—Poetry by Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) and Joseph Nolan
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
ONE SIZE FITS ALL
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
in the age of dinosaurs
the Earth was getting its start
with a single supercontinent
(later called Pangea) which
slowly broke apart
the various parts got their Visa
papers in order and immigrated
to other locations around the
globe, where some life flourished
and some was incinerated
thus before there could be native
American Indians or any other
human beings in North America,
the land itself had to move here
and leave behind its mother
so today, in the year 2021, we are
ALL immigrants, including the land
under our feet; and our Constitution
soundly prohibits royal bloodlines,
so we all play in the same band
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
in the age of dinosaurs
the Earth was getting its start
with a single supercontinent
(later called Pangea) which
slowly broke apart
the various parts got their Visa
papers in order and immigrated
to other locations around the
globe, where some life flourished
and some was incinerated
thus before there could be native
American Indians or any other
human beings in North America,
the land itself had to move here
and leave behind its mother
so today, in the year 2021, we are
ALL immigrants, including the land
under our feet; and our Constitution
soundly prohibits royal bloodlines,
so we all play in the same band
ALLUVIAL SILT
—Caschwa
Katherine Lee Bates
passed through Colorado Springs
and parts of Kansas
wrote of her viewing
wheat from enormous field crops:
“amber fields of grain”
looked up Amber Fields
and was disappointed that
she did not reside
in Grain, that village
end of Hoo Peninsula
in North Kent, England
—Caschwa
Katherine Lee Bates
passed through Colorado Springs
and parts of Kansas
wrote of her viewing
wheat from enormous field crops:
“amber fields of grain”
looked up Amber Fields
and was disappointed that
she did not reside
in Grain, that village
end of Hoo Peninsula
in North Kent, England
LEAN TO THE LEFT
—Caschwa
I have been called every name
none of which are in the book
all because you made me come
along to attend a high society event
where clothes that suited me fine
made everyone else uncomfortable;
where I took and gobbled up food
without saying a proper “thank you”
where my gazes lasted maybe a
little too long when my beady eyes
were drowning in a sea of cleavage,
vast sunken treasures awaiting
where none of the lighted exit signs
clearly and positively connected to
a friendly path for people who were
out of place to get out of this place
—Caschwa
I have been called every name
none of which are in the book
all because you made me come
along to attend a high society event
where clothes that suited me fine
made everyone else uncomfortable;
where I took and gobbled up food
without saying a proper “thank you”
where my gazes lasted maybe a
little too long when my beady eyes
were drowning in a sea of cleavage,
vast sunken treasures awaiting
where none of the lighted exit signs
clearly and positively connected to
a friendly path for people who were
out of place to get out of this place
I LEFT HER
—Caschwa
we had some very good times together
and I know just how jealous she can get
when I look elsewhere, but it was time
she was worn out, tired, losing her touch
and the older I grow the more I need the
full package, no holdouts, no waiting
so I had to release her
from the handle, and
drop her in that special slot
behind the mirror
—Caschwa
we had some very good times together
and I know just how jealous she can get
when I look elsewhere, but it was time
she was worn out, tired, losing her touch
and the older I grow the more I need the
full package, no holdouts, no waiting
so I had to release her
from the handle, and
drop her in that special slot
behind the mirror
Morning Commute (Going in Circles)
MALIGNANT GRAVITY
—Joseph Nolan
Do you believe in gravity,
That holds
Every person, down,
In contact
With the ground,
To not let fly away,
Any random body?
Slowly to be undone,
By constant, daily friction,
Of limbs and joints,
Among their weight,
With slow deterioration,
To cushioning discs,
Between the bones,
Forming our heavy bodies?
When bone-on-bone
Has made its home,
Between your joints,
It will come clear,
That gravity,
Is not benign,
To those who
Move in space,
As slowly, friction,
Wears them down,
Into their
Painful disgrace.
—Joseph Nolan
Do you believe in gravity,
That holds
Every person, down,
In contact
With the ground,
To not let fly away,
Any random body?
Slowly to be undone,
By constant, daily friction,
Of limbs and joints,
Among their weight,
With slow deterioration,
To cushioning discs,
Between the bones,
Forming our heavy bodies?
When bone-on-bone
Has made its home,
Between your joints,
It will come clear,
That gravity,
Is not benign,
To those who
Move in space,
As slowly, friction,
Wears them down,
Into their
Painful disgrace.
BACK TO THE FUTURE
—Joseph Nolan
Reversed,
The laws of Physics
Backwards,
Time did run,
Back to the future
We’d known before,
Back to the dawn
Of Kingdom-come.
We saw Adam
Refuse the apple,
Eve offered him,
In love;
Heard some angels laughing,
Looking down
From above.
All stayed in
Their Paradise,
Given them,
As home.
Never was there
Suffering,
No pain, no cold.
Everyone was happy,
Well-fed,
No need for clothes.
No one wrote sad poetry
In days of reversed-old.
—Joseph Nolan
Reversed,
The laws of Physics
Backwards,
Time did run,
Back to the future
We’d known before,
Back to the dawn
Of Kingdom-come.
