—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!!
MORNING WALK
An outskirts cottage,
an old lady intent on her garden,
picking at weeds as if mincing greens
for a sauce—
I gave her a nod, but no response.
She never saw me. I was already gone,
as morning got on with its evolution
of sun from shadow opening skies
for wind to carry us
away
but for colors left over
in the mind’s soil, to grow
and harvest for another day.
An outskirts cottage,
an old lady intent on her garden,
picking at weeds as if mincing greens
for a sauce—
I gave her a nod, but no response.
She never saw me. I was already gone,
as morning got on with its evolution
of sun from shadow opening skies
for wind to carry us
away
but for colors left over
in the mind’s soil, to grow
and harvest for another day.
WHAT’S THERE
My dog’s barking at sliding glass door.
Who’s there?
3 white-crown sparrows and a brown towhee
pecking seeds fallen from the feeder—
wild turkey hen (iridescent copper feathers!)
That’s all I can see
except ground squirrel high-tailing away—
no doe with fawn
no fox
no neighbor, or unexpected delivery man—
no crunch of tires on gravel—
what does my dog see/hear/smell that I can’t?
So much we humans miss—
I’ll follow her outside, discover morning.
FROM ABOVE
We’re tied and torn apart
by weather—swirls and curls
and splatterings of cloud-forms
to highlight and obscure
the Earth beneath us—as
if every turbulence
on land and ocean were
all the heavens’ doing.
We’re tied and torn apart
by weather—swirls and curls
and splatterings of cloud-forms
to highlight and obscure
the Earth beneath us—as
if every turbulence
on land and ocean were
all the heavens’ doing.
A DRY YEAR
Hang up the phone, its long holds & options.
Open the door and listen
to just the sound of rain.
Hang up the phone, its long holds & options.
Open the door and listen
to just the sound of rain.
HEAT POWERED STOVE FAN
so gracefully black
a futuristic sculpture?
silver wings of heat—
we forget it’s there
no plug-in, no batteries!
silver wings of heat
asking only flame below
it blesses us with silence
so gracefully black
a futuristic sculpture?
silver wings of heat—
we forget it’s there
no plug-in, no batteries!
silver wings of heat
asking only flame below
it blesses us with silence
LOST FOR WORDS
From my field the great white horse
is gone like April to greener
pastures, leaving this memento:
a few lush Dung Roundheads.
From my field the great white horse
is gone like April to greener
pastures, leaving this memento:
a few lush Dung Roundheads.
Today’s LittleNip:
WHAT?
—Taylor Graham
Existence with no movement,
sensation with no connection,
grammar without action,
what life without these?
Answer: verbs
____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for her celebrations of turkeys, horse-dung, and the recent (much-needed) rainfall up here. TG celebrates for us in forms: a Word-Can Poem (“Morning Walk”); a List Poem (“What's There”); a Ryūka (“Lost for Words”); a Kimo (“A Dry Year”); a Hainka (“Heat Powered Stove Fan”); Normative Syllablics that also addresses Medusa's current Ekphrastic photo (“From Above”); and a Riddle poem which is also a Verbless one, last week’s Triple-F Challenge (“What?”).
Today (Fri., 4/29) is the Academy of American Poets' Poem in Your Pocket Day! See poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day/.
Taylor Graham and Katy Brown will be giving another Capturing Wakamatsu Poetry Walk and Workshop at Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville this Sunday, May 1 from 10am-12pm. See www.arconservancy.org/event/capturing-wakamatsu-a-poetry-walk-workshop for info and registration.
WHAT?
—Taylor Graham
Existence with no movement,
sensation with no connection,
grammar without action,
what life without these?
Answer: verbs
____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for her celebrations of turkeys, horse-dung, and the recent (much-needed) rainfall up here. TG celebrates for us in forms: a Word-Can Poem (“Morning Walk”); a List Poem (“What's There”); a Ryūka (“Lost for Words”); a Kimo (“A Dry Year”); a Hainka (“Heat Powered Stove Fan”); Normative Syllablics that also addresses Medusa's current Ekphrastic photo (“From Above”); and a Riddle poem which is also a Verbless one, last week’s Triple-F Challenge (“What?”).
Today (Fri., 4/29) is the Academy of American Poets' Poem in Your Pocket Day! See poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day/.
Taylor Graham and Katy Brown will be giving another Capturing Wakamatsu Poetry Walk and Workshop at Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville this Sunday, May 1 from 10am-12pm. See www.arconservancy.org/event/capturing-wakamatsu-a-poetry-walk-workshop for info and registration.
For more upcoming poetry events in our area and beyond, go to the aptly-named UPCOMING POETRY EVENTS link at the top of this column.
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
There’s also a newly dusted-off page at the top of Medusa’s Kitchen called, “FORMS! OMG!!!” which expresses some of my (take ‘em or leave 'em) opinions about the use of forms in poetry writing, as well as listing some more resources to help you navigate through Form Quicksand. Got any more resources to add to our list? Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com for the benefit of all man/womankind!
