—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
CUT OFF
Your bridge to the outside world is broken?
They say it could take months to inspect and fix?
Must you go to town?
Isn’t there an emergency route up the mountain?
It’s a one-lane skinnier than your car?
Doesn’t it snake between cutbank and cliff?
Are you afraid of heights?
Doesn’t the County assure you that road is safe?
Can you believe light-as-cobweb promises?
Your bridge to the outside world is broken?
They say it could take months to inspect and fix?
Must you go to town?
Isn’t there an emergency route up the mountain?
It’s a one-lane skinnier than your car?
Doesn’t it snake between cutbank and cliff?
Are you afraid of heights?
Doesn’t the County assure you that road is safe?
Can you believe light-as-cobweb promises?
STORYTELLING
Indigenous Peoples’ Day
Eagle, hawk
and hummingbird have
much to tell
us today.
No microphone is needed
for what the wind says.
Wooden flute
and deer hide drum, three
voices teach
breath and pulse.
On a stone from Earth’s center
she reaches for sky.
WE’VE LOST THE COMBINATION
We got used to weather’s fabric
of sun & rain as if it were the plaid of life
on this planet we’ve known for years
and memory of generations—
how it’s always been. But now
it seems our climate’s in a stifling fug,
stuck on drought.
The pasture’s an abstract of dry
stubble and stone. It hosts not even
a ground squirrel.
Nothing to recommend it
except its silence, its patience
under sky and the absence of birds.
UNDER CLOUDS
One white gossamer bit of spring, spun of vapor, floats under October’s gathering storm clouds. Scent of impending rain in drought. It’s that kind of afternoon. Anything can happen. Magic of the doe and twin fawns manifesting on the far side of sliding glass, my door onto parched what-once-was lawn. Two fawns soft and gray as rain-wishing cloud. Then, I was driving up the Divide where anything can happen—sequoia standing in its feather-fronds just around the bend of a ponderosa forest trail. In the Library, unknown poet friends gather around a table with their tablets ready, magic in their eyes.
Rain spatters windshield—
windows open like the clouds,
each drop a blessing.
HALLOWEEN HARVEST
The Corbie lady with wide open sleeves
and hand on scythe for cutting of the sheaves
stands watch at crossroads of self-service gas
amid the falling of the woodland leaves.
She watches cars and pickups as they pass
a skeleton reposed—no carriage-glass
in hearse wide open to the wind, and drawn
by all-bones skinny horse; no skin, alas.
I watched with Corbie as the cars moved on
to other gameboards. Bishop, knight, and pawn—
each living player—celebrates or grieves.
Too late to leave the town; we’ll soon be gone.
The Corbie lady with wide open sleeves
and hand on scythe for cutting of the sheaves
stands watch at crossroads of self-service gas
amid the falling of the woodland leaves.
She watches cars and pickups as they pass
a skeleton reposed—no carriage-glass
in hearse wide open to the wind, and drawn
by all-bones skinny horse; no skin, alas.
I watched with Corbie as the cars moved on
to other gameboards. Bishop, knight, and pawn—
each living player—celebrates or grieves.
Too late to leave the town; we’ll soon be gone.
HAUNT THE HOUSE
The creaky front door balks at opening as if struck by fear.
You persist, while guessing that no sane person would enter here.
The rest of the streetlighted town has been locked up safe at home,
but a shot of strong black coffee makes you brave enough to roam.
Shoulder to the door—it shudders open to a pallid light.
Now’s no time for trepidation, much less scaredy-kitten fright.
You’ve made it inside the door, so surely that gives you the right
to peer out a cobwebbed windowpane. The gibbous moon is clear
behind dreary clouds that circle the dark sky like whirlpool foam.
Step back outside, breathe deeply the familiar streetlighted night.
The creaky front door balks at opening as if struck by fear.
You persist, while guessing that no sane person would enter here.
The rest of the streetlighted town has been locked up safe at home,
but a shot of strong black coffee makes you brave enough to roam.
Shoulder to the door—it shudders open to a pallid light.
Now’s no time for trepidation, much less scaredy-kitten fright.
You’ve made it inside the door, so surely that gives you the right
to peer out a cobwebbed windowpane. The gibbous moon is clear
behind dreary clouds that circle the dark sky like whirlpool foam.
Step back outside, breathe deeply the familiar streetlighted night.
Today’s LittleNip:
WAITING AT THE PHARMACY
—Taylor Graham
out the big glass doors
a flurry of leaves falling
into slant sunlight
_________________________
Today Taylor Graham has written to us about silky gossamer (Medusa’s past Seed of the Week), Halloween, and Corbie, and we heartily thank her for these treasures! (For more about Corbie, go to en.wiktionary.org/wiki/corbie/.) Forms she has used include a Question Poem (“Cut Off”); a Shadorma (“Storytelling”); a Word-Can Poem (“We've Lost the Combination”); the CinqTroisDecalLa Rhyme [terrible name! she says] (“Haunt the House”); a Rubaiyat chain (“Halloween Harvest”); plus a Haiku (“Waiting at the Pharmacy) & a Haibun (“Under Clouds”).
