—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for Form Fiddlers’ Friday!!
UNDER AN OPENING SKY
Come see what magic March has done,
its wind that rattles cattail bones
over the algae in a cove.
And song so sweet, the redwing's pride;
a mallard pair on ripples slide
over the algae in a cove,
its wind that rattles cattail bones.
Come see what magic March has done.
Come see what magic March has done,
its wind that rattles cattail bones
over the algae in a cove.
And song so sweet, the redwing's pride;
a mallard pair on ripples slide
over the algae in a cove,
its wind that rattles cattail bones.
Come see what magic March has done.
IN PRAISE OF GREEN
How can I have the blues this bright Thursday
between flowering of Indian lettuce
and heron’s flight into sky? Just listen
to warbler’s joy of living in a song.
Spring suits me with its lacy green that clings
to bootlaces. Its calling card says Catch-
weed; and it promises to be my close
companion all spring long into summer.
MARCH BY THE CALENDAR
It seems the spring of Spring
was banned this year in our little canyon,
Summer accelerating to stunt and burn
the grasses as they grow. Skies open to nothing
but sun and the twang of northwind
with its tales of far-off permafrost and glaciers
melting. Can there be a magic potion
to call Spring back to life? We pray for rain.
PARAPHRASING THE PICTURE
At first glance: butt-end of a log to buck.
Look closer. It’s a basket stained with blood.
(If you hoped for cordwood, you’re out of luck.)
The pattern, hand and fingers pressed in mud
above the creek where buckeye’s all in bud.
The world’s at war on this springtide’s eve,
red stain upon the willow of its weave.
MICROPUS CALIFORNICUS
Nondescript weedlet—
a horde of dull gray-green stems
on droughty ground scalped
long ago for gold; almost
overlooked. Too small
and homely to make a good
photo. My plant app
says Q-tips: perhaps healing-
swabs for a wounded landscape?
MARCH WALKABOUT
The woodland’s shaking off its sleep
releasing itself from winter
into scatter of spring flower.
Look, fiddleneck and buttercup,
rosy sand-crocus rising up
into scatter of spring flower
releasing itself from winter.
The woodland’s shaking off its sleep.
Today’s LittleNip:
SUNRISE
—Taylor Graham
Night frost on field grasses,
a cold sun
sparks.
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Maybe it was Taylor Graham’s thoughts of rain that brought NorCal some precip this week; if so, TG, keep thinking! Anyway, we’re grateful, as always, for her visions of the Sierra and its Western Slope. Poetry forms she has used this week include the Tilus (“Sunrise”); some Blank Verse (“In Praise of Green”); a Word-Can Poem (“March by the Calendar”); a Rhyme (rime) Royal (royale), one of Medusa's FFF Challenges last week, as well as our Ekphrastic Challenge (“Paraphrasing the Picture”); a Choka (“Micropus californicus”); and two Octos (“March Walkabout” and “Under an Opening Sky”).
•••Tonight (Fri., 3/18), 6pm: Women’s History Poetry Reading on Zoom (us02web.zoom.us/j/89835582728/). No password needed). This special Friday event will feature local poets reading a poem of their own, and by another historical poet who identifies as a woman or non-binary. Hosts: Bethanie Humphreys, Bob Stanley and Random Lane Press.
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
Here is the photo we used last week for our Ekphrastic Challenge:
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Both Stephen Kingsnorth and Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) responded to it:
WRUNG THROUGH
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
I am cut up about my age,
each year of growth, thin pickings, wealth,
though each addition, stronger girth,
thick skinned, always, cork cambium.
There have been hammers, wanting in,
to settle close, within my skin,
but from the couch I overcame
and kept invasive creeps at bay.
There were too many, suckers all,
like poison ivy, climbing wall,
and many who would hatch their plots,
and frequent, pecking niggling birds,
but like the ivy, creepers all.
It’s said my willow’s good for bats—
not from the caves, but village green—
but just not cricket—makes me weep,
leaving me, bowled over, stumped.
