—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa (Carl Schwartz),
Michelle Kunert, Joseph Nolan
—Photos by Joseph Nolan and Michelle Kunert
—Photos by Joseph Nolan and Michelle Kunert
APPOINTMENT
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
Who allocates out-patient rooms,
departments, as if body parts,
elementary, blocked canal?
Internal map, a circuit board,
old teaching aid, blood systems guide,
beside bare bones, skeleton hung.
Some bible tracts from chaplain’s rack,
Qur’anic, ecumenical,
to salve across the deeper wounds.
Why printed on a minor slip,
the major tear-off bit attached,
doctor’s scribble, notorious.
In crabby hand ‘oncology’,
as numbness wears, old feeling comes,
the anaesthetic, current shock.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
Who allocates out-patient rooms,
departments, as if body parts,
elementary, blocked canal?
Internal map, a circuit board,
old teaching aid, blood systems guide,
beside bare bones, skeleton hung.
Some bible tracts from chaplain’s rack,
Qur’anic, ecumenical,
to salve across the deeper wounds.
Why printed on a minor slip,
the major tear-off bit attached,
doctor’s scribble, notorious.
In crabby hand ‘oncology’,
as numbness wears, old feeling comes,
the anaesthetic, current shock.
THE SNICKET
—Stephen Kingsnorth
I walked hedged in, the uniform,
longed for school grounds, too long for run;
inviting thump, in chest, on ribs,
caged in, the strain for flight not fight,
adrenaline, hormone within but all about.
Face front, two privet edge, alone,
onward, knew paired, voices behind,
told sniggers dare not look or turn.
I heard cleared scouring mouth for spit,
and knew the score, gob land in hand,
its filter, fingers, slow to land.
Steadfast unaltered gaze and pace,
slight swing of arms, chain necklace chime,
aware its drip, strings to the slabs,
that snicket path, where dawdled fast.
—Stephen Kingsnorth
I walked hedged in, the uniform,
longed for school grounds, too long for run;
inviting thump, in chest, on ribs,
caged in, the strain for flight not fight,
adrenaline, hormone within but all about.
Face front, two privet edge, alone,
onward, knew paired, voices behind,
told sniggers dare not look or turn.
I heard cleared scouring mouth for spit,
and knew the score, gob land in hand,
its filter, fingers, slow to land.
Steadfast unaltered gaze and pace,
slight swing of arms, chain necklace chime,
aware its drip, strings to the slabs,
that snicket path, where dawdled fast.
DESOLATE
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Lonesome betrays your country—
no Welshman used the term;
we speak another language,
as Dai the Poet writes.
Lonesome may be a hero—
think Tonto and The Mask,
where justice needed, ranging,
with Silver as his steed.
Lonesome might prompt an idol—
what act on stage tonight?
Though after final curtain,
it’s raised for G.I. Blues.
Lonesome news I’ve heard this year?
‘Abused boy, starved to death’—
wails, ‘Nobody loves me’, faint,
recorded stepdad’s phone.
My dearest wish this moment?
His desolation world,
passing, he had been alone—
that lad had known not so.
