere.
In brimming pond, no tinge of waters black.
Must our brain-monsters still keep coming back?
Morning on the pond, ripples on water
stirred now by breeze, alive with ducks and geese,
egret at shoreline. No river otter
in these headsprings, but currents keep their code
of shadowed unseen movement without cease,
a deep connection as the land is owed.
We’re temporary here, an early hike
to soothe the TV news, its crisis-talk
and hype, its hidden hazards and the like—
such matters aren’t this living pond’s affair.
It’s sunny, let’s not worry such a walk—
flight and skitter of small birds everywhere.
In brimming pond, no tinge of waters black.
Must our brain-monsters still keep coming back?
CASUAL GRACE
as silver calligraphy across cement in dim
first light, the snail vanished like dimple of dew
on miner’s lettuce. A night creature, gone
softly away as on slippers, smooth as lamplight
contouring alabaster.
This moment of blessing
before sun ignites windowpane. Reaching
for a paperclip—collection of things
that must be done—
you pause to consider its spiraling
curves as if formed in a silver shell—
its casual useful grace, its blessing.
as silver calligraphy across cement in dim
first light, the snail vanished like dimple of dew
on miner’s lettuce. A night creature, gone
softly away as on slippers, smooth as lamplight
contouring alabaster.
This moment of blessing
before sun ignites windowpane. Reaching
for a paperclip—collection of things
that must be done—
you pause to consider its spiraling
curves as if formed in a silver shell—
its casual useful grace, its blessing.
LOOPING SPIRAL FLIGHT
Above the swale a flying scream—
scream of raptor, some kind of hawk.
Hawk calling out its land, its mate—
mate in March, spring’s talon-talk.
Talk is cheap except to bird-prey,
prey that’s ever grounded in its flight.
Flight of shadows on the wing—
wing of mystery soaring out of sight.
CALLING IT
Too high or hidden for me to see—raptor, hawk, accipiter, buteo—I can’t tell what bird is issuing its manifesto this March morning. A scream, a challenge, threat or summons, an enunciation. Then, closer, I catch a glimpse of dark and light on wings, big bird disappearing in sun and shadow. And then another, browner, darker, vanishing into woods that climb the hill. My failing vision, fascination and unease of mystery. If only I could see its field marks, identify its call announcing hunger, territory, hunt for a mate. This is daylight; still…
lure of fairytale,
a monster in dark water—
but this bird is real.
Too high or hidden for me to see—raptor, hawk, accipiter, buteo—I can’t tell what bird is issuing its manifesto this March morning. A scream, a challenge, threat or summons, an enunciation. Then, closer, I catch a glimpse of dark and light on wings, big bird disappearing in sun and shadow. And then another, browner, darker, vanishing into woods that climb the hill. My failing vision, fascination and unease of mystery. If only I could see its field marks, identify its call announcing hunger, territory, hunt for a mate. This is daylight; still…
lure of fairytale,
a monster in dark water—
but this bird is real.
WATER MONSTER
So long sheltered at home, at last
a one-day trip upcountry, you and your boys.
An easy hike—wildflowers in meadow;
climbing to a snowmelt lake blue as alpine sky.
Could it be better? A few swimmers
not staying long in the icy wind-waves,
not testing the depths. Only
one, plunging in to celebrate his birthday—
braving the lake to its center, not
turning back to shore;
gripped by the lake-monster
Hypothermia, dragged underwater.
You waded out as far as you dared, calling
to shore for help; calling
to the drowning one becoming blue water.
Calling into sun-glare
till the depths turned black
as a Grimm fairytale. Explaining this
to your boys before bedtime.
So long sheltered at home, at last
a one-day trip upcountry, you and your boys.
An easy hike—wildflowers in meadow;
climbing to a snowmelt lake blue as alpine sky.
Could it be better? A few swimmers
not staying long in the icy wind-waves,
not testing the depths. Only
one, plunging in to celebrate his birthday—
braving the lake to its center, not
turning back to shore;
gripped by the lake-monster
Hypothermia, dragged underwater.
You waded out as far as you dared, calling
to shore for help; calling
to the drowning one becoming blue water.
Calling into sun-glare
till the depths turned black
as a Grimm fairytale. Explaining this
to your boys before bedtime.
TOO LONG AT HOME
She was 4th in line outside triple A
waiting. All she wanted was maps. An old
no-color sedan paused—Going our way?
Grinning face, airy hand-wave gypsy-gay.
She remembered childish books and ancient
cautions. Social-distance line was getting
ever longer, people falling in disarray—
the file ahead, behind, weary dismay;
door not opening, the waiting colder.
Calendar said March! Vagrant cars idling,
charged for the open road that will not stay.
You don’t need a map, he grinned & air-waved.
Follow what your heart and head and feet say.
Just fall in line with us, we’re bound away.
She was 4th in line outside triple A
waiting. All she wanted was maps. An old
no-color sedan paused—Going our way?
Grinning face, airy hand-wave gypsy-gay.
