—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—And scroll down for Form Fiddlers' Friday!!
TREASURES ALONG THE WAY
Vending machine’s not broken, just out of reach. Pre-pandemic, I’d scan my card, push a button; out slid the latest map. I need Rocklin—got lost enroute to my 1st Covid shot. 2nd dose coming up, I want a real paper map like I grew up with, open in my lap, cross-country trips before interstates—Dad’s meandering choices—a squiggly line through wide white space, or tangled red & blue knots of cities. I got my shot, but no thanks to internet Directions. I visualize a compass, a continent in my head. // The line outside AAA, 6 feet from other masked folks waiting. A man steps out: who has an appointment? what are we here for? He takes my map order. (Oh, to stand at the vending machine of choices—I’d take them all; so many new roads, new developments.) He brings me just Rocklin.
I won’t get lost—but
where’s the wander-pleasure of
maps, the scenic route?
Vending machine’s not broken, just out of reach. Pre-pandemic, I’d scan my card, push a button; out slid the latest map. I need Rocklin—got lost enroute to my 1st Covid shot. 2nd dose coming up, I want a real paper map like I grew up with, open in my lap, cross-country trips before interstates—Dad’s meandering choices—a squiggly line through wide white space, or tangled red & blue knots of cities. I got my shot, but no thanks to internet Directions. I visualize a compass, a continent in my head. // The line outside AAA, 6 feet from other masked folks waiting. A man steps out: who has an appointment? what are we here for? He takes my map order. (Oh, to stand at the vending machine of choices—I’d take them all; so many new roads, new developments.) He brings me just Rocklin.
I won’t get lost—but
where’s the wander-pleasure of
maps, the scenic route?
TOUCHDOWN OF TURKLETS
Loki was going crazy at the dog-yard fence.
Out the window, a turkey. No, two wild turkeys
behind the house. And a blur of wings,
a pigeon-size bird descending from sky,
then another; too many to count landing, dashing
after the big birds. Turkey-kids having field-day,
Discovery of Wings! When all the launching
out of oaks was done, the landings graceful or not
on dry stubble, the grouping and regrouping
of young, I made a guestimate: a dozen turklets
and two grown-up turkeys, plus raven
flying recon above treetops. What about
the abandoned turkey nest I found
in the garden? What about it? Turkeys
can have their red herrings, their surprises, too.
Loki was going crazy at the dog-yard fence.
Out the window, a turkey. No, two wild turkeys
behind the house. And a blur of wings,
a pigeon-size bird descending from sky,
then another; too many to count landing, dashing
after the big birds. Turkey-kids having field-day,
Discovery of Wings! When all the launching
out of oaks was done, the landings graceful or not
on dry stubble, the grouping and regrouping
of young, I made a guestimate: a dozen turklets
and two grown-up turkeys, plus raven
flying recon above treetops. What about
the abandoned turkey nest I found
in the garden? What about it? Turkeys
can have their red herrings, their surprises, too.
UNDER-WEED TREASURE
I search for glimpses under the Scythe-man’s
faded gold—once green. Yellow fiddleneck
flower stalks gone to skeleton tough as
petrified wood, and a mat of wind-waved
grass tangled with nets of stickweed and vetch.
As we cut the dead and dying, I look
sharp for treasure hidden under ragged
swaths of his blade, my whirling motorized
string. There. A hint of vibrant green, sapling
valley oak pushing up from underground.
Careful! cut around it, let it live. And
look, skimming the mown field a white moth—ghost
of what’s gone, dancing into the still air.
I search for glimpses under the Scythe-man’s
faded gold—once green. Yellow fiddleneck
flower stalks gone to skeleton tough as
petrified wood, and a mat of wind-waved
grass tangled with nets of stickweed and vetch.
As we cut the dead and dying, I look
sharp for treasure hidden under ragged
swaths of his blade, my whirling motorized
string. There. A hint of vibrant green, sapling
valley oak pushing up from underground.
Careful! cut around it, let it live. And
look, skimming the mown field a white moth—ghost
of what’s gone, dancing into the still air.