Enough blathering. Onward to some fine poetry:
Enough blathering. Onward to some fine poetry:
SPEAKING IN BLOOD
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
The words are all red
this morning, red for love,
and lack of love, and for the
word itself. Look how intense
they appear on the page—shaped
like that—awkward like that,
meaning what they mean,
even as they question
what they mean.
How
fierce
they are,
as if to win by
their very boldness
—their red persuasion.
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
The words are all red
this morning, red for love,
and lack of love, and for the
word itself. Look how intense
they appear on the page—shaped
like that—awkward like that,
meaning what they mean,
even as they question
what they mean.
How
fierce
they are,
as if to win by
their very boldness
—their red persuasion.
* * *
Girlfriend knows how to tell it! Hopefully we all speak in red from time to time…”red persuasion”. Thank you, Joyce. And here is another Ars Poetica of hers: Word-Repetition Envelope Stanzas: 1221, 3443, 5665, etc. What a bundle of truths this poem is…
Girlfriend knows how to tell it! Hopefully we all speak in red from time to time…”red persuasion”. Thank you, Joyce. And here is another Ars Poetica of hers: Word-Repetition Envelope Stanzas: 1221, 3443, 5665, etc. What a bundle of truths this poem is…
WORDS AS WORDS
After "Ars Poetica” by J.L. Borges*
—Joyce Odam
There are some words that are only words,
until they are pressured into meaning—
there is always that struggled search for meaning
to be understood with the quizzical use of words.
Sometimes the reach is made of echoes,
intensely listening beyond hearing
until each sound is out of hearing,
ghosts of voices given to echoes.
Words can be made of speeches and babble,
oratorical with persuasion and power,
until the speeches run out of power,
sounding at last like only babble.
Words, the tools of such potential
to plead, or threaten, or exploit for love.
Oh, that words can be used for love,
else fail the heart and the mind’s potential.
Words that are only words…? Oh, never—
there are shades of intention when words are spoken,
with only silence, then, for words not spoken.
Words that will never hurt you…? Oh, never.
*thefloatinglibrary.com/2009/04/09/ars-poetica-j-l-borges
After "Ars Poetica” by J.L. Borges*
—Joyce Odam
There are some words that are only words,
until they are pressured into meaning—
there is always that struggled search for meaning
to be understood with the quizzical use of words.
Sometimes the reach is made of echoes,
intensely listening beyond hearing
until each sound is out of hearing,
ghosts of voices given to echoes.
Words can be made of speeches and babble,
oratorical with persuasion and power,
until the speeches run out of power,
sounding at last like only babble.
Words, the tools of such potential
to plead, or threaten, or exploit for love.
Oh, that words can be used for love,
else fail the heart and the mind’s potential.
Words that are only words…? Oh, never—
there are shades of intention when words are spoken,
with only silence, then, for words not spoken.
Words that will never hurt you…? Oh, never.
*thefloatinglibrary.com/2009/04/09/ars-poetica-j-l-borges
—Public Domain Photo
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) put together a few bon mots on our tribute to Earth Day last week, combining words in a Verbless fashion, which was our Triple-F Challenge last week:
MORE PLEASE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
donut hole
product of an
astrophysicist’s
sweet tooth
pockets of temptation
crumbs everywhere
discipline absent
dozens in orbit
* * *
Here is Stephen Kingsnorth’s Ekphrastic response to the photo:
ASTRO-TURF
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
Uneven keel, but one ball spin,
wobble, axel, season gift,
orbit system, solar star,
milky flush, another flash.
It’s so for me, one turning life,
wibble curl, uneven stance,
family, community,
state of nation, global earth.
Both hang and fly, though rooted here,
red shift, proof expansive time,
stacked plates cracking, saucers fly,
crusty ground grind, UFO.
Jet, whether stream arises, dives,
solar wind and northern lights,
micro, macro, in teams of life,
slow in light years, nanosec.
Awed silence, unknowns perceived, but
fittest in survival test,
onward genes once I can rest,
morrow, why, when I am dust?
* * *
And one from Joe Nolan, short but sweet:
SHADOW PLAY
—Joseph W. Nolan, Stockton, CA
The darkness that surrounds the earth
Is always full of light.
It’s just the play of shadows
That brings to Earth the night.
This photo, “Illuminated Manuscripts” by Katy Brown, was posted on Medusa’s Kitchen last Sunday with a poem by Welsh poet, Lynn White. Stephen was moved by it and wrote an Ekphrastic Poem in response:
ILLUMINATED MANUSCRIPTS
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Yes, there’s the brother in his cell,
and maybe famed for Book of Kells—
but other brothers, sisters too
with little but a chalk-stub stroke
to count up days in countdown hope,
with naught illumined but despair.
Graffiti, writing on the wall,
each place the moving finger wrote,
a manuscript, shared light or strife.
The library, scene Dewey-eyed,
with spinal columns, long and short,
built high and low, enticing stacks.
It takes only a glance of bright
to burnish notes, alchemy gold.
No food or drink in here, aloud,
but I see plates full satisfied
as open cover, bound inside,
no hand or nib, but printers’ ink.
