—Poetry by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—Photos by Taylor Graham and Carol Eve Ford
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
COYOTE TALE
Remember that burst of winter-bloom
in a tiny triangle between the canyon road
and vacant lot graded for development?
Coyote bush as if decked with snow
but all in blossom, a pre-Christmas dazzle.
They say, bees come out
of hibernation for the nectar. Coyote bush
otherwise non-descript, chaparral-dull,
you might not notice.
For me, a bit of doldrums-cheer
in winter-dark on the canyon grade.
You know the story. The road
was widened—safer, but somehow
the old one cheered my soul. And that
ready-graded lot got developed,
wiping out coyote bush.
How about the bees?
Remember that burst of winter-bloom
in a tiny triangle between the canyon road
and vacant lot graded for development?
Coyote bush as if decked with snow
but all in blossom, a pre-Christmas dazzle.
They say, bees come out
of hibernation for the nectar. Coyote bush
otherwise non-descript, chaparral-dull,
you might not notice.
For me, a bit of doldrums-cheer
in winter-dark on the canyon grade.
You know the story. The road
was widened—safer, but somehow
the old one cheered my soul. And that
ready-graded lot got developed,
wiping out coyote bush.
How about the bees?
(prev. pub. in Windows of Time and Place, Cold River Press, by Taylor Graham)
LIVING HISTORY CEMETERY TOUR
Almost Halloween. We come
to the old town graveyard—spooky?
Not at all. Listen to the dead. As if rising
from under ground clothed in garb
and flesh of their prime, they tell their
stories. How they struggled and prospered,
making the town we call ours.
As if in hibernation till this yearly
visitation, actors in guise of the dead.
Owner of furniture store and funeral
home, he taught Esperanto.
Suffragette. Cattle rancher. Porcelain
artist. Musician. Doctor in Cholera
pandemic. Deputy sheriff gunned down
by highwaymen…. Listen to how
our town came to be, as the town goes
about its business, as shadows
lean against gravestones and October
sun slips behind the ridge.
Almost Halloween. We come
to the old town graveyard—spooky?
Not at all. Listen to the dead. As if rising
from under ground clothed in garb
and flesh of their prime, they tell their
stories. How they struggled and prospered,
making the town we call ours.
As if in hibernation till this yearly
visitation, actors in guise of the dead.
Owner of furniture store and funeral
home, he taught Esperanto.
Suffragette. Cattle rancher. Porcelain
artist. Musician. Doctor in Cholera
pandemic. Deputy sheriff gunned down
by highwaymen…. Listen to how
our town came to be, as the town goes
about its business, as shadows
lean against gravestones and October
sun slips behind the ridge.
ROADSIDE GLIMPSES
So brief
the leaf
let loose on breeze.
So bare in air
the leafless trees.
Today
sky’s gray
but wild grape vines
shine gold,
unfold
autumn’s designs.
So brief
the leaf
let loose on breeze.
So bare in air
the leafless trees.
Today
sky’s gray
but wild grape vines
shine gold,
unfold
autumn’s designs.
RETURN FROM THE NORTH
Dark clouds spread over the town I’m leaving, its library where the lights abruptly went out. Aiming down deep, narrow canyon, my headlights try to guess the curves. It’s not twilight but in this tunnel of pine and incense cedar, black oak and—suddenly big-leaf maple flaring yellow on the roadside where I find a pullout. Why stop? leave my car and walk to dropoff lost in dark —but here and there a flicker of maple-leaf candles beckoning. Rising scent of leaf-fall out of earth, why does it smell like home? Why stay here, hibernate till dogwood blossoms?
twenty miles away
shines my distant porch-light dark
as if in welcome
Dark clouds spread over the town I’m leaving, its library where the lights abruptly went out. Aiming down deep, narrow canyon, my headlights try to guess the curves. It’s not twilight but in this tunnel of pine and incense cedar, black oak and—suddenly big-leaf maple flaring yellow on the roadside where I find a pullout. Why stop? leave my car and walk to dropoff lost in dark —but here and there a flicker of maple-leaf candles beckoning. Rising scent of leaf-fall out of earth, why does it smell like home? Why stay here, hibernate till dogwood blossoms?
twenty miles away
shines my distant porch-light dark
as if in welcome
STOPPING IN LATE OCTOBER WOODS
I’ve left the library,
left the town under a cloudy sky
for the drive home down-canyon.
What could make me pull over
at a wide spot off pavement
and stop my car?
Big-leaf maple’s turning,
yellow hands caught mid-dance
among deep dark green.
Conifers in the gorge,
glimpses of trees changing leaves,
beckoning to the steep edge.
Earth smells of hibernation,
dark-damp comforters of treefall
for the winter’s sleep.
I shake myself awake,
remember Frost’s long way
home through the dark.