WHAT WAS A WOODS-ROAD
I’ve been waiting in this line for the longest time.
I knew it was coming, this massacre of trees
in the name of keeping us all fire-safe.
Now, one lane’s blocked with leafy arms.
Now one lane’s blocked with leafy arms
waving goodbye; trees after chainsaw-strafe
standing unstirred by a delta breeze; their branches
no longer offering blessings sweeter than rhyme.
I’ve been waiting in this line for the longest time.
I knew it was coming, this massacre of trees
in the name of keeping us all fire-safe.
Now, one lane’s blocked with leafy arms.
Now one lane’s blocked with leafy arms
waving goodbye; trees after chainsaw-strafe
standing unstirred by a delta breeze; their branches
no longer offering blessings sweeter than rhyme.
FIELD LITTER
The spring is dying, grasses dead
with foxtail, wild oat, ripgut brome.
Seedpods split open, seeds must spread
for next spring, vagabonds must roam.
Dry awns and stickers find my boots,
scheming for rebirth, driving roots
through steel-toed leather hide of cow,
replanting weeds I’m cutting now.
The spring is dying, grasses dead
with foxtail, wild oat, ripgut brome.
Seedpods split open, seeds must spread
for next spring, vagabonds must roam.
Dry awns and stickers find my boots,
scheming for rebirth, driving roots
through steel-toed leather hide of cow,
replanting weeds I’m cutting now.
WEED-EATING CONUNDRUM
In a chill spring Delta breeze from the west—
No! those frigid red-flag winds from the north—
what kind of fire danger venturing forth
in a chill spring Delta breeze from the west?
No. Those frigid red-flag winds from the north
dare me to stop my mowing of dry grass.
Just take it easy, let the weather pass?
No, those frigid red-flag winds from the north
dare me to stop my mowing of dry grass
in a chill spring Delta breeze from the west
that rattles the abandoned turkey nest.
Dare me to stop my mowing of dry grass!
In a chill spring Delta breeze from the west—
no, those frigid red-flag winds from the north—
what kind of fire danger venturing forth
in a chill spring Delta breeze from the west?
In a chill spring Delta breeze from the west—
No! those frigid red-flag winds from the north—
what kind of fire danger venturing forth
in a chill spring Delta breeze from the west?
No. Those frigid red-flag winds from the north
dare me to stop my mowing of dry grass.
Just take it easy, let the weather pass?
No, those frigid red-flag winds from the north
dare me to stop my mowing of dry grass
in a chill spring Delta breeze from the west
that rattles the abandoned turkey nest.
Dare me to stop my mowing of dry grass!
In a chill spring Delta breeze from the west—
no, those frigid red-flag winds from the north—
what kind of fire danger venturing forth
in a chill spring Delta breeze from the west?
Today’s LittleNip:
1st ZUCCHINI HILL
—Taylor Graham
In drought my garden
this morning greets me—two green
lips begging water.
__________________
Taylor Graham continues to weed-eat her property, but still has time to send us fine poetry and photos from the foothills, for which we are most grateful! Sounds like her garden is growing, too, despite the drought. The forms she has sent us this week include a Blank Verse ("Under-Weed Treasure"); an Amanda's Pinch ("What Was a Woods-Road"); a Rispetto ("Field Litter"); a Catena Rondo ("Weed-Eating Conundrum") plus a Haibun ("Treasures Along the Way") and a Haiku ("1st Zucchini Hill").
1st ZUCCHINI HILL
—Taylor Graham
In drought my garden
this morning greets me—two green
lips begging water.
__________________
Taylor Graham continues to weed-eat her property, but still has time to send us fine poetry and photos from the foothills, for which we are most grateful! Sounds like her garden is growing, too, despite the drought. The forms she has sent us this week include a Blank Verse ("Under-Weed Treasure"); an Amanda's Pinch ("What Was a Woods-Road"); a Rispetto ("Field Litter"); a Catena Rondo ("Weed-Eating Conundrum") plus a Haibun ("Treasures Along the Way") and a Haiku ("1st Zucchini Hill").
