Boomaraingbow
—Poetry by Linda Klein, Playa Vista, CA
—Photos by Carol Eve Ford, Kenai, AK
CAVES
You should walk slowly when you enter a cave.
Be sure to carry a lamp.
The ground is likely to be rough,
uneven, and strewn with gravel.
Mysterious sounds emanate from inside.
They echo and bounce off the rock wall.
Web-winged bats could be flying blindly about.
You never know what awaits.
All you see is darkness, swallowing everything,
allowing no reveal of the cave's depth.
You wonder if that whimper is from a trapped animal,
or a crazed human hiding from a cruel world.
As you approach that haunted soul,
beware, he may pounce upon you,
and drag you down to be his companion
in a hell of his own creation.
Keep away from caves.
You should walk slowly when you enter a cave.
Be sure to carry a lamp.
The ground is likely to be rough,
uneven, and strewn with gravel.
Mysterious sounds emanate from inside.
They echo and bounce off the rock wall.
Web-winged bats could be flying blindly about.
You never know what awaits.
All you see is darkness, swallowing everything,
allowing no reveal of the cave's depth.
You wonder if that whimper is from a trapped animal,
or a crazed human hiding from a cruel world.
As you approach that haunted soul,
beware, he may pounce upon you,
and drag you down to be his companion
in a hell of his own creation.
Keep away from caves.
Deep Light
POWER
Calm and confident, the speaker looked out at his audience.
Not one word did he utter. He waited in commune with us.
A fiery glint in his eyes was the only hint that a storm approached.
We grew weary and fidgety.
His words finally came, a downpour of condemnation,
a cloudburst that struck each one of us.
Hailstones, his words shocked and stung us.
We shrank in our seats, convinced we had caused his anger,
this man we did not know and whom we had never seen before.
After a while we began to not so much understand,
as absorb the wild accusations he spat out.
We felt what he told us we must feel,
until we became as incensed as he was,
until his flames filled and consumed us.
By the end of his tirade, we were one with him.
We had been won by him and lauded him as our leader.
Calm and confident, the speaker looked out at his audience.
Not one word did he utter. He waited in commune with us.
A fiery glint in his eyes was the only hint that a storm approached.
We grew weary and fidgety.
His words finally came, a downpour of condemnation,
a cloudburst that struck each one of us.
Hailstones, his words shocked and stung us.
We shrank in our seats, convinced we had caused his anger,
this man we did not know and whom we had never seen before.
After a while we began to not so much understand,
as absorb the wild accusations he spat out.
We felt what he told us we must feel,
until we became as incensed as he was,
until his flames filled and consumed us.
By the end of his tirade, we were one with him.
We had been won by him and lauded him as our leader.
Drift
CONFESSION
In a crowd of furious faces,
anger filled me too.
Such feelings are contagious
as a viral flu.
Shouting all around,
curses and jeers.
Gravity and fervor aroused,
playing on my fears.
Caught up and carried along,
yet I never understood
that place I didn't belong,
betraying vows I never thought I would.
Weighed down by a cloak of thoughtless shame,
though ignorant, I acknowledge my blame.
In a crowd of furious faces,
anger filled me too.
Such feelings are contagious
as a viral flu.
Shouting all around,
curses and jeers.
Gravity and fervor aroused,
playing on my fears.
Caught up and carried along,
yet I never understood
that place I didn't belong,
betraying vows I never thought I would.
Weighed down by a cloak of thoughtless shame,
though ignorant, I acknowledge my blame.
Pushki Dusk
I HAVE THE POWER
Say it clear and loud.
I have the power.
Say it without fear. Be proud.
The God-given power—
I was here to receive it.
Say it until you believe it.
What is this power I possess?
This gift—what does it encompass?
Does it grant me every excess?
Does it give me the right to be pompous?
The power I have is entirely up to me.
It carries great responsibility,
so should be given much consideration.
It is the power of self-determination.
Lace
Today’s LittleNip:
BRIDGES
—Linda Klein
There are bridges we build every day,
sturdy enough to hold a heavy heart,
as only kindness and empathy may.
Smooth roads can soothe a soul torn apart.
Bridges built with an element of style,
meant to be traveled a lifetime,
designed to evoke a confident smile,
providing for each a lifeline.
_____________________
Our thanks to Linda Klein, who has sent us poems today, saying, “These poems deal with fear, vulnerability, power, and influence. Although I wrote them at different times and in different years, I see a relationship between them.” And our thanks, too, to Carol Eve Ford from ‘way up in Alaska, who has sent us lovely photos, reminding us of clear air and blue skies.
_____________________
—Medusa
Osprey
—Photo by Carol Eve Ford
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!
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!