We saw Adam
Refuse the apple,
Eve offered him,
In love;
Heard some angels laughing,
Looking down
From above.
All stayed in
Their Paradise,
Given them,
As home.
Never was there
Suffering,
No pain, no cold.
Everyone was happy,
Well-fed,
No need for clothes.
No one wrote sad poetry
In days of reversed-old.
WILDFIRE
—Joseph Nolan
A quiet, silent ember,
Burning still,
Beneath the mounds of ashes
On the blackened hill.
Black posts,
Stripped of leaves and green,
Screaming in mute witness
To cruel rage of flames.
Birth and growth and life,
Ruined in an hour’s
Flying fire
‘fore the wind,
The whipping, driving, gale
And homes brought down
To concrete slabs,
With only chimneys standing.
A quiet, silent ember,
Burning still,
Waiting to return
When given Will,
From rain gone short
And grass grown long,
Waiting to return
In crackling song.
—Joseph Nolan
A quiet, silent ember,
Burning still,
Beneath the mounds of ashes
On the blackened hill.
Black posts,
Stripped of leaves and green,
Screaming in mute witness
To cruel rage of flames.
Birth and growth and life,
Ruined in an hour’s
Flying fire
‘fore the wind,
The whipping, driving, gale
And homes brought down
To concrete slabs,
With only chimneys standing.
A quiet, silent ember,
Burning still,
Waiting to return
When given Will,
From rain gone short
And grass grown long,
Waiting to return
In crackling song.
FOR JACKSON
—Joseph Nolan
I throw paint on canvas
The way emotions flood my heart.
It touches, clings,
Bleeds and spreads
Overcoming everything
Color ever held.
I wait for it to dry,
Then throw again,
Covering the first splash
By stages and degrees.
I wait for it to dry
And throw a different color,
Because feelings always change,
Always overlaying and supported
By those that went before.
As the painting comes to final,
The feelings never cease
To flood my heart in layers,
So complex and so jumbled
I may never find my ease.
I would like to see things clearly
And show the world they’re so,
But the world’s become all jumbled
I’m not the only one
Who struggles for love and joy
In a world where colors are covered,
By other layers of colors,
So much that reason’s destroyed.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Most victories as an adult involve matching socks, hiding empty candy wrappers and beating random strangers to a parking space.
—Donna McCoy
_____________________
Good morning and many thanks to Caschwa and Joseph Nolan for their contributions today. Hopefully I have not called Joseph “James”, an error which I have made and repeated in the past. Sorry, James—I mean Joseph….
Tonight (5/17), Sac. Poetry Center’s Socially Distant Verse present Deborah Meltvedt and Jan Rosenberg LaForge online on Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462. Meeting ID: 763 873 3462; Passcode: r3trnofsdv/.
This Sunday (5/23), 10am-12pm: Taylor Graham and Katy Brown will lead an exploration of farmhouse, barn, and surroundings of Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville for Capturing Wakamatsu: A Poetry Walk/Workshop, then ask participants to write a poem inspired by what they’ve experienced. Anyone who wishes to may share poems with the group. Children 8+ welcome with adult supervision. Suggested Donation: $5/members, $10/non-members. Bring your camera and notebook! Questions/info/reg: contact julie@ARConservancy.org/.
_____________________
—Medusa
—Joseph Nolan
I throw paint on canvas
The way emotions flood my heart.
It touches, clings,
Bleeds and spreads
Overcoming everything
Color ever held.
I wait for it to dry,
Then throw again,
Covering the first splash
By stages and degrees.
I wait for it to dry
And throw a different color,
Because feelings always change,
Always overlaying and supported
By those that went before.
As the painting comes to final,
The feelings never cease
To flood my heart in layers,
So complex and so jumbled
I may never find my ease.
I would like to see things clearly
And show the world they’re so,
But the world’s become all jumbled
I’m not the only one
Who struggles for love and joy
In a world where colors are covered,
By other layers of colors,
So much that reason’s destroyed.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Most victories as an adult involve matching socks, hiding empty candy wrappers and beating random strangers to a parking space.
—Donna McCoy
_____________________
Good morning and many thanks to Caschwa and Joseph Nolan for their contributions today. Hopefully I have not called Joseph “James”, an error which I have made and repeated in the past. Sorry, James—I mean Joseph….
Tonight (5/17), Sac. Poetry Center’s Socially Distant Verse present Deborah Meltvedt and Jan Rosenberg LaForge online on Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462. Meeting ID: 763 873 3462; Passcode: r3trnofsdv/.
This Sunday (5/23), 10am-12pm: Taylor Graham and Katy Brown will lead an exploration of farmhouse, barn, and surroundings of Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville for Capturing Wakamatsu: A Poetry Walk/Workshop, then ask participants to write a poem inspired by what they’ve experienced. Anyone who wishes to may share poems with the group. Children 8+ welcome with adult supervision. Suggested Donation: $5/members, $10/non-members. Bring your camera and notebook! Questions/info/reg: contact julie@ARConservancy.org/.
_____________________
—Medusa
This blind girl is the winner of many
roping contests. Never say never...
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
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
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—
for poetry, of course