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
I hope you got a chance to see all of Carol Louise Moon’s fine form poetry in yesterday’s Medusa! (We’re going to steal the Question Poem for this week’s Fiddler’s Challenge, in fact.) Here are links to the forms she sent us:
•••Espinella: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/espinela-poetic-forms
•••Found Poem: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/found-poetry-converting-or-stealing-the-words-of-others OR poets.org/glossary/found-poem
•••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
•••Palindromic Poem (Mirror Poetry):
www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/personal-updates/poetic-form-palindrome-poetry-or-mirror-poem
•••Pentastich: a free verse or blank verse quintain which has no rhyme or meter: see www.masterclass.com/articles/what-is-quintain-poetry#what-is-a-quintain
•••Pleiades: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pleiades.html
•••Question Poem: penandthepad.com/write-question-poem-6933078.html
Give some of them a try!
If you had problems with the confusing Poets Collective link for the Fiddler’s Challenge last week (the Catena Rondo), I apologize for posting it. A link that is much easier to understand is the Writer’s Digest one: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/catena-rondo-poetic-forms/.
Carl Schwartz, like Taylor Graham, sent a Catena Rondo, which was last week’s Fiddler’s Challenge. I told Carl I like forms like this and the Villanelle, with their repetition which has a lulling, rocking effect—and saves the writer some time and effort, besides, by repeating lines!
TESTY & TASTY
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
recent grad, college degree
pretty good chops on trombone
talked with Spike Lee on the phone
recent grad, college degree
pretty good chops on trombone
would I take a pie in the face?
he asked, from out of no place
pretty good chops on trombone
would I take a pie in the face?
he knew what he was asking
it wasn’t unfair tasking
would I take a pie in the face?
he knew what he was asking
I guess I took too much time
to rank up there with sublime
he knew what he was asking
I guess I took too much time
never heard from him again
no pie would touch my skin
I guess I took too much time
never heard from him again
I became a paralegal
walked the beach like a dominant sea gull
never heard from him again
I became a paralegal
worked real hard to get the facts
learned about laws and rules and acts
I became a paralegal
worked real hard to get the facts
weekends, evenings, off the clock
found facts hiding under a rock
worked real hard to get the facts
weekends, evenings, off the clock
easy to spot something wrong
all the words should fit in a song
weekends, evenings, off the clock
easy to spot something wrong
and state which law was broken
evidence may be unspoken
easy to spot something wrong
and state which law was broken
elements key to support the charge
into court the truth won’t barge
and state which law was broken
elements key to support the charge
convince a jury of twelve peers
to believe the facts and not their ears
elements key to support the charge
convince a jury of twelve peers
recent grad, college degree
the truth is there for all to see
convince a jury of twelve peers
recent grad, college degree
pretty good chops on trombone
talked with Spike Lee on the phone
recent grad, college degree
recent grad, college degree
Next is an Abhanga from Carl, who says that, “like the Poet’s Collective example, there is no spacing between the stanzas”:
I OWN YOU NOW
—Caschwa
problem, plain and simple
just owning property
is not enough, you see
we’re God’s image
we own the scribes themselves
and tell them what to write
no matter wrong from right
now it’s in print
the top authority
is from a voice unheard
maybe a little bird
biblical verse
you gotta believe it
the seven deadly sins
the game that Cleveland wins
gold-leaf pages
almighty gave man brains
to compute gambling odds
the neck is just for nods
count me in, deal
these are good cards I have
elegant bluffs aside
truth is easy to hide
I own you now
I OWN YOU NOW
—Caschwa
problem, plain and simple
just owning property
is not enough, you see
we’re God’s image
we own the scribes themselves
and tell them what to write
no matter wrong from right
now it’s in print
the top authority
is from a voice unheard
maybe a little bird
biblical verse
you gotta believe it
the seven deadly sins
the game that Cleveland wins
gold-leaf pages
almighty gave man brains
to compute gambling odds
the neck is just for nods
count me in, deal
these are good cards I have
elegant bluffs aside
truth is easy to hide
I own you now