NO, I WON’T
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
Some American citizens put
their flag out on any holiday;
call me a rebel, but I don’t
go along with that
the Thanksgiving holiday, for
example, originated from an
event of exemplary good feelings
that occurred a long time before
that flag ever flew,
back before our diseased, white
ancestors explored, pioneered,
commandeered, and exploited
endless horizons of land that the
native Indians viewed
not as any individual’s property with
ownership rights and privileges, but
as a communal resource, which they
had the custodial duty to preserve
no, appropriating all the land as ours
and feasting on every tasty food it
has to offer fails the “thank you” test
in every regard, so the flag stays furled
… and then complain about what they say…
ALL BY MY LONESOME
—Caschwa
“We didn’t find anything to show here”
like going fishing on a party boat
putting some money in the pot in case
your catch is bigger than the others
and then just hoping, watching, as the
disappointingly small catches of your
fellow fishermen are yet more than
your hook has to show for its efforts
A SPEECH FOR ONE
—Caschwa
shoulders not nearly wide
enough to bear the burden
of all the ills he caused
a life of luxury that filtered
reality to the point where
only gratification was allowed
given the podium, the mike, the
hall, the crowd, the mood to
swallow his marinated monologue
with total disregard of the actual
ingredients, the point was these
were words uttered by the chief
carefully noted, recited, praised,
glorified, monopolizing all the
best adjectives instead of just
telling the truth
—Caschwa
shoulders not nearly wide
enough to bear the burden
of all the ills he caused
a life of luxury that filtered
reality to the point where
only gratification was allowed
given the podium, the mike, the
hall, the crowd, the mood to
swallow his marinated monologue
with total disregard of the actual
ingredients, the point was these
were words uttered by the chief
carefully noted, recited, praised,
glorified, monopolizing all the
best adjectives instead of just
telling the truth
FOR A NEW ENCOUNTER
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
Hope elopes
With distant fate,
Eventful future,
Postponed date,
For a new
Encounter.
We can’t wait!
Who could tell
If it’d go well
With all the
Strangeness
That surrounds us?
Open up
An aperture
To test the wind
That blows
In all directions.
None can know
How things might go
In our strangest season.
—Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
Hope elopes
With distant fate,
Eventful future,
Postponed date,
For a new
Encounter.
We can’t wait!
Who could tell
If it’d go well
With all the
Strangeness
That surrounds us?
Open up
An aperture
To test the wind
That blows
In all directions.
None can know
How things might go
In our strangest season.
LOLLIPOPS AND LEMON-DROPS
—Joseph Nolan
Lollipops
And lemon-drops,
Sweet and sour
Flavors,
Selling at the
Penny-candy store.
Each day,
With pennies,
There were many,
Lined up
At the door,
To invest
Their treasure
In daily pleasure.
Some few,
There were,
Who went for
Spicy fireballs
Most would not endure.
—Joseph Nolan
Lollipops
And lemon-drops,
Sweet and sour
Flavors,
Selling at the
Penny-candy store.
Each day,
With pennies,
There were many,
Lined up
At the door,
To invest
Their treasure
In daily pleasure.
Some few,
There were,
Who went for
Spicy fireballs
Most would not endure.
EATING RAW CHERRIES
—Joseph Nolan
There was a
Big, red cherry
Lying in my path.
I bent to
Pick it up,
Wipe it off
And wonder,
If it still,
Was worthy
Of my bite?
I observed
Its skin,
Free of
Any flaws
And thought
That in its aspect,
I could eat it raw.
—Joseph Nolan
There was a
Big, red cherry
Lying in my path.
I bent to
Pick it up,
Wipe it off
And wonder,
If it still,
Was worthy
Of my bite?
I observed
Its skin,
Free of
Any flaws
And thought
That in its aspect,
I could eat it raw.
Vancouver, B.C., Canada
Cut Off by Flood Damage
GNAWING IN THE SHADE OF OBLIVION
—Joseph Nolan
We gnaw away
A little treat
Each day,
Of things we savor
To get us through
The famine, drought,
Pestilence and plague,
Like bark from wood.
Looking out from cracks,
Spliced between loosely
Conjoined boards,
That form
Favela shacks,
We are allowed to construct
Along railroad tracks
Or in the shade of freeways
Or abandoned, industrial locales,
In decaying cities,
That offer up their living
As their dead
Recent Artwork Discovered in Pompeii
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
Whenever I’m accused at work of “talking to myself”
I have to explain I’m not talking to myself, but in fact I’m talking to God
Making prayers out loud is one of those things I kind of do as an evangelical Christian believer
Just like I do not believe human beings can ever truly be alone in this vast universe
I believe in an all-knowing, omnipresent Father in Heaven who continually cares to listen to humankind
So I’m not swearing or cursing whenever I say, “Oh my God”, or “Jesus Christ”—
nor am I taking the Lord’s name in vain
I’m actually either calling upon or crying out to the Lord to please intercede or help with problems
rather than my invoking Satan
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento, CA
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
Even after being a vegan for years, I still get asked, “Don’t you still eat chicken and fish?"