With talk of bole, they thought to wait,
add weight to work, another year,
and as a wiseman once observed—
give the fruitless one more spring;
for maybe it will prove worthwhile,
another season, better dressed—
at which they threw manure about.
You see that I’ve been through the mill,
chop and change, pulled by the shires,
crossed the county lines as charged,
teeth on edge, but spinning saw that
global threats were at the door.
Had I been other, English oak,
I might have been that very door;
a birch, laid silver, beating bound,
or flavour gin, as juniper.
An elder, trusted, lead the tribe,
some sandbank, bronze, if autumn beech;
a yew for churchyard funeral,
though salix brought me to that pitch.
So in my rôle, in creasing days,
on sticky wicket, rings show age.
* * *
Carl’s response is in the form of one of our Friday Form Fiddlers’ (FFF) Challenges, the Hainka:
WRUNG THROUGH
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
I am cut up about my age,
each year of growth, thin pickings, wealth,
though each addition, stronger girth,
thick skinned, always, cork cambium.
There have been hammers, wanting in,
to settle close, within my skin,
but from the couch I overcame
and kept invasive creeps at bay.
There were too many, suckers all,
like poison ivy, climbing wall,
and many who would hatch their plots,
and frequent, pecking niggling birds,
but like the ivy, creepers all.
It’s said my willow’s good for bats—
not from the caves, but village green—
but just not cricket—makes me weep,
leaving me, bowled over, stumped.
With talk of bole, they thought to wait,
add weight to work, another year,
and as a wiseman once observed—
give the fruitless one more spring;
for maybe it will prove worthwhile,
another season, better dressed—
at which they threw manure about.
You see that I’ve been through the mill,
chop and change, pulled by the shires,
crossed the county lines as charged,
teeth on edge, but spinning saw that
global threats were at the door.
Had I been other, English oak,
I might have been that very door;
a birch, laid silver, beating bound,
or flavour gin, as juniper.
An elder, trusted, lead the tribe,
some sandbank, bronze, if autumn beech;
a yew for churchyard funeral,
though salix brought me to that pitch.
So in my rôle, in creasing days,
on sticky wicket, rings show age.
* * *
Carl’s response is in the form of one of our Friday Form Fiddlers’ (FFF) Challenges, the Hainka:
SOMBRERO
—Caschwa, Sacramento
very snug on head
until it just blew right off
flip, flop, hit the ground
resting by tree stump
each sharing rings of ages
strengths and flaws
those colorful memories
that will defy extinction
very snug on head
until it just blew right off
flip, flop, hit the ground
resting by tree stump
each sharing rings of ages
strengths and flaws
those colorful memories
that will defy extinction
And here is a Cascade from Carl:
THE WAR TO END ALL WARS
—Caschwa
picture old, white, men
chairmen of the board
doomed from the start
all ante up big money
for medieval armies
picture old, white, men
quite an impressive show
pennants, banners, displays
chairmen of the board
fending off protestors’ wails
that war must come to an end
doomed from the start
______________________
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 challenge, and send it to kathykieth@hotmail.com! (No deadline.)
•••Tilus (tee-loo-uz): www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/tilus-poetic-forms/. See Taylor Graham’s “Sunrise” above for an example.
And go to the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one!
_______________________
RESOURCE OF THE WEEK:
•••Discover Poetry (discoverpoetry.com/poems) includes a collection of Walt Whitman poems. PBS TV’s Poetry in America series (www.pbs.org/show/poetry-in-america) has a wonderful two-part episode on Whitman that should be viewed by Putin and many others today…
_______________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Blank Verse: literarydevices.net/blank-verse AND/OR www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-the-difference-between-blank-verse-and-free-verse#quiz-0
•••Cascade: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/cascade.html
•••Choka: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/choka
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Hainka: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/hainka-haiku-tanka-new-genre-of-poetic-form
•••Octo: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/octo
•••Rhyme Royal: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/rhyme-royal-rime-royale
•••Tilus (tee-loo-uz): www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/tilus-poetic-forms
•••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
—Public Domain Photo
* * *
See what you can make of the above
photo, and send your poetic results 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.
