—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
WAKING TO SMOKE
An amber-hazy sky—I gaze and gaze
but not a bird will fly,
yet there’s no scent of rain. Why
do I sense the day might die?
An amber-hazy sky—I gaze and gaze
but not a bird will fly,
yet there’s no scent of rain. Why
do I sense the day might die?
NOT LIKE IT USED TO BE
Not a bright August morning,
there’s a monochrome haze over our valley—
not a prospect of rain, though we’re in
this dull cloud. Not good news on TV from
across the state. Not one but three
wildfires eating the tree’d hills and towns
entire. Not here. Not our fault,
we say. Not like it used to be, when fire
had a season. Not predictable, the weather,
but hotter than it’s ever been. Not a chance,
they say, of going back to good old days.
Not done with casualty counts
on TV, some old guy saying he only
escaped with his dog.
Not a bright August morning,
there’s a monochrome haze over our valley—
not a prospect of rain, though we’re in
this dull cloud. Not good news on TV from
across the state. Not one but three
wildfires eating the tree’d hills and towns
entire. Not here. Not our fault,
we say. Not like it used to be, when fire
had a season. Not predictable, the weather,
but hotter than it’s ever been. Not a chance,
they say, of going back to good old days.
Not done with casualty counts
on TV, some old guy saying he only
escaped with his dog.
MARKING THEIR TRAIL:
Basque Arborglyphs in the Sierra Nevada
In the gallery, wax-on-muslin rubbings show me
what to look for: human figures; sketches
of buck and fish on a line; initials, names, dates.
A history of shepherds migrating their sheep
from meadow to mountain meadow.
Now I’m wandering an aspen grove
under the gaze of white-bark trees with dark-
scabbed art: what looks like open eyes—
where branches broke off under snow—or black-
bear scratchings; and some are human-made.
The tree goes on healing its scars
of fracture, claw, knife or nail. Over time, scars
merge, turn muddy, unreadable. How can I
tell what I’m seeing? This face, carved by whom?
sheepherder lonely for human contact?
or some hiker climbing the peak? or
a motorist bound for Carson City or the Valley?
I keep snapping photos of bark-scars recording
my progress toward discovery, capturing
the art of passages and the outer life of trees.
Basque Arborglyphs in the Sierra Nevada
In the gallery, wax-on-muslin rubbings show me
what to look for: human figures; sketches
of buck and fish on a line; initials, names, dates.
A history of shepherds migrating their sheep
from meadow to mountain meadow.
Now I’m wandering an aspen grove
under the gaze of white-bark trees with dark-
scabbed art: what looks like open eyes—
where branches broke off under snow—or black-
bear scratchings; and some are human-made.
The tree goes on healing its scars
of fracture, claw, knife or nail. Over time, scars
merge, turn muddy, unreadable. How can I
tell what I’m seeing? This face, carved by whom?
sheepherder lonely for human contact?
or some hiker climbing the peak? or
a motorist bound for Carson City or the Valley?
I keep snapping photos of bark-scars recording
my progress toward discovery, capturing
the art of passages and the outer life of trees.
FARMERS MARKET IN THE PARK
Melons, sunflowers, yellow corn,
how many kinds of sweet fruit dried,
and all that goat cheese on the side—
plenty brought here to cure the lorn.
Locally Laid Ladies sell eggs
(don’t you dare ask to see their legs).
Produce picked fresh this very morn
is heaped high, and tables don’t sag.
Strangers’ dogs meet to sniff and wag.
How could you have a thought to mourn?
A three-piece band plays Walk Right In.
Sal’s setting out rainbows to spin.
Come to the market, newly born
where scents of countryside abound
and smiles and howdy’s all around.
Melons, sunflowers, yellow corn,
how many kinds of sweet fruit dried,
and all that goat cheese on the side—
plenty brought here to cure the lorn.
Locally Laid Ladies sell eggs
(don’t you dare ask to see their legs).
Produce picked fresh this very morn
is heaped high, and tables don’t sag.
Strangers’ dogs meet to sniff and wag.
How could you have a thought to mourn?
A three-piece band plays Walk Right In.
Sal’s setting out rainbows to spin.
Come to the market, newly born
where scents of countryside abound
and smiles and howdy’s all around.