She remembered childish books and ancient
cautions. Social-distance line was getting
ever longer, people falling in disarray—
the file ahead, behind, weary dismay;
door not opening, the waiting colder.
Calendar said March! Vagrant cars idling,
charged for the open road that will not stay.
You don’t need a map, he grinned & air-waved.
Follow what your heart and head and feet say.
Just fall in line with us, we’re bound away.
Today’s LittleNip:
MARCH 12
—Taylor Graham
Morning’s fresh deadfall—
old-man branches with their long
gray-green lichen beards.
_____________________
Good Friday Morning and thank you to Taylor Graham for her poems of spring, including the dark side of water and loss… She has sent us some forms, too, including two Sonnets (“Too Long at Home” and “Below the Surface”); a Loop Poem (“Looping Spiral Flight”); a Word-Can Poem (“Casual Grace”); plus a Haibun and a Haiku. About her forms, she writes: “The Sonnets aren't forms I can identify. I call “Too Long at Home” a cabin-fever Sonnet with random single rhyme; “Below the Surface” is a variation on a Cornish Sonnet (same rhyme scheme but no refrain lines)— or maybe it's a recognized form that I haven't been able to run down. Maybe your readers know what it is….”
Tonight (3/19) from 7-8:30pm, Sacramento City College’s el gigantic presents An Evening With Lisa Dominguez Abraham plus open mic on Zoom (cccconfer.zoom.us/j/9348057923/. Host: Danny Romero.
Also, the Third Friday Salon in L.A. will present poetry by William O’Daly and music by Louis Valentine Johnson (plus other poets and musicians) on Zoom from 8:30-10:30pm at us02web.zoom.us/s/89554985755?pwd=R2NWYzFNN284V01WMGFrbkhQVzF6UT09&fbclid=IwAR32DI1HNQvIVuyY8pRfFwwxNO8AlSdDbeysAg03ebH0YF3R5_iS5TFs8B4#success Meeting ID: 895 5498 5755; Passcode: 538920.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
MARCH 12
—Taylor Graham
Morning’s fresh deadfall—
old-man branches with their long
gray-green lichen beards.
_____________________
Good Friday Morning and thank you to Taylor Graham for her poems of spring, including the dark side of water and loss… She has sent us some forms, too, including two Sonnets (“Too Long at Home” and “Below the Surface”); a Loop Poem (“Looping Spiral Flight”); a Word-Can Poem (“Casual Grace”); plus a Haibun and a Haiku. About her forms, she writes: “The Sonnets aren't forms I can identify. I call “Too Long at Home” a cabin-fever Sonnet with random single rhyme; “Below the Surface” is a variation on a Cornish Sonnet (same rhyme scheme but no refrain lines)— or maybe it's a recognized form that I haven't been able to run down. Maybe your readers know what it is….”
Tonight (3/19) from 7-8:30pm, Sacramento City College’s el gigantic presents An Evening With Lisa Dominguez Abraham plus open mic on Zoom (cccconfer.zoom.us/j/9348057923/. Host: Danny Romero.
Also, the Third Friday Salon in L.A. will present poetry by William O’Daly and music by Louis Valentine Johnson (plus other poets and musicians) on Zoom from 8:30-10:30pm at us02web.zoom.us/s/89554985755?pwd=R2NWYzFNN284V01WMGFrbkhQVzF6UT09&fbclid=IwAR32DI1HNQvIVuyY8pRfFwwxNO8AlSdDbeysAg03ebH0YF3R5_iS5TFs8B4#success Meeting ID: 895 5498 5755; Passcode: 538920.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Today Joyce Odam has sent us a Ghazal, a tricky form if you follow the traditional Persian (www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ghazal). Here is Joyce’s fun variation:
BLACK EMBROIDERY
(A Winter Ghazal)
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
A flow of sadness moves down the long blue sides of
her ancient body and she shudders with ecstasy.
.
The sampler on the wall uses black embroidery thread
only, symbolic of nothing.
.
The gold songbird under the silence-cloth of its cage
must wait and wait for permission to sing.
.
Two blue ravens sit in the stark black tree of misery
and tell each other terrible things.
.
The blood on the floor makes a beautiful collage
she walks through with her cold bare feet.
.
She washes herself under red water and wonders why
it takes so long to run clear.
.
Two blue ravens huddle together in the rain for so long
they turn transparent and begin to disappear.
Claire J. Baker has sent us a lively Smith Sonnet, which she describes as “14 lines of iambic pentameter, the last two lines rhymed”:
GRANDMOTHERS
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Responsive, skilled, our grandmas model smarts.
So, when her family’s pathway angles steep,
she’ll urge: pull off your boots and rest, for soon
the way will level…Mothers of our moms—
on call around the clock, inspire fresh luck
for finding friendly paths, an easy pace…
When watching grandkids climbing treetop high,
she waits to comfort, bandage, praise and hug.
Through gravitational tugs from the earth,
balancing head with heart for timely care,
she makes of nurturing a healing art,
pledging: birth begets the joy of giving.
In reading Grandma’s lips and eyes, we fall
for her wink; love’s not far, not far at all!