Carl, in his creativity, says the following poem “has the rhyme scheme of a Sonnet, but uses alternating 11- and 12-syllable lines, and is not predominantly iambic pentameter. If this form needs a new name, I would call it ‘Notasonnet’”:
ANOTHER LOOK
—Caschwa
Each year the economic powers that be
conduct a market survey they call a Census
to count all our blessings, in order to see
new ways to gerrymander, knock down our fences
there is no escaping the scope of their search
all residents, by law, are so forced to comply
they’ll even dig into records of your church
even when there appears to be no reason why
and this continues on, each year after year
once they get the most votes, you’d think they have enough
but greed knows no boundaries, nor has a peer
and any counter moves they will quickly rebuff
their crowning achievement was owning some slaves
but the Thirteenth Amendment turned owners to knaves
ANOTHER LOOK
—Caschwa
Each year the economic powers that be
conduct a market survey they call a Census
to count all our blessings, in order to see
new ways to gerrymander, knock down our fences
there is no escaping the scope of their search
all residents, by law, are so forced to comply
they’ll even dig into records of your church
even when there appears to be no reason why
and this continues on, each year after year
once they get the most votes, you’d think they have enough
but greed knows no boundaries, nor has a peer
and any counter moves they will quickly rebuff
their crowning achievement was owning some slaves
but the Thirteenth Amendment turned owners to knaves
For his Grand Finale, Carl sends us this poem with the comment, “The Senryu is an inquiry into the nature of humankind, whereas the Haiku is an inquiry into the nature of the universe.” Lewis Turco, Book of Forms, 5th Edition, pg. 280. This is a chain Senryu.”
For information about Lewis Turco and his books on poetry forms, go to:
•••Biography: www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lewis-turco
•••Purchase (be sure to get 2020 edition): www.amazon.com/Lewis-Turco/eB001K7LAUQ%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share
EXTERMINATOR
—Caschwa
just one little ant
with an inquisitive soul
crept too near my meal
so I brought out my
sure-fire, kill-dead, remedies
for my peace of mind
I know that in the
whole scheme of things it was just
a cub reporter
looking for a scoop
sensational enough for
big banner headlines
prime rib or dog poop
either one would do the trick
conscript an army
to take it away
little bit by little bit
but not on my watch
For information about Lewis Turco and his books on poetry forms, go to:
•••Biography: www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lewis-turco
•••Purchase (be sure to get 2020 edition): www.amazon.com/Lewis-Turco/eB001K7LAUQ%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share
EXTERMINATOR
—Caschwa
just one little ant
with an inquisitive soul
crept too near my meal
so I brought out my
sure-fire, kill-dead, remedies
for my peace of mind
I know that in the
whole scheme of things it was just
a cub reporter
looking for a scoop
sensational enough for
big banner headlines
prime rib or dog poop
either one would do the trick
conscript an army
to take it away
little bit by little bit
but not on my watch
_______________________
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!
__________________
FIDDLERS’ CHALLENGE!
Question poem: penandthepad.com/write-question-poem-6933078.html
__________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Abhanga: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/abhanga
•••Amanda’s Pinch: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/amandas-pinch
•••Blank Verse: literarydevices.net/blank-verse OR www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-the-difference-between-blank-verse-and-free-verse#quiz-0
•••Catena Rondo: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/catena-rondo-poetic-forms
•••Found Poem: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/found-poetry-converting-or-stealing-the-words-of-others OR poets.org/glossary/found-poem
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Haiku: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Question Poem: penandthepad.com/write-question-poem-6933078.html
•••Rispetto: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-forms-rispetto
•••Senryu: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-senryu-poems#quiz-0
•••Sonnet Forms: blog.prepscholar.com/what-is-a-sonnet-poem-form
•••Villanelle (rhymed; can be done unrhymed): www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-forms-villanelle
__________________
—Medusa
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.
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
