I hitched my kite to
That hovered on horizons,
In drifting shadows
Of setting suns
Released from teth’ring strings.
That slipped away,
Allowed the kites
To dance in
To while outside
Any goal’d ambition,
To just enjoy
The ending of a day,
Without thought of tomorrow.
Dissolved in the rain,
Though this is
Not part of the story
You normally hear.
It is so easy
For those condemned,
Left behind and abandoned-
To disappear in the rain-
Their easy road to ruin.
You hardly ever hear
Much of Lot’s wife,
You only hear
How God worked his magic—
Turning a woman
Into a pillar of salt,
Punishment for nostalgia,
Feelings of loss,
Or simple curiosity.
A warning to all
Not to look back,
When God is up to no good.
You don’t often hear
How easy it is
For those God’s destroyed
Back into the Earth
Or be carried away,
By thirsty deer.
He was needed in colors,
But came, still, in gray.
They needed him tender,
But he stayed, still, at bay.
His good-paying jobs,
Were all taken away,
To fill others’ needs,
So, now, he had little to say.
It’s a crumbling bargain—
Displacement and rage,
For a humbled, gray dwarf,
Displaced from his page,
Post-World War Two,
Affluent, crew-cut America.
So, now, he had little to say,
And no-one wanted to listen
To one who’d been pushed aside,
Who couldn’t be what he had been,
Who couldn’t provide!
Like he could before,
When things were far more easy,
After the last World War.
A Poetry Series by Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
We stole signs from the Germans and the Japanese,
and it wasn't wrong for us to do so
While baseball isn't life or death,
winning instead of losing is part of our way of life,
so it wasn't wrong to steal signs in '51
When Leo suggested it,
and Hank Schenz volunteered his telescope,
I was happy to be the spy relaying the signs
And if that could always assure victory,
we would have won a pennant or two
doing it while I was managing San Francisco,
instead of finishing second four years in a row
* * *
Because of the way I was raised,
I struggled for years to justify what we were doing
I finally realized that,
even if you knew what pitch was coming,
you still had to hit it squarely,
and I deserved credit for doing so
* * *
I was among those taunting the Giants
earlier in the season, so some might say
I got a deserved comeuppance
in giving up the homer to Bobby;
I don't think so, because of the spy
Bobby got more credit than he deserved
and I got more blame that I deserved
We'll be linked as long as baseball is played,
and I'm at peace with my role in the drama
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
(triggered by a line from “The Thought Fox”
a cat was standing in
the middle of the street
frozen with fear as it felt
and heard the swoosh
of large mechanizations
it spotted a tree, magnificent
haven of safety, peace and
quiet, and darted straight
away to climb it
“911, what is your emergency?”
Just saw a car that was waiting
in the suicide lane cross 3 lanes
of traffic and drive straight into
a big tree on the parkway. The
front end is totally smashed and
the whole car is on fire!
if bad grammar brings you to your boiling point,
here is something else to really stew over:
there is one nation that is quite hostile to
the United States of America, and
uses all the tools in its Mafioso
form of dictatorship to rip the seams out
of the American fabric of freedom,
independence, and power to the people
so clever and efficient are they that they
have convinced some Americans that other
Americans are the hated enemy,
reigniting to raging flames those glowing
embers from our unfinished Civil War days,
propelling our once United States to the
ranking of Eighth Wonder of the Modern World,
the Grand Canyon of Both Houses of Congress,
leaving patriots stranded on either side
of the most widely divided body of
government that the world has ever seen. Why?
as usual, it is money and power
that steer individuals to make choices
more in favor of money and power than
the rights and freedoms that are guaranteed to
all Americans by the Constitution
some people remember too much
all the facts and details
who, what, when, where, why, and how
they can store and retrieve all that data
is a mystery to me
just what good is it to know all the trivial
aspects of an inconsequential event?
guess it helps with crossword puzzles
to know all the stars and all their roles;
had an uncle who could speedily recite
all the states and their capital cities, while
puffing on cigars that no one else seemed
just what good is it to know all the
inconsequential aspects of a trivial event?
for those of us who rely on rote repetition,
the sting of memory loss is remediated by
a quick rendezvous with other sources
they don’t put real, live grizzly bears or
poison plants in libraries, just books that
others have written with pointers on how
to avoid getting hurt;
for backpacking ventures, most of what
one needs to know will be set forth in a
trail guide or other handy pamphlets, but
there is no need to tote around all those
Dewey Decimal coded books, so that
lightens your backpack a bit
just look at our
when the bird wants
mistake giving it
whenever it begins
Our thanks to today’s contributors for fine poetry and photos! About his “Conure” poem, Carl Schwartz writes, “Snakepal James Lee Jobe recently referenced the Conure on Facebook. This “Found” poem comes from one of the Internet links describing the behavior of Conures; see lafeber.com/pet-birds/species/conure/.”
Tonight, Mon. (5/31), at 7:30pm, Sac. Poetry Center’s Socially Distant Verse features Vicki Carroll and Vivian Dixon-Sober online at us04web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. (Password: r3trnofsdv) Host: Andrew Laufer. Info: sacpoetrycenter.org/event/socially-distant-verse-featuring-vicki-carroll-vivian-dixon-sober-and-host-andrew-laufe/?fbclid=IwAR0cp8w7EygK6ktmR_67DRXI54q2KZwZJIeQkFF0MuEdsqGWgq2HIsvvdXA/.
Starting this Thursday (6/3), 8pm, Davis’s Poetry Night Reading Series will move back into the John Natsoulas Gallery for in-person readings by Indigo Moor and Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas. Host: Andy Jones. See also Dr. Andy’s weekly newsletter at andyjones.substack.com—and please subscribe!
Poetry East, an award-winning journal of poetry, art, interviews and translations (poetryeast.org) has sent out a call for submissions, beginning June 1 and ending Aug. 15, for the Fall issue. This volume will gather poems that—in spite of the darkness of the pandemic—celebrate life, endurance, optimism, and all those many unsung things which sustain us. Because their website doesn't have the current submission guidelines, I'm posting them here: Send 5-8 poems (using #10 envelopes) with a cover letter including your name, address, and contact information (phone number and/or email). Manuscripts will not be returned unless accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope with sufficient postage. We allow simultaneous submissions when acknowledged as such. Allow up to four months for a reply; Poetry East will not reply via email to submissions. Please send your submission to: Poetry East, P.O. Box 8186, Northfield, IL 60093-3400.
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
firstname.lastname@example.org. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!