JUNGLE DREAMS
Too long housebound in this dry, boring town, they need a fling, extra-special adventure in some ancient, mythic land—a jungle seen through watery filter of green; brilliant birds and spotted panther; secrets of the unexplored; caves and labyrinths beneath a misty crag. They search the world wide web: where is such a place?
Let their fancies roam
far beyond the possibles,
end up staying home.
Too long housebound in this dry, boring town, they need a fling, extra-special adventure in some ancient, mythic land—a jungle seen through watery filter of green; brilliant birds and spotted panther; secrets of the unexplored; caves and labyrinths beneath a misty crag. They search the world wide web: where is such a place?
Let their fancies roam
far beyond the possibles,
end up staying home.
OUROBOROS
Done with scooping dog-poop in the back-
yard, I was sweeping up windfall leaves and twigs
that gather against the house. That monster
ball you brought home (a freebie)—way too big
for the dog, imagine The Prisoner’s Rover balloon—
I pushed the ball aside, and uncovered
the snake—vivid brown & bright-
white rattler pattern on its back, coiled
like Ouroboros gone circle-crazy.
How many coils to wrap a baby rattler in it?
The morn was cold for early August, snake-child
dormant-sleeping till the waking sun.
I scooped it up and carried, arms-length
to the rocky wild north corner. Snake who means
us no harm, but only to be left alone—
may it grow in beauty to eat small rodents
who overrun our land and consumed my garden.
Done with scooping dog-poop in the back-
yard, I was sweeping up windfall leaves and twigs
that gather against the house. That monster
ball you brought home (a freebie)—way too big
for the dog, imagine The Prisoner’s Rover balloon—
I pushed the ball aside, and uncovered
the snake—vivid brown & bright-
white rattler pattern on its back, coiled
like Ouroboros gone circle-crazy.
How many coils to wrap a baby rattler in it?
The morn was cold for early August, snake-child
dormant-sleeping till the waking sun.
I scooped it up and carried, arms-length
to the rocky wild north corner. Snake who means
us no harm, but only to be left alone—
may it grow in beauty to eat small rodents
who overrun our land and consumed my garden.
Today’s LittleNip:
LEAVE IT BE
—Taylor Graham
Round as
quick-stop oatmeal
cookie, coiled up this cold
morning—baby rattlesnake—eats
vermin.
_____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for the recent Seed of the Week, reminiscing about “Those Good Old Days”, plus a visit from a snake to The Snake—celebrating “Jungle Dreams”, our current SOW. The forms Taylor has sent us today include a Constanza (“Farmers Market in the Park”); a Cinquain (“Leave It Be”); a Word-Can/Haibun (“Jungle Dreams”); an Englyn Unodl Union—about which she says, “no idea if mine follows the rules” (“Waking to Smoke”); and a List Poem on "Not" (“Not Like It Used to Be”).
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers, in addition to those sent to us by Taylor Graham! Each Friday for awhile, there will be poems posted here from some of our readers using forms—either ones which were mentioned on Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some forms and get them posted in the Kitchen, by golly! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for links to definitions of the forms used this week.)
Joyce Odam has sent us a dreamy Asian Sonnet, the skeleton of which is abaab cdccd efef:
LEAVE IT BE
—Taylor Graham
Round as
quick-stop oatmeal
cookie, coiled up this cold
morning—baby rattlesnake—eats
vermin.
_____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for the recent Seed of the Week, reminiscing about “Those Good Old Days”, plus a visit from a snake to The Snake—celebrating “Jungle Dreams”, our current SOW. The forms Taylor has sent us today include a Constanza (“Farmers Market in the Park”); a Cinquain (“Leave It Be”); a Word-Can/Haibun (“Jungle Dreams”); an Englyn Unodl Union—about which she says, “no idea if mine follows the rules” (“Waking to Smoke”); and a List Poem on "Not" (“Not Like It Used to Be”).
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers, in addition to those sent to us by Taylor Graham! Each Friday for awhile, there will be poems posted here from some of our readers using forms—either ones which were mentioned on Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some forms and get them posted in the Kitchen, by golly! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for links to definitions of the forms used this week.)