MOONLIGHT MIDNIGHT
Full moon rises over flowing water—
moon’s tarnished silver lined as if with age
or with a script that says nothing
until I’m mummy-wrapped for sleep.
Night’s chill with altitude, thin-air edge
of wilderness. Not another human
for miles—but muffled voices
from up-canyon. How to sleep under such
a moon, ageless and mute, voices
flowing without mouth or words? I drift
down-current into sleep that speaks
what an old friend, dead now, might have
said—lyrics of a song heard long ago,
the moonlight midnight of tonight.
Full moon rises over flowing water—
moon’s tarnished silver lined as if with age
or with a script that says nothing
until I’m mummy-wrapped for sleep.
Night’s chill with altitude, thin-air edge
of wilderness. Not another human
for miles—but muffled voices
from up-canyon. How to sleep under such
a moon, ageless and mute, voices
flowing without mouth or words? I drift
down-current into sleep that speaks
what an old friend, dead now, might have
said—lyrics of a song heard long ago,
the moonlight midnight of tonight.
Today’s LittleNip:
OCTOBER’S HAWK
—Taylor Graham
What’s that raucous call?
from low above the oaks, so
chill, it winters Fall.
____________________
Taylor Graham’s tales today tell of late Fall and mountain roads and the occasional appearance of a witch—two days til Halloween, and her atmosphere is all ready for it, and a big thank-you to her! Some of her poems are in forms: a Triversen (“Stopping in Late October Woods”); a Haibun (“Return from the North”); an Ekphrastic poem (“Moonlight Midnight”); a Brazilian Haiku (“October's Hawk”); and a Brevee (“Roadside Glimpses”). Links to definitions of these are at the bottom of the post.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
OCTOBER’S HAWK
—Taylor Graham
What’s that raucous call?
from low above the oaks, so
chill, it winters Fall.
____________________
Taylor Graham’s tales today tell of late Fall and mountain roads and the occasional appearance of a witch—two days til Halloween, and her atmosphere is all ready for it, and a big thank-you to her! Some of her poems are in forms: a Triversen (“Stopping in Late October Woods”); a Haibun (“Return from the North”); an Ekphrastic poem (“Moonlight Midnight”); a Brazilian Haiku (“October's Hawk”); and a Brevee (“Roadside Glimpses”). Links to definitions of these are at the bottom of the post.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Fasten your seatbelts—today we have a very busy and ‘way cool FFF, beginning with a San Hsien (poetscollective.org/poetryforms/san-hsien) that Joyce Odam sent to us:
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
HELD
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
Light is thin—
leaves are brown—
some old town
that I’m in;
lethargy
holding me;
can’t begin.
Write this down:
leaves are brown—
light is thin.
(prev. pub. in Sorrows [mini-chap], 2002 and Brevities, 2020)
Stephen Kingsnorth was intrigued by recent photos-challenges, so he sent us two Ekphrastic poems:
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
Light is thin—
leaves are brown—
some old town
that I’m in;
lethargy
holding me;
can’t begin.
Write this down:
leaves are brown—
light is thin.
(prev. pub. in Sorrows [mini-chap], 2002 and Brevities, 2020)
Stephen Kingsnorth was intrigued by recent photos-challenges, so he sent us two Ekphrastic poems:
Ekphrastic Challenge Two Weeks Ago
INSCRUTABLE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
A masterpiece, surrealist art,
said critics, sight, a fur-lined pot;
deformed to fit the photo shot—
was this the choice of ginger tom?
Euphemisms, slang at work—
that feline term some mocking bird,
like Dick and Harry, peeping, boy,
gender bending, cat-call scenes,
that name leads to a doubtful man.
My verse is lined, shaped heartfelt space—
can hairshirt coat be felt, indeed?
This cramped flex body, stuffed escape,
headstrong, not proportionate,
but whisker from surrealist,
is he another critic’s voice?
Displaying independent streak—
as way expect, Eliot’s work—
is moggy stuck, not giving way,
inscrutable, not losing face,
his fur coat seen as commonplace,
Ben, Jerry, Tom, ice cream cartoon?
That crafty cat snapped to amuse,
tickle our fancy, quirky pose.
But tabby is in full repose,
mackerel, classic, spotted, ticked,
disdainful of artistic frame.
From Tybalt, king, to alley cat,
Officer Dibble here at work,
cat’s cradle woolen strings attached.
all be it top cat on the prowl,
grimalkin, all encompassing.
mackerel, classic, spotted, ticked,
disdainful of artistic frame.
From Tybalt, king, to alley cat,
Officer Dibble here at work,
cat’s cradle woolen strings attached.
all be it top cat on the prowl,
grimalkin, all encompassing.
