Galahad
—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
GALAHAD
Before dawn I find my way down the hill.
No trodden path through chill-dew
miner’s lettuce lacy with tiny white stars
as if sprinkled from a shaker, innocent
of roots. There he is—bright white
in dim first-light on April green, motionless
at my upper gate. As if dropped from
sky, although I said yes, he’s welcome
to my pasture.
Has he spent the night there, farthest
from the gate to his home
where he’ll return when grass is grazed,
turning summer-brown and flammable?
His owner comes to grain him
at the lower gate, but here he is, gazing
into impenetrable time and space. Nothing
lasts forever. For now, the future
is a great white horse in my pasture.
Before dawn I find my way down the hill.
No trodden path through chill-dew
miner’s lettuce lacy with tiny white stars
as if sprinkled from a shaker, innocent
of roots. There he is—bright white
in dim first-light on April green, motionless
at my upper gate. As if dropped from
sky, although I said yes, he’s welcome
to my pasture.
Has he spent the night there, farthest
from the gate to his home
where he’ll return when grass is grazed,
turning summer-brown and flammable?
His owner comes to grain him
at the lower gate, but here he is, gazing
into impenetrable time and space. Nothing
lasts forever. For now, the future
is a great white horse in my pasture.
Galahad with his Pal
SERENDIPITY
A barter between neighbors,
chance of the unexpected—my pasture
gone wild for lack of grazing, their horse
gazing at our fresh, untasted green.
Water trough and halter
cinch the deal and, as if dropped
out of April sky,
the blessing of a great white horse
gracing our land. But wait.
There’s fiddleneck pushing up
through green, toxic
to horses, and mustard too.
My morning meditation shall be
ridding the field of golden fiddleneck,
and pulling out mustard by the roots.
Oh serendipity, I’ll cook
up those mustard greens for supper.
A barter between neighbors,
chance of the unexpected—my pasture
gone wild for lack of grazing, their horse
gazing at our fresh, untasted green.
Water trough and halter
cinch the deal and, as if dropped
out of April sky,
the blessing of a great white horse
gracing our land. But wait.
There’s fiddleneck pushing up
through green, toxic
to horses, and mustard too.
My morning meditation shall be
ridding the field of golden fiddleneck,
and pulling out mustard by the roots.
Oh serendipity, I’ll cook
up those mustard greens for supper.
Fiddlenecks
FIDDLENECK DANCE
O hum
of bees about
fiddleneck’s golden crown—
music!
Fiddle-
neck’s banner year—
4+ acres to whack.
Let’s dance!
Tall my
partner, and tough,
but I know the Weed-
Eat Step!
This dance
of a single
morning in April—now
cut short.
EARLY MORNING COOL-IT
Indeed, my morning deed is eating weed,
each seed of flame’s desire—red-flag pyre,
hills on fire. I must mow where wind would sow
sparks to glow and burst, destruction’s thirst.
LEATHER CHAPS
They’ve taken me from my place
on the rocking chair—next best thing
to riding a horse. I shared the ride
with a Navajo blanket that might serve
under a saddle.
He’d toss his Stetson on me
when he came home from some special-
occasion trip—in a car, not a horse
anymore. Those days are many moons
gone now. When he’s gone too,
I wonder who will keep me
in a special place, to remember?
Loki
OUT OF PARADISE
Can I help it if Loki barks at Sirius?
She can’t get a whiff of his butt, not even sniff noses.
And this atmosphere (or lack of) doesn’t retain
canine territorial markings. At least
she doesn’t bark at the Lion, the Ram, the Great Bear.
We’re chilling out here, somewhere in Orion.
I remember spring, summer, fall.
Loki longs for a footprint to prove a human
journey across space as we defined it on Earth
(you know, what used to be open space)—
a scent-trail to follow. We’re hanging
from my rappelling harness rigged to Orion’s belt,
waiting for a space ship to pick us up, for lack
of helicopter. The search boss needed
a better logistics chief on this mission. Lost
hunter on outskirts of Paradise our dispatcher
said. I thought he meant California.
Today’s LittleNip:
SIALIA
—Taylor Graham
Little bourgeois bird
hunched on the fence’s top wire—
just a plain dull bird
till flying with spring sunlight
flashing its sky-blue neon.
