—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
DARK - DIM - LIGHT
Get up before daylight—
stretch your muscles in the dark
your wakeup friend.
One cup of coffee black,
no sugar: jumpstart
what you remember of dreams.
This in-between time,
waking out of what was wrong
with yesterday.
Let the darkness lead
you into morning
dim that focuses finally as dawn.
Get up before daylight—
stretch your muscles in the dark
your wakeup friend.
One cup of coffee black,
no sugar: jumpstart
what you remember of dreams.
This in-between time,
waking out of what was wrong
with yesterday.
Let the darkness lead
you into morning
dim that focuses finally as dawn.
HELLO JULY
Dawn
cool fresh
pinking gilding fleeting
bright radiant dazzle glare
heating blinding beating
parched brutal
Noon
Dawn
cool fresh
pinking gilding fleeting
bright radiant dazzle glare
heating blinding beating
parched brutal
Noon
2021 FAHRENHEIT
Heat is bludgeoning inside the walls.
I close windows with the rising sun.
As dumb stupor multiplies the halls—
you tell me again we have but one—
I close windows with the rising sun
but still daylight replicates itself.
You tell me again, we have but one,
one mindless book of hours on the shelf
and still, daylight replicates itself.
Every night’s a sweaty clinging cloth,
one mindless book of hours on the shelf.
Without a candle, the dying moth.
Every night’s a sweaty clinging cloth
and dumb stupor multiplies the halls
without a candle. The dying moth.
Heat is bludgeoning inside the walls.
Heat is bludgeoning inside the walls.
I close windows with the rising sun.
As dumb stupor multiplies the halls—
you tell me again we have but one—
I close windows with the rising sun
but still daylight replicates itself.
You tell me again, we have but one,
one mindless book of hours on the shelf
and still, daylight replicates itself.
Every night’s a sweaty clinging cloth,
one mindless book of hours on the shelf.
Without a candle, the dying moth.
Every night’s a sweaty clinging cloth
and dumb stupor multiplies the halls
without a candle. The dying moth.
Heat is bludgeoning inside the walls.
HER FRIEND THE DARK
She’s dark unlatching
cupboards in the night without a sound,
then purrs and curls in winter twilight
by the fire.
Summer heat she unfurls
on hardwood desk waiting for evening
windows open to a breeze unfurring
the cool dark.
She’s dark unlatching
cupboards in the night without a sound,
then purrs and curls in winter twilight
by the fire.
Summer heat she unfurls
on hardwood desk waiting for evening
windows open to a breeze unfurring
the cool dark.
THE DARK’S SECRETS
My friend Darkness keeps secrets,
leaves daylight clues for me to puzzle over
like notes passed under desks in some classroom
of elementary curiosity never quite outgrown.
On early morning stubble, fresh
black scat of night visitation: an ovoid heap
&, alongside, a deeper-dark strung-out roll of fur
ending in a twist.
I speculate. Mythic opposites?
What’s left of digested History?
Bear? shape-shifter coyote? giant cat?
My dog barked madly inside our screen door
at midnight, proclaiming secrets like notes
intercepted by the teacher, lost to me
but for clues I puzzle over, long after the test.
Two shiny black leavings
radiant with two iridescent flies.
My friend Darkness keeps secrets,
leaves daylight clues for me to puzzle over
like notes passed under desks in some classroom
of elementary curiosity never quite outgrown.
On early morning stubble, fresh
black scat of night visitation: an ovoid heap
&, alongside, a deeper-dark strung-out roll of fur
ending in a twist.
I speculate. Mythic opposites?
What’s left of digested History?
Bear? shape-shifter coyote? giant cat?
My dog barked madly inside our screen door
at midnight, proclaiming secrets like notes
intercepted by the teacher, lost to me
but for clues I puzzle over, long after the test.
Two shiny black leavings
radiant with two iridescent flies.