Last week's Ekphrastic Challenge
TINNITUS
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Influence, lunar pull of moon
and waterborne its fluent sheen;
save recall, no appeal for me,
though prompt, as if stage apron wings.
‘Moon River’, tones that take me back—
my sister’s tranny after dark—
her first transistor playing tracks,
beneath the sheets, Mancini sound.
Then of me lying, grass at back,
stretched prone on lawn and staring up,
too bright the night, meteor shower,
another year, no moon, clear clouds.
That moonshine still lends double talk,
with mares, bad dreams—or silver seas,
just as my sibling’s radio
when caught up slang or lingo moves.
I saw my shooting star at last—
thought airplane lights or firework sparks—
but Leonid, as Brezhnev named,
Cyrillic to those in the know.
So what I see is different from
the voices replayed in my mind.
The sight is but a pixel frame,
the noise, tinnitus, yesterday.
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Influence, lunar pull of moon
and waterborne its fluent sheen;
save recall, no appeal for me,
though prompt, as if stage apron wings.
‘Moon River’, tones that take me back—
my sister’s tranny after dark—
her first transistor playing tracks,
beneath the sheets, Mancini sound.
Then of me lying, grass at back,
stretched prone on lawn and staring up,
too bright the night, meteor shower,
another year, no moon, clear clouds.
That moonshine still lends double talk,
with mares, bad dreams—or silver seas,
just as my sibling’s radio
when caught up slang or lingo moves.
I saw my shooting star at last—
thought airplane lights or firework sparks—
but Leonid, as Brezhnev named,
Cyrillic to those in the know.
So what I see is different from
the voices replayed in my mind.
The sight is but a pixel frame,
the noise, tinnitus, yesterday.
—Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
Stephen writes that he has also sent “My very poor attempt at the Petrarchan Sonnet [also known as the Italian Sonnet; poemanalysis.com/poetic-form/petrarchan-sonnet]; it taught me to value discipline…”
NOTED
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Hear this! That Abba rhyme, seared melody,
as final Mamma Mia note, resolved,
the winner takes all, gargle breath dissolved,
rasp dying strains in wight wraith harmony.
Crushed apple—side a fruit of Adam, man,
weight fashioned necklace, wait, carotid block,
patella stop, staunch headstrong pillar lock,
blood pulses free, life-flow, here dammed; but scan.
The yoke, then ring, lynch rope once hung, strange fruit,
this cap has damned, black matters taken back.
Old choke hold, ancient silence turned dispute,
for secret curse online, tik-tock, soundtrack,
finds volume, voice, a channel to reroute
the energy, all races, run one track.
—Public Domain Photo
Here is another Ekphrastic poem, this one from Joseph Nolan, also based on last week’s picture of the moon:
RIVER MOON
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
How might
A moon of white
Hover over
Dark gray river,
Give it light,
Make it shine?
Reassuring, somehow,
Like the magic of fine wine,
The running water glistens,
Quiet
In the evening sky.
Does the moon
Notice its reflection
In the fractal water
And find its beauty, there?
Might a passing cloud
Make it disappear?
RIVER MOON
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
How might
A moon of white
Hover over
Dark gray river,
Give it light,
Make it shine?
Reassuring, somehow,
Like the magic of fine wine,
The running water glistens,
Quiet
In the evening sky.
Does the moon
Notice its reflection
In the fractal water
And find its beauty, there?
Might a passing cloud
Make it disappear?
—Public Domain Photo
Here is Carl Schwartz’s (Caschwa’s) response to last Friday’s FF challenge, the Brazilian Haiku:
STAND CLEAR
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
had orgasmic mirth
we tried all, front back and side
in orbit like Earth
did not close the door
alone like solitaire stone
pleasure to the core
after we were done
we slept well, our secrets kept
closed eyes still had fun
—Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
As to last Friday's other challenge, the Brevee: Carl, like Taylor Graham [see above] has written a Brevee Chain (you can’t write just one…):
RAIN AT LAST
—Caschwa
holly
golly
geewillickers!
roly
poly
city slickers
slippy
drippy
Autumn rainfall
believe
achieve
puddles so tall
now we
can see
so clearly how
downpour
counts more
than rising Dow
giving
living
what it needs first
big plants
wee ants
quench their big thirst
RAIN AT LAST
—Caschwa
holly
golly
geewillickers!
roly
poly
city slickers
slippy
drippy
Autumn rainfall
believe
achieve
puddles so tall
now we
can see
so clearly how
downpour
counts more
than rising Dow
giving
living
what it needs first
big plants
wee ants
quench their big thirst
—Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
Yesterday, we posted Mirror Palindromes (see www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/palindrome.html from our SnakePal in Alaska, Carol Eve Ford. At first I thought they were Tuanortsas (poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tuanortsa), but Carol said, “The way I understand the Tuanortsa is that they read down one way and then read back up. They ARE Palindromic, but the second “half” is not printed out. There’s an arrow at the bottom to show that you read back up to the top. Carol Louise [Moon] says what we call palindromic is kind of generic, but my ‘This Love’ is a Mirror Palindromic, where the first half is mirrored on the page by the second half.”