And now it’s time for. . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
WAITING AT THE PHARMACY
—Taylor Graham
out the big glass doors
a flurry of leaves falling
into slant sunlight
_________________________
Today Taylor Graham has written to us about silky gossamer (Medusa’s past Seed of the Week), Halloween, and Corbie, and we heartily thank her for these treasures! (For more about Corbie, go to en.wiktionary.org/wiki/corbie/.) Forms she has used include a Question Poem (“Cut Off”); a Shadorma (“Storytelling”); a Word-Can Poem (“We've Lost the Combination”); the CinqTroisDecalLa Rhyme [terrible name! she says] (“Haunt the House”); a Rubaiyat chain (“Halloween Harvest”); plus a Haiku (“Waiting at the Pharmacy) & a Haibun (“Under Clouds”).
And now it’s time for. . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Joyce Odam has sent us a graceful Pirouette (poetryforms.blogspot.com/2013/04/pirouette-10-line-poem-with-6-syllables.html) that spins on its axis like any lovely ballerina:
FOR BROKEN THINGS
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
Something as joyful as
a sheer-winged dragonfly,
a butterfly, a moth—
a hummingbird in flight . . .
all these can still the heart.
All these can still the heart
which grieves the smallest loss :
the damage that befalls,
the happenstance of death—
all life too swift for love.
(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine)
Last Friday’s post had an Ekphrastic challenge at the very bottom, namely this disgruntled cat in a basket. Here is Joseph Nolan’s take on the kitty—and don’t forget to look for our new feature, an Ekphrastic challenge, at the bottom of the post each Friday. Remember, also: our challenges have no deadlines; feel free to wax on about this kitty (or any other photo or challenge) at any time:
CAT IN PLASTIC BASKET
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
Meow!
Look at me,
Sitting here,
Contentedly,
With cat-fur
Oozing out
Through every
Heart-shaped pore
In my plastic basket!
Would you like to scratch my head
Or tickle tufts of my
Silky, orange hair,
So well-displayed?
Please do not
Me, with Trump, compare!
He’s a basket-case
Of a different nature.
CAT IN PLASTIC BASKET
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
Meow!
Look at me,
Sitting here,
Contentedly,
With cat-fur
Oozing out
Through every
Heart-shaped pore
In my plastic basket!
Would you like to scratch my head
Or tickle tufts of my
Silky, orange hair,
So well-displayed?
Please do not
Me, with Trump, compare!
He’s a basket-case
Of a different nature.
The other FFF challenge last week was the CinqTroisDecalLa Rhyme, and here is Carl Schwartz’s (Caschwa’s) take on that form:
ANONYMOUS
—Caschwa, Sacramento
it used to be, when the phone rang we answered it right away
that old, black, rotary dial set had nothing more to say
unwelcome calls, wrong numbers, all kinds of stuff not worth our time
some stranger at a pay phone who’s seeking cheap thrills for a dime
now, thanks to modern technology geeks, there’s Caller ID
we can see which calls we’d rather not answer, setting us free,
and no, we don’t have to get up to answer the phone to see
who in the world would be calling this household this time of day?
our smarter phones can be pre-set to sound out some chosen chimes
that let us know if the incoming call is from family
Carl sent another poem, this one in rhymed Quatrains. About it, he says, “Sorry, the sourness of the news just triggered a rant”:
THEY BROKE OUR CODE
—Caschwa
Russian intervention looks like it will prevail
felling our computers like shooting quail
treaties, conventions stutter and fail
rule of law gets a big “No Sale”
all that truly matters is the elite upper crust
keeps robbing our democracy of trust
public service bows to mere lust
Constitution rests in dust
our worst enemy is now all about
tearing us up from inside out
silent pain, no chilling shout
leaving us hurt, no doubt
forget the daily bomb threats
and the bloody bayonets
our mountains of debts
were awful bets
America has turned sad
dud on launching pad
forget images of glad
we’ve been had
____________________
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:
•••Pirouette: poetryforms.blogspot.com/2013/04/pirouette-10-line-poem-with-6-syllables.html
See also Joyce Odam's example above.
__________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry forms mentioned today:
•••CinqTroisDecalLa Rhyme: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/cinrhyme.html
•••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
•••Pirouette: poetryforms.blogspot.com/2013/04/pirouette-10-line-poem-with-6-syllables.html
•••Question Poem: classroom.synonym.com/write-question-poem-28217.html OR penandthepad.com/write-question-poem-6933078.html
•••Rubáiyát: www.baymoon.com/~ariadne/form/rubaiyat.htm
•••Shadorma: www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/shadorma-a-highly-addictive-poetic-form-from-spain
•••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
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Haiku: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Pirouette: poetryforms.blogspot.com/2013/04/pirouette-10-line-poem-with-6-syllables.html
•••Question Poem: classroom.synonym.com/write-question-poem-28217.html OR penandthepad.com/write-question-poem-6933078.html
•••Rubáiyát: www.baymoon.com/~ariadne/form/rubaiyat.htm
•••Shadorma: www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/shadorma-a-highly-addictive-poetic-form-from-spain
•••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
This Week’s Ekphrastic Challenge
—Public Domain Photo
See what you can make of this week’s
Ekphrastic challenge, and send it to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
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.