O FORTUNA
Luck, fortune. Chance, or uncanny intervention beyond the seen and known? Or just hard work? My mind drifts. Luck of the Irish, phrase from our Gold Rush—Irish Creek mine (Georgetown Divide), Irish Mine (Rescue), Irish Slide (Grizzly Flat, Henry’s Diggins, where 49er placer prospects gave out or gave way c. 1949 to drift mining. Henry’s Diggins, our old search-dog training grounds. How fortunate we were, how blest, following our dogs over bear-clover under drift of breeze through ponderosa, incense cedar and oak, blue South County sky, our dogs following the drift of scent—head-high as if pulled by invisible thread—of the human we were looking for, and
from above, Raven
commenting on luck, labor,
the fortune of life.
Luck, fortune. Chance, or uncanny intervention beyond the seen and known? Or just hard work? My mind drifts. Luck of the Irish, phrase from our Gold Rush—Irish Creek mine (Georgetown Divide), Irish Mine (Rescue), Irish Slide (Grizzly Flat, Henry’s Diggins, where 49er placer prospects gave out or gave way c. 1949 to drift mining. Henry’s Diggins, our old search-dog training grounds. How fortunate we were, how blest, following our dogs over bear-clover under drift of breeze through ponderosa, incense cedar and oak, blue South County sky, our dogs following the drift of scent—head-high as if pulled by invisible thread—of the human we were looking for, and
from above, Raven
commenting on luck, labor,
the fortune of life.
Today’s LittleNip:
IT SPILLS
—Taylor Graham
Surely a rude wind spills you—
nearby scents blown from church to Eden, and there
as small child from arid land, rain deserting that place
neither asking may it satisfy thirst there.
____________________
Thank you, Taylor Graham, for today’s summer poetry and photos! She sends us forms to ponder: a Translitic (“It Spills”); a Pantoum (“2021 Fahrenheit”); a Haibun (“O Fortuna”) and a Diamante (last week’s Fiddlers’ Challenge: “Hello July”). The Translitic poem is a new one on me. Taylor Graham says: “Take a poem in a language you don't know; sound it out and write down in English what it sounds like. Then fiddle around with what you've got till you have something like a poem.... At that point it's OK to read an English translation of the original to see what it was really about.” For more about the Translitic, go to universitas.uni.edu/archive/spring06/ronsandvikabstract.htm/.
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
IT SPILLS
—Taylor Graham
Surely a rude wind spills you—
nearby scents blown from church to Eden, and there
as small child from arid land, rain deserting that place
neither asking may it satisfy thirst there.
____________________
Thank you, Taylor Graham, for today’s summer poetry and photos! She sends us forms to ponder: a Translitic (“It Spills”); a Pantoum (“2021 Fahrenheit”); a Haibun (“O Fortuna”) and a Diamante (last week’s Fiddlers’ Challenge: “Hello July”). The Translitic poem is a new one on me. Taylor Graham says: “Take a poem in a language you don't know; sound it out and write down in English what it sounds like. Then fiddle around with what you've got till you have something like a poem.... At that point it's OK to read an English translation of the original to see what it was really about.” For more about the Translitic, go to universitas.uni.edu/archive/spring06/ronsandvikabstract.htm/.
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Carol Louise Moon has sent us two poems this week. The first is a Glosa:
THE PERSISTENCE OF WOE
From four lines of Joyce Odam’s poem,
“Grail” (Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/25/21)
Oh, how I pity me—
shoes on the opposite feet
an un-wiped mouth
an unanswered phone
woe after woe—
And now, a dead person
in the next room
friend’s wailing their woe.
Longing for what it’s worth
the regaining of health
and renewal of privacy
Full-blown sanity
does not teach much—
too late for any of us
here to prepare for
old-age residential life.
Carol Louise’s second poem is a Sestina:
PITY THE ONE
“I am pity itself, that sickening syrup
no one would put on a pancake,
the stink of indulgence
stuck to my mean little eyes,
the time I can only heave a sigh and blow.”
—From “The Horrifying Moment”
by Viola Weinberg
She names pity “that sickening syrup.”
I like to indulge in pancake,
even more when greedy eyes
are larger than stomachs. I blow
out candles on a pancake—viola
shaped, frosting sweet as red wine.