Oh please, I say, if chicken and fish were meant to be eaten, they’d grow on trees
or else sprout and grow out of the ground from planted seeds
Nope, fish aren’t ”swimming vegetables”—
they have brains, nervous systems and emotions, as well as feeling pain,
and chickens certainly aren’t clucking plants
In fact, all fowl raised for food turns out to be just as intelligent as beloved domestic animals such as dogs
Indeed, our culture doesn’t eat our dogs, for that matter, on the concept that they “taste delicious”
Besides, all animals considered to be food are bad for the health of humans to eat—
So many diseases that plague humankind, including clogged arteries, are a result of animal carcasses being their diet
Unlike the carnivores with fanged teeth, claws, and short digestive tracts, who hunt herbivore animals,
humans have flat teeth and a very long digestive system that looks like the land creatures of earth who eat plants
So humans who love gorging on animals can end up going to early graves
Studies have proven vegans live healthier and live longer
Besides, it’s my ethical passion to not eat any creature who has a mother, or a face, or the breath of life
And no, I don’t want to eat those whom I consider my friends
—Michelle Kunert
Goddess I Got For Free at a Garage Sale
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
Today’s LittleNip:
FALLING DOMINOS
—Caschwa
by beat of the drum
one by one
they will succumb
to become
flotsam
or jetsam
left cold and numb
in their lonesome
_____________________
Monday is upon us again, with our potpourri of contributors bringing us our first-of-the-week poetry therapy from both sides of the Atlantic Ocean, and from many different styles of poetry (and subject)!. A bushelful of thanks to all of them!
NorCal poetry events this week:
•••Tonight (Mon. 12/6), 7:30pm: Sac. Poetry Center’s Socially Distant Verse features Julia Dasbach and Tony Gloeggler plus open mic on Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462; Meeting ID: 763 873 3462/. Password: r3trnofsdv
•••Thurs. (12/9), 5:30pm: Sac. Poetry Alliance’s Literary Lectures presents Alison Joseph speaking on Publishing Poetry on Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/81872835469/. Info: www.facebook.com/events/226890742863833?acontext={"event_action_history"%3A[{"surface"%3A"page"}%2C{"mechanism"%3A"your_upcoming_events_unit"%2C"surface"%3A"bookmark"}]%2C"ref_notif_type"%3Anull}/.
•••Fri. (12/10): El Gigante presents Marsha de la O on Zoom at cccconfer.zoom.us/j/9348057923/.
•••Thurs. (12/9), 5:30pm: Sac. Poetry Alliance’s Literary Lectures presents Alison Joseph speaking on Publishing Poetry on Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/81872835469/. Info: www.facebook.com/events/226890742863833?acontext={"event_action_history"%3A[{"surface"%3A"page"}%2C{"mechanism"%3A"your_upcoming_events_unit"%2C"surface"%3A"bookmark"}]%2C"ref_notif_type"%3Anull}/.
•••Fri. (12/10): El Gigante presents Marsha de la O on Zoom at cccconfer.zoom.us/j/9348057923/.
•••Sat. (12/11), 4-7pm: Sac. Poetry Center presents The Space Between, Art by Finn (also featuring Heather Galloway). Cal Stage Arts Complex, 25th & R Sts., Sacramento.
•••Sat. (12/11), 7pm: Sac. Poetry Alliance features Jennifer O’Neill Pickering, Mike Pickering & special guest. 1169 Perkins Way, Sacramento, CA.
_______________________
—Medusa
•••Sat. (12/11), 7pm: Sac. Poetry Alliance features Jennifer O’Neill Pickering, Mike Pickering & special guest. 1169 Perkins Way, Sacramento, CA.
_______________________
—Medusa
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!
Lonesome (No deadlines.)