__________________________
Taylor Graham has sent us more of her adventures with Galahad, the "white horse in green pastures" of our recent Seed of the Week. And she has sent us some poetry in forms: a Personification Poem (“Leather Chaps”); an Aquarian chain (“Fiddleneck Dance”); a Tanka, and a poem from a prompt: “finding yourself in outer space near a star” (“Out of Paradise”).
Tonight, 5pm, The Blue Collar Gospel Hour presents Poetry Hour featuring Catfish McDaris online: Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/609852629971075/?acontext={"event_action_history"%3A[{"mechanism"%3A"your_upcoming_events_unit"%2C"surface"%3A"bookmark"}]%2C"ref_notif_type"%3A"event_calendar_create"%2C"source"%3A"29"}
And now it’s time for …
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
SIALIA
—Taylor Graham
Little bourgeois bird
hunched on the fence’s top wire—
just a plain dull bird
till flying with spring sunlight
flashing its sky-blue neon.
__________________________
Taylor Graham has sent us more of her adventures with Galahad, the "white horse in green pastures" of our recent Seed of the Week. And she has sent us some poetry in forms: a Personification Poem (“Leather Chaps”); an Aquarian chain (“Fiddleneck Dance”); a Tanka, and a poem from a prompt: “finding yourself in outer space near a star” (“Out of Paradise”).
Tonight, 5pm, The Blue Collar Gospel Hour presents Poetry Hour featuring Catfish McDaris online: Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/609852629971075/?acontext={"event_action_history"%3A[{"mechanism"%3A"your_upcoming_events_unit"%2C"surface"%3A"bookmark"}]%2C"ref_notif_type"%3A"event_calendar_create"%2C"source"%3A"29"}
And now it’s time for …
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Claire Baker sends us this Haiku, with the following note: “this Haiku title (a no-no [in Haiku]) is a little boost for James Shuman, who is trying to get California Federation of Chaparral Poets going again. I did take his fine workshop.”
AFTER JAMES SHUMAN’S WORKSHOP
AT CFCP VIRTUAL CONVENTION
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
One frog does not leap
into marsh pond, yet we hear
that green Bashō splash!
Carol Louise Moon has sent a Pleiades, as promised in yesterday’s post:
ISLA
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
Islets, not eyelets—islets
indeed. We let our mind’s eye
import these little islets
in, around Queen Charlotte Sound.
Indigo blue waves under
inert gray clouds portend an
influx of rain we hope for.
Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) bravely tackled last week’s Form Fiddlers’ Challenge, the Vers Beaucoup. The phrase in quotes is from the Shadow Poetry website:
IN THE SHADOWS
—Caschwa
“a poem for created by” a poet’s eye, acid high
as the big, blue sky, wearing shrouds of cumulus clouds
numb to the crowds of pooping birds and stinky herds
instead of words it rained similes and apostrophes
IN THE SHADOWS
—Caschwa
“a poem for created by” a poet’s eye, acid high
as the big, blue sky, wearing shrouds of cumulus clouds
numb to the crowds of pooping birds and stinky herds
instead of words it rained similes and apostrophes
Here is a Monostitch from Caschwa:
HOPE
springs don’t break like the shocks did.
CHARITY
begins with the same letters as “cheat”.
FAITH
healers vacuum the dust of settled science and toss it out.
HOPE
springs don’t break like the shocks did.
CHARITY
begins with the same letters as “cheat”.
FAITH
healers vacuum the dust of settled science and toss it out.
And a Waltmarie:
PREP STEPS
—Caschwa
one seizes a moment of truth to
repair
to the sitting room, though the chairs are
broken
though not unusable like flooded
bridges
and you know the light is good
before
delving into a long treatise on consummate
failure.
____________________
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!
PREP STEPS
—Caschwa
one seizes a moment of truth to
repair
to the sitting room, though the chairs are
broken
though not unusable like flooded
bridges
and you know the light is good
before
delving into a long treatise on consummate
failure.
____________________
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!
Tyburn: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/tyburn.html
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Aquarian: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/aquarian
•••Haiku: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Monostich: briefpoems.wordpress.com/2016/01/07/slates-one-line-poems-monostich
•••Personification Poem: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/personification
•••Pleiades: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pleiades.html
•••Tanka: poets.org/glossary/tanka
•••Tyburn: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/tyburn.html
•••Vers Beaucoup: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/versbeaucoup.html
•••Waltmarie: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/waltmarie-poetic-forms
_____________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo
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snakes ride horses…