And not forsaking wine
I whine and dine on syrup,
sticky fingers playing the viola—
flat notes, flat as pancake.
And a trumpet I’ll blow
to be seen by all eyes
through the ears and eyes
of pity and sour grape wine.
Winds of trail blow
for every soul—no syrup
for the masses, no pancake,
no Queen Victoria, no viola
music. Play the tiniest viola
with thumb and finger, all eyes
on thin shaky hands. Bake pancake,
sing laments, pour wine
from vats like tapped syrup
of autumn maple, and blow
out a single light—blow
with waning breath. Pluck your viola
strings—you, a skeleton whose syrup
runs through bones, whose eyes
are sockets. Your rock-gut wine,
your whine, your pity, your pancake
of a future. All pancake
begs to be eaten; all winds blow
out to sea… barrels of wine
bobbing on waves, a viola
bobbing after. All eyes
are on she who (as syrup,
big as pancake, screech of viola)
will blow until weeping eyes
whine-weep that sad, sad syrup.
Last Friday’s Fiddlers’ Challenge was the Diamante, and Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) has sent us one, saying “For the title, I chose an anagram of Diamante that presents a flawed spelling of a word about flaws.”
DAMENTIA
—Caschwa
genius
brilliant, insightful
stimulating, interesting, thinking
serious, sane, inane, simple
confounding, confusing, intruding
inhuman, amoral
moron
—Caschwa
genius
brilliant, insightful
stimulating, interesting, thinking
serious, sane, inane, simple
confounding, confusing, intruding
inhuman, amoral
moron
Carl also thinks he created a new form, calls it Bits & Pieces (also the title). His example has seven 3-line stanzas, where the first is 3 lines of 1 syllable per line, each stanza growing by 1 syllable until the last one has 7 syllables per line. (The more adventurous can add more stanzas.) The first 2 lines of each stanza rhyme, and for stanzas 1-6, at least the last word of line 3 enjambs with what follows. (Sorry to millennials, some of my references predate you by decades.)
BITS AND PIECES
—Caschwa
sky
high
me
too young
unsung
senior
citizen
Kane was in
debate class
clown shoes and all
will take a fall
but officer,
I wasn’t speeding
out in front, leading
let me show you just
the way you look tonight
silhouette in bright light
preaching Lord of the Flies
through the air with the greatest
of ease, this is not a test
on Friday, study your notes
__________________
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!
See what you can make of this week’s poetry form, and send it to kathykieth@hotmail.com! (No deadline.) This week's challenge:
Florette: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/essence.html
__________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Bits & Pieces: seven 3-line stanzas; the first is 3 lines of 1 syllable per line, each stanza growing by 1 syllable until the last one has 7 syllables per line. (The more adventurous can add more stanzas.) The first 2 lines of each stanza rhyme, and for stanzas 1-6, at least the last word of line 3 enjambs with what follows. (Carl Schwartz)
•••Diamante: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/diamante.html
•••Florette: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/essence.html
•••Glosa, Glose, Gloss: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/glosa-glose-or-gloss OR www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/glose-or-glosa-poetic-forms
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Pantoum: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pantoum.html
•••Sestina: www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Sestina
•••Translitic: universitas.uni.edu/archive/spring06/ronsandvikabstract.htm/. Take a poem in a language you don't know; sound it out and write down in English what it sounds like. Then fiddle around with what you've got till you have something like a poem.... At that point it's OK to read an English translation of the original to see what it was really about.
__________________
—Medusa
•••Florette: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/essence.html
•••Glosa, Glose, Gloss: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/glosa-glose-or-gloss OR www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/glose-or-glosa-poetic-forms
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Pantoum: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pantoum.html
•••Sestina: www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Sestina
•••Translitic: universitas.uni.edu/archive/spring06/ronsandvikabstract.htm/. Take a poem in a language you don't know; sound it out and write down in English what it sounds like. Then fiddle around with what you've got till you have something like a poem.... At that point it's OK to read an English translation of the original to see what it was really about.
__________________
—Medusa
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