So there you have it regarding the difference between the two forms, and I thank Carol Eve Ford and also-SnakePal Carol Louise Moon for clearing that up for me. This is the only poetry form I have ever seen that has that tiny up-arrow at the bottom. Be careful not to erase it, thinking it’s a typo! Here is Carol Eve's Tuanortsa:
So there you have it regarding the difference between the two forms, and I thank Carol Eve Ford and also-SnakePal Carol Louise Moon for clearing that up for me. This is the only poetry form I have ever seen that has that tiny up-arrow at the bottom. Be careful not to erase it, thinking it’s a typo! Here is Carol Eve's Tuanortsa:
—Photo by Carol Eve Ford
NO LAND IN SIGHT
—Carol Eve Ford, Kenai, AK
My life is a tiny boat
Embraced by well-wishers in the harbor
I set sail alone
through wind and gale
storm and star shine
night sky for compass
sails billowed or slack
sun-sparkled open sea
ships passing in the night.
Two boats shelter together,
launch two more tiny ships,
well-equipped, hope for tender mercies
sometimes we travel in great fleets,
at times, not a boat on the horizon.
Is there harbor ahead?
^
—Photo by Carol Eve Ford
Caschwa is by no means intimidated by forms, and I admire that. He’s always making some up, in fact. This one has three Quintains, each line 7 syllables, rhyme scheme: abcba, deced, fgcgf:
I LOVE BOATS
—Caschwa
their motion in the waters
all those fancy ports of call
lovers discover what’s real
the deep wake left by a yawl
mother ship and her daughters
excitement of sport fishing
hooking, landing, photograph
vibrations reaching the keel
all hands will help, fore to aft
more than a little wishing
once in lifetime spectacle
a memory kept for years
centerpiece of a great meal
pleasure cannot reach my ears
for I am a barnacle
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Joseph Nolan
And, finally, here is a poem from Carl in Quatrains, rhymed abcb, defe, ghjh, etc.:
THE GREAT DISAGREEMENT
—Caschwa
the fighters battled each other
doling out as much punishment
as they could, each declaring
the other hadn’t made a dent
until at long last the referees
called the fight in favor of one
and they returned to their corners
as if the matter was done
the referees left and went home
leaving the fighters to come out
of their corners and resume
throwing punches, renew the bout
men of letters rolled up their sleeves
and drafted an imposing Restoration,
all kinds of rules to be followed, which
the fighters shunned in utter tarnation
and so on and on the battle raged,
the mutual disagreement erupted
one corner sent forth a two-term president
that the other corner fully obstructed
there was no enemy so vanquished
they’d allow a transfer of power
and so they continue into eternity
each, the other, ready to devour
___________________
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:
•••Harrisham Rhyme: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/harrishamrhyme.html
And don’t forget today’s Ekphrastic challenge at the bottom of this post!
And don’t forget today’s Ekphrastic challenge at the bottom of this post!
__________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••Brazilian Haiku (Rhyming Haiku): poetscollective.org/poetryforms
•••Brevee: poetscollective.org/poetryforms
•••Ekphrastic: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Haiku: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Harrisham Rhyme: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/harrishamrhyme.html
•••Palindromic Poem (Mirror Poetry):
www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/personal-updates/poetic-form-palindrome-poetry-or-mirror-poem OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/palindrome.html
www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/personal-updates/poetic-form-palindrome-poetry-or-mirror-poem OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/palindrome.html
•••Quatrain: www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-a-quatrain-in-poetry-quatrain-definition-with-examples#quiz-0
•••Quintain: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quintain_(poetry)
•••Sonnet, Italian (Petrarchan Sonnet): www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sonnet OR poemanalysis.com/poetic-form/petrarchan-sonnet
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
•••Tuanortsa (“astronaut” spelled backward): a Palindromic poem which reads the same from front to back as from back to front/. See poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tuanortsa/.
____________________
—Medusa
•••Quintain: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quintain_(poetry)
•••Sonnet, Italian (Petrarchan Sonnet): www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sonnet OR poemanalysis.com/poetic-form/petrarchan-sonnet
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
•••Tuanortsa (“astronaut” spelled backward): a Palindromic poem which reads the same from front to back as from back to front/. See poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tuanortsa/.
____________________
—Medusa
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
See what you can make of the above
photo, and send it to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
See what you can make of the above
photo, and send it to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
***
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Joseph Nolan
Joseph Nolan
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.
