Medusa's Kitchen: Blessings of the Beasts

—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

—And then scroll down for FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!!

CUBICLE TRICUBE

What is this
punishment
inside walls?

Outside sun
is casting
bright shadows.

A free breeze
is calling
Come on out!

OVERNIGHT SURPRISE

Beside our country gravel drive
graze three goats and a great white horse.
Our pasture’s suddenly alive!
The horse I know as Galahad,
worthy of a knight; the three goats
eating grass, forbs (“weeds”), and wild oats.
Such blessing of the beasts makes glad.

MLK WEEKEND

Warrior flags are hanging at ease
at Veterans Memorial.
This winter morning, a small breeze
recalls the ones who fought for right.
The trees stand at attention, bare
of leaves under sky clear and bright
as peace and justice, free as air.

GIRL BEFORE WATERFALL

She stands rapt before the waterfall,
its spellbinding flow of liquid veils, its song
of heights and depths unfathomed by a girl so young, her
misty eyes if she should turn her head to see
rock eroding gently underfoot.

PILFERED

Pencils (eleven) and
pens (thirty-one) which once
perched on the table but
purloined by the cat—not
permanently lost; now
perceived under the couch.
Put in a safer place.

REMEMBERING A POET

He lived to the end of the ride,
though life is brief as a bird.
A feathered thing lit at his side—
child alone in wildwood. Absurd?
I seem to remember he died
pen in hand alive with a word.

A feathered thing lit at his side,
child alone in wildwood. Absurd:
from sky to earth no rivers bide.
He tasted waters as they stirred.
I seem to remember he died
pen in hand alive with a word.

From sky to earth no rivers bide?
he tasted waters as they stirred,
he was river. Don’t say he lied,
he wrote of silences he heard.
I seem to remember he died
pen in hand alive with a word.

He was river—don’t say he lied.
He wrote of silences unheard,
unchaining an old dog long tied,
its barking at the heavens blurred.
I seem to remember he died
pen in hand, alive with a word.

Today LittleNip:

CHASING THE BUS?
—Taylor Graham

Why does
the old
codger pass gas as he hobbles
from kitchen table to bathroom?
It must
give him
a tailwind.

____________________

Another Friday brings Taylor Graham, who can hardly contain her excitement at having her neighbor’s horse, Galahad, back, as well as the bonus of three sassy goats! About her poems today, she writes “‘Remembering a Poet’ is based loosely on something I read or heard of Jim Harrison [www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/jim-harrison]. The picture of a girl with a waterfall [last week's Ekphrastic Challenge] reminded me of a search many years ago in Shenandoah National Park.” Thank you, TG, for all the picture-painting that you do for us, both in photos and in poems.

Here are the forms TG used this week: Roundelay (“Remembering a Poet”); Saraband (“MLK Weekend”, and “Overnight Surprise”); Trinet (“Chasing the Bus?”); Tricube (“Cubicle Tricube”); Medusa's latest Ekphrastic/Weave (“Girl before Waterfall”; see photo below); and a Pleiades (“Pilfered”). Keep scrolling down for some other poets' responses to these forms.

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, there will be poems posted here from our readers using forms—either ones which were sent to 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 resources and for links to poetry terms used today.)

We had plenty of challenges in FFF last week: the Weave, Saraband, Trimeric, Trinet, and the photo below for an Ekphrastic Challenge. Stephen Kingsnorth and Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) responded to the latter, as did Taylor Graham [see above]. Carl’s poem was also in the form of a Weave, as was TG's. Carl was very prolific this week, in fact, so we’ll be hearing a lot from him today (thank you, Carl!).

Last Friday's Ekphrastic Challenge

WHERE DO WE STAND?
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK

What is your take? What comes to fore?
Which force predominates your sight?
Precarious. Of course they’re linked.
Her dress, or lack of it, says heat?
A torrent course too vast for space,
a race, this waterflow too fast,
from cut off top, pit bottomless?
Can this trace jungle, backpack place?

Near topless source, the dare of it,
so juxtaposed or asked to pose
for photograph, mist skinny dip—
turn a blind eye to cataract;
site fogged, display of spray uplift,
precipitate of H2O,
a swirl by g-force uncontrolled,
another wonder of the earth?

I’m not impressed, positioning—
if need a shower try bathroom mat;
I wonder if the snapping shot
be better waiting, chasm clear,
to wonder at magnificence
of spume, this water struck from rock,
its spindrift veil of muslin trails—
and not this foamy dizzy froth.

That spewing water cuts by wear—
so poets repeat erotemes,
a snare they may too fall into too,
of language, rhythms, metric fare.
I fear it is some siren call,
at edge, on brink, known primal voice
that beckons over precipice
from not-so-subtle management.