GRANDMOTHERS
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Responsive, skilled, our grandmas model smarts.
So, when her family’s pathway angles steep,
she’ll urge: pull off your boots and rest, for soon
the way will level…Mothers of our moms—
on call around the clock, inspire fresh luck
for finding friendly paths, an easy pace…
When watching grandkids climbing treetop high,
she waits to comfort, bandage, praise and hug.
Through gravitational tugs from the earth,
balancing head with heart for timely care,
she makes of nurturing a healing art,
pledging: birth begets the joy of giving.
In reading Grandma’s lips and eyes, we fall
for her wink; love’s not far, not far at all!
Carol Louise Moon has sent us some colorful springtime Cinquains:
FOUR CINQUAINS
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
OPUNTIA
cactus
fruit of desert
cooked for jams and jellies—
my mother's childhood treats filled with
these pears
* * *
GREEN...
disguised
as blue marches
against my eyes—invades
my gray sensibilities with
turquoise
* * *
DEER QUEST
springtime
forest deer path—
following heart-shaped tracks
I wish to commune; know the soul
of her
* * *
GOAT AT CREEKSIDE
small goat
watches the sky
for signs of rain—pacing
he runs uphill escaping fast
creek's rise
FOUR CINQUAINS
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
OPUNTIA
cactus
fruit of desert
cooked for jams and jellies—
my mother's childhood treats filled with
these pears
* * *
GREEN...
disguised
as blue marches
against my eyes—invades
my gray sensibilities with
turquoise
* * *
DEER QUEST
springtime
forest deer path—
following heart-shaped tracks
I wish to commune; know the soul
of her
* * *
GOAT AT CREEKSIDE
small goat
watches the sky
for signs of rain—pacing
he runs uphill escaping fast
creek's rise
Taylor Graham sent us a Loop Poet today, our Fiddlers' Challenge from last week, and here is a Loop Poem from Carl Schwartz (Caschwa). If you go to the Shadow Poetry site (www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/looppoetry.html), you’ll see that there are several variations on how the Loop poem can be written. Carl has chosen Variation #3, so don’t be thrown for… a Loop…
HERE WE GO
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
you know a man; what man? the man with the power
what power? the power of who-do; who-do? you do
do what? know a man; and having established that
you no longer need to carry around that old black cat
you are mystical enough
enough of the whole world
world-wide dominance
dominance of your mystical tricks
and lest we forget to state the obvious
you are the king of all that is devious
aye aye, captain, let us now plot a course
that will smash through the eddy, unleash my force
skip Hilton, James, go straight
straight to Shangri-La mountains
mountains of Kunlun, that is our goal
goal of broadening intercultural dialogue
as a means to developing tolerance and international peace
replacing herds of sheep bred only for their fleece
to the lamasery, stripped of material gratifications
your skills, plus my force, will enhance our predications
HERE WE GO
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
you know a man; what man? the man with the power
what power? the power of who-do; who-do? you do
do what? know a man; and having established that
you no longer need to carry around that old black cat
you are mystical enough
enough of the whole world
world-wide dominance
dominance of your mystical tricks
and lest we forget to state the obvious
you are the king of all that is devious
aye aye, captain, let us now plot a course
that will smash through the eddy, unleash my force
skip Hilton, James, go straight
straight to Shangri-La mountains
mountains of Kunlun, that is our goal
goal of broadening intercultural dialogue
as a means to developing tolerance and international peace
replacing herds of sheep bred only for their fleece
to the lamasery, stripped of material gratifications
your skills, plus my force, will enhance our predications
And here is his traditional Loop poem:
HERE WE GO GARDY LOO
—Caschwa
(a medieval version of “wear
your mask”)
better watch out for that pot
pot of impure waste
waste your precious time
time in the name of haste
it has gotten so bad
bad doesn’t seem so awful
awful propaganda speeches
speeches favoring unlawful
guns half-cocked, easy to incite
incite a hair trigger
trigger a swarming mob
mob rule now even bigger
we are under attack from Russia
Russia knows where we’re weak
weak just like a herd of sheep
sheep that stay silent while others speak
so they drop bombs disguised as packages
packages presumed to hold the truth
truth which has already earned our trust
trust that is our rock, forsooth
____________________
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!
Aquarian: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/aquarian
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Cinquain: poets.org/glossary/cinquain OR www.poewar.com/poetry-in-forms-series-cinquain
•••Cornish Sonnet: poetscollective.org/everysonnet/cornish-sonnet
•••Ghazal: poets.org/glossary/ghazal OR poetryschool.com/theblog/whats-a-ghaza OR
www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ghazal OR
www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/ghazal.html
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Haiku: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Loop Poetry: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/looppoetry.html
•••Smith Sonnet: 14 lines, 5-ft. (pentameter), unrhymed except for final couplet
•••Sonnet Forms: blog.prepscholar.com/what-is-a-sonnet-poem-form
•••Word-can Poem: putting lots of random words on slips of paper into a can, and then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them.
_____________________
—Medusa
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