MYSTICAL JOURNEY 
This train stops for lunch. 
On the last food break 
a passenger 
found a silver dollar 
worth a fortune. 
At one station platform 
an elderly robed man 
pushed a flower cart. 
When he waved, 
all of us waved back: 
is this the mystic who 
adds white sand 
to each hourglass, 
who gives away 
flowers from Eden?
ACCIDENTAL PARADISE 
Rowing a canoe for two, 
we reach & hope to sustain 
this reckoning terrain; 
you even christen it The Isle 
of Outlived Pain. I offer 
Isle of a Flower’s Refrain…
Back to earth, we grow 
roses, reap bushels of grain, 
maintain an easy balance 
between seasons of our 
luxuriant reaping 
& winter’s isolating rain. 
PALEO WOMAN 
Wearing 
animal skins 
or woven straw 
she pressed 
her hand 
firmly 
against 
a cave wall 
as color blown 
through 
a hollow reed 
outlined 
her hand 
in rosy umber 
Was she 
a princess 
a new mother 
matriarch 
heroine 
her imprint 
still fresh 
magnetic . . .
OUR PRODIGAL SON 
After years in the Peace Corps, 
Freddy drifts out of the sky, lands 
on our doorstep, a fallen angel, 
wings frayed; we feed him veggie 
spaghetti, soups, salads, tuna & 
cheese casseroles. But he prefers 
beef jerky, Twinkies, Snickers. 
He raids the lottery jar, bungles 
simple carpentry, locks house 
keys in our loaned car; taps outside 
our bedroom window at 3AM, edgy. 
Two months pass. 
Today we all hike in the hills. 
While gazing into billowy clouds, 
Freddy raves about quaint villages, 
rare temples, huge caves, jungles, 
shaman, primitive tribes. . . 
Now each night he eagle-soars 
over cliffs of wild adventure, 
returning at dawn, a spent dove, 
sleeping past noon, waking restless— 
now a familiar scenario. 
So, we begin, yet again, to let go. 
 
MOTHER, THEY SAY 
that one day people will live 
under the sea. 
Meanwhile, a virus variant makes 
human closeness a danger: 
no handshakes, no hugging, pass jail, 
passs the buck, then go back to no-nos! 
Meanwhile, science & med-tech 
hearten the masses by pledging eventual 
victory over the current scourge! 
Mom, 
besides pandemic and climate change 
there’s social injustice, gross imbalance 
on several sad, long-failing fronts . . . 
I address your photo, never a reply. 
So now I start to believe in Tarot cards, 
tea leaves, crystal balls. And surely 
in an oiled search-engine of intuition. 
MAY PEACE BE SUSTAINABLE 
As brought back by popular demand, 
Sustainable Peace would be grand! 
No uniforms, boots, caps lined up 
for patriots to fill, then grab a weapon! 
No 100-plus heat in alien deserts 
for soldiers living in tents— 
tense while loved ones 
wait their return . . . 
What even to write 
to make war assignments 
appear humane, 
routine in disguise—lies?! 
Soldiers, at ease? 
Never that easy anymore: 
hidden roadside bombs, 
two or more tours of duty; 
return home, rest up, fly back— 
war, a blasted boomerang! 
Let’s hold an election in heaven 
so warmongers will be proven 
miserably out of step, 
leaving dovelike passions 
of the mild majority, 
waiting so long to be heard! 
 
(prev. pub. in Benicia-Herald, 
February 9, 2022) 
WRITTEN ON 
THE MIST TRAIL 
      Yosemite 
Challenge us, 
rock and water, 
dwarf us 
to sand size, 
yet we will rise 
as on wings of wind, 
to conquer ifs 
of incomparable cliffs— 
to prove that with 
granite desire, 
mankind 
can 
     climb 
          higher.
Today’s LittleNip:
POND IN LIGHT RAIN 
—Claire J. Baker
When 
droplets 
land on a 
dragonfly’s 
wings 
iridescence 
pulsates 
as she darts 
off 
dripping 
moonstones. 
_____________________
Our thanks to Claire Baker and Katy Brown for another shining photo/poem collaboration! So many gems…. Tomorrow night (Thurs. 3/17, St. Patrick’s Day), 7pm: Poetry in Davis presents Jabez Churchill and Irish Poet/Photographer Lass Katy Brown, plus open mic (4 min. or 2 items). John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis, CA. Host: Dr. Andy Jones. Please mask your vaccinated selves before entering the Gallery. 
Of you're having a sense of déjà vu, thinking you've already read this post, that's because you have—if you checked into the Kitchen yesterday before 10 or so. I posted this early on Tuesday, thinking it was already Wednesday... Never mind... it's a long story...
 
______________________
—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—
and collaborations are welcome. 
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