Why name this ‘woman waterfall’,
when I would vice versa frame,
give prime position to the fall.
Perhaps The Fall is lore they take,
and stake their claim on myth at work
though I might honour more, the snake,
which bears the blame that man resents,
repentance’ cost too high a price.

The value to this ageing mind
is having question marks abound,
to stretch a range from lexicon
and feel yet case of learning found.
My need, affirmed uncertainty—
so thanks to those who image set
as subject for licentious breed;
for this poetic licence seed.

NO STRINGS ATTACHED
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

army boots touching the ground, shoulders
bare to the air absorbing refreshing mists
bipod serves as camera with lots of memory
dating back to infancy, no strings attached
dependency, relax, let it flow

Last week, I incorrectly labeled Carl’s “Dressing Up” as a Roundelay—part of this plague of errors I’ve been cursed with lately. Carl writes:

“I composed Dressing Up as a Saraband, with one stanza using the French rhyme scheme, and another using the Italian rhyme scheme, speaking of them as salad dressings. I did not intend to suggest that this was a Roundelay.” Here is the poem he’s talking about, and mea culpa. Again:

DRESSING UP
—Caschwa

he picked a bowl just large enough
for fresh grown greens, and roots, and fruits
the dressing choice would now be tough
the one named French in certain schools
has been hit with a change of rules
the label tries to be correct
but may not say what he’d expect

Italian, he could make himself
a cruet and a flavored oil
it’s all right there up on the shelf
emboldened by “been there, done that”
he might just botch a perfect mix
that wouldn’t look like in the pics
alas, he never ranked tall hat

at least there’s dressing in the fridge
that has survived long term storage
across the pond, and past the bridge
without a name that can be read
it might be toxic, leastwise crude
don’t make this part of daily bread
it’s time to toss this unsafe food

Here is Caschwa’s real Roundelay:

AGES AND AGES AGO
—Caschwa

(in the year of my high school
graduation, 18 was not yet the
age of majority)

there I was in high school classes
final day to be attending
graduation wearing glasses
speeches spoke to hint what’s pending
there we sat still on our asses
ceremonies go unending

graduation wearing glasses
speeches spoke to hint what’s pending
whole thing crawls on like molasses
hidden message that they’re sending
there we sat still on our asses
ceremonies go unending

whole thing crawls on like molasses
hidden message that they’re sending
future steps won’t need hall passes
we’re grown up now, rules are bending
there we sat still on our asses
ceremonies go unending

future steps won’t need hall passes
we’re grown up now, rules are bending
draft cards, service, poison gasses
war torn classmates laid descending
there we sat still on our asses
ceremonies go unending

Next, Carl jumped into our Trimeric form, sending us the next two poems. The first one is a Trimeric about Turmeric:

TURMERIC
—Caschwa

she just learned that she has diabetes
now all the benefits of turmeric that
she so happily powdered on her meals
has to first be approved by her doctor

now all the benefits of turmeric that
include antioxidants, glucose control,
lowers cholesterol, and so many more

she so happily powdered on her meals
so she could feel better about feeling better
meal after meal, day after day

has to first be approved by her doctor
posing such a constraint, like grammar police
taking away one’s right of free speech

COST OF LIVING
—Caschwa

retirement pay got cost of living increase
and everyone wants a piece of my pie
they all heard I now get a bigger slice
so they want to reach out and take it away

and everyone wants a piece of my pie:
maintenance and repairs for vehicle and
home, plus newspaper subscription soared

they all heard I now get a bigger slice
and they want all of that plus much more
forcing expenses to outpace my income

so they want to reach out and take it away
until I’d need to be fabulously wealthy to
not feel the impact of these rising prices

Then, he braved the wee Trinet:

SINCE YOU ASKED
—Caschwa

the ironic
truth of
the matter is not so much
that I lost my virginity as
I finally
found my
missing hormones

Carl’s second Trinet is a fitting close to today’s post which, along with Taylor Graham’s poems and last Friday’s Ekphrastic Challenge, makes a lovely ending for us:

SURRENDER
—Caschwa

give in
accept it
you are one with Nature
evolved from the waters
and currents
that hug
the Earth

__________________

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:

•••Andaree: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/andaree

And see the bottom of this post for yet another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one!

__________________

MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:

•••Andaree: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/andaree
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Pleiades: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pleiades.html
•••Roundelay: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/roundelay
•••Saraband: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/saraband
•••TriCube by Phillip Larrea: Each stanza is three lines, three syllables per line, any subject
•••Trimeric: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/trimeric-poetic-form
•••Trinet: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/trinet-poetic-forms
•••Weave: Syllabic 9, 11, 13, 11, 9

__________________

—Medusa