Joyce Odam has sent us a dreamy Asian Sonnet, the skeleton of which is abaab cdccd efef:
DREAMS THAT LINGER PAST WAKING
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
It was my particular madness sat on my chest
all night, in a dream, and asked me to give praise,
while stroking a formless light. It was a test,
my own self darkly glowing. I felt blessed
to be given a dream that ended in two ways :
one as a radiance—a tangible love that burned
like a holy fire—right through my eyes, while I
went through a transformation—unreturned—
held ransom for a meaning not yet earned
—the other ending I must solve or die.
My chest felt bound, as if held down by night.
My mind released its demon (made of what ?)
the morning curtain filtering in the light,
in which some howling, struggling thing seemed caught.
Thanks, Joyce! Carl Schwartz (Caschwa) tackled the Englyn Unodl Union, our Fiddlers’ Challenge last Friday (as did Taylor Graham), with a few stumbling blocks; he says he “Consulted Turco re the lusg, groes, draws, and sain, but he uses a 10-line example, so with this being my maiden voyage attempt, I went with your 4-line prompt”. For information about Lewis Turco, go to:
•••Biography: www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lewis-turco
•••Purchase (be sure to get 2020 edition): www.amazon.com/Book-Forms-Handbook-Poetics-Fifth/dp/0826361889/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=books+lewis+turco&qid=1628869550&sr=8-2
Lots of explanation for a short but tricky Welsh form. Here is Carl’s Englyn Unodl Union—very brave of you, Carl!
•••Biography: www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lewis-turco
•••Purchase (be sure to get 2020 edition): www.amazon.com/Book-Forms-Handbook-Poetics-Fifth/dp/0826361889/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=books+lewis+turco&qid=1628869550&sr=8-2
Lots of explanation for a short but tricky Welsh form. Here is Carl’s Englyn Unodl Union—very brave of you, Carl!
HOME ON THE RANGE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
arise for early sunrise, pearly glow
eye bison, one by one
diddle, dally, until done
stomp a hoof, loud as roofmen
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
arise for early sunrise, pearly glow
eye bison, one by one
diddle, dally, until done
stomp a hoof, loud as roofmen
Carl also sent us a Senryu Chain about an impotent (!) rooster:
WHAT CAN YOU DO
—Caschwa
so what can you do
with an impotent rooster?
the meat won’t be good
he’s past tried and true
the ladies won’t visit him
sorry, Charley, bye
that old computer
all it knows is error codes
help is so costly
everything was tried
way too much not responding
puts one in a bind
oh yes, the data
sits there like food in freezer
waiting for its day
I need to upgrade
the operating system
like M.A.S.H. all over
can somebody lend
me a few million dollars?
I won’t pay it back
And this poem from Carl has a repeated sentence that ties it together very well and looks like a formal form, whether it is or not:
JUMBLED DREAMS
—Caschwa
yeah, right! like I’m going to be
any bit asleep if put into the jungle
saw the Watts Riots on TV, where
I could savor any measure of
quietude I desired by turning down
the volume or changing the channel
and you think I’m going to actually
fall asleep and have dreams in the
jungle?
big banner headlines about assassinations
happening far more often than they should,
but we can skip over to the comics page
or immerse ourselves in the puzzles
and you think I’m going to actually
fall asleep and have dreams in the
jungle?
attended music classes at UCLA where
raucous SDS marchers tromped down the
hallways shouting “On strike shut it down!”
and we waited for them to disperse so we
could get back to listening to what our dear
professor had to teach us
and you think I’m going to actually
fall asleep and have dreams in the
jungle?
____________________
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:
•••Landay: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/landay-poetic-form OR www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms?category=209&page=2
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Cinquain: poets.org/glossary/cinquain OR www.poewar.com/poetry-in-forms-series-cinquain./ See www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/adelaide-crapsey for info about its inventor, Adelaide Crapsey.
•••Constanza: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/constanza.html
•••Englyn Unodl Union (èen-glin éen-oddlel èeen-yon: Welsh form: www.volecentral.co.uk/vf/englyn.htm OR www.poetrybase.info/forms/001/117.shtml
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Landay: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/landay-poetic-form OR www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms?category=209&page=2
•••List Poem: clpe.org.uk/poetryline/poeticforms/list-poem
•••Senryu: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-senryu-poems#quiz-0
•••Sonnet, Asian: poemsamples.blogspot.com/2016/10/asian-sonnet.html
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them.
____________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
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