So really was I just fourteen,
my mentor, guide to literature,
the first, grammar, to name by fore,
his wisdom store of novel verse,
and stagecraft of the theatre?
In unities, foresaw his tack—
though one good work he slipwrote ‘God’—
voracious reading, opened books,
his text speak, nothing of short cuts.
Those pages, burning whites of eyes,
a highlight of the pupil’s site,
as heightened here, rays of the sun—
ash phoenix, Alexandria.
And yet I read of boards abroad—
are they bored or rogue in mind—
matching more piles, burn flaming books,
branded for ideas, danger sign.
Manipulate, index for sight.
ILLUMINATED MANUSCRIPTS
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Yes, there’s the brother in his cell,
and maybe famed for Book of Kells—
but other brothers, sisters too
with little but a chalk-stub stroke
to count up days in countdown hope,
with naught illumined but despair.
Graffiti, writing on the wall,
each place the moving finger wrote,
a manuscript, shared light or strife.
The library, scene Dewey-eyed,
with spinal columns, long and short,
built high and low, enticing stacks.
It takes only a glance of bright
to burnish notes, alchemy gold.
No food or drink in here, aloud,
but I see plates full satisfied
as open cover, bound inside,
no hand or nib, but printers’ ink.
So really was I just fourteen,
my mentor, guide to literature,
the first, grammar, to name by fore,
his wisdom store of novel verse,
and stagecraft of the theatre?
In unities, foresaw his tack—
though one good work he slipwrote ‘God’—
voracious reading, opened books,
his text speak, nothing of short cuts.
Those pages, burning whites of eyes,
a highlight of the pupil’s site,
as heightened here, rays of the sun—
ash phoenix, Alexandria.
And yet I read of boards abroad—
are they bored or rogue in mind—
matching more piles, burn flaming books,
branded for ideas, danger sign.
Manipulate, index for sight.
Caschwa sent a List Poem, an EIEIO, and a Dansa. The repetition in the Dansa is so lulling. Who says forms are dead??
GUESS I WAS BORN OLD
—Caschwa
backyard incinerators
banking hours 10-3
black & white television
bread delivery to house
bus drivers wore change belts
California had 4 area codes (213, 415, 916, 714)
carbon paper
CPR developed
flag had 48 stars
glass fuses in house wiring
Honda dealers sold motorcycles only
leaded gasoline
manual typewriters
map books
milk delivery to house
party lines
payphone price 10 cents
penny purchases
nickel and dime store
reel to reel typewriter ribbon
reel to reel recording tape
reel to reel movie films
transom rods
TV signoff with Indian Head test pattern
wind wings
wringer washers
yes sir, no ma’am
GUESS I WAS BORN OLD
—Caschwa
backyard incinerators
banking hours 10-3
black & white television
bread delivery to house
bus drivers wore change belts
California had 4 area codes (213, 415, 916, 714)
carbon paper
CPR developed
flag had 48 stars
glass fuses in house wiring
Honda dealers sold motorcycles only
leaded gasoline
manual typewriters
map books
milk delivery to house
party lines
payphone price 10 cents
penny purchases
nickel and dime store
reel to reel typewriter ribbon
reel to reel recording tape
reel to reel movie films
transom rods
TV signoff with Indian Head test pattern
wind wings
wringer washers
yes sir, no ma’am
WEATHER FORECAST
—Caschwa
each day the newspaper and
idiot box try to predict what to
expect, blueprinted and canned,
incarnate celestial stew
off the mark, more times than a few
—Caschwa
each day the newspaper and
idiot box try to predict what to
expect, blueprinted and canned,
incarnate celestial stew
off the mark, more times than a few
Bumpy Road
—Public Domain Illustratiion
NOT A BELIEVER
—Caschwa
I am not ready to be saved
if that begets contractual obligations
or other such complications
wary of quick sand instead of paved
I am not ready to be saved
humps, bumps, and undulations
slow the traffic, congratulations
driving slowly is ranked depraved
I am not ready to be saved
members of the United Nations
meet to eat, not honor stations
or words, no matter how deeply engraved
I am not ready to be saved
the pandemic has soured many vacations
quarantines get no adulations
unmasked strangers we boldly braved
I am not ready to be saved
bloodwork back, they found mutations
blame old age, say their notations
good news or bad, the fees aren’t waived
I am not ready to be saved
_____________________
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!
______________________
TRIPLE-F CHALLENGE!
•••Kimo: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/kimo-poetic-form AND/OR poetscollective.org/poetryforms/kimo
•••Riddle Poem: poets.org/glossary/riddle
•••Or try some of Joyce Odam’s Word-Repetition Envelope Stanzas: 1221, 3443, 5665, etc. (See her example above.)
And see the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one. Try one or all of these forms to keep sharpening your poetry knives. And do check out Medusa's new FORMS link to see if there’s anything there that might be of help to your poetry chops—or anything you’d like to add.
_______________________
RESOURCE OF THE WEEK:
•••Poetry Websites: Yes, another list of poetry forms, but this is a substantial list of poetry-form sites: www.writing.com/main/portfolio/item_id/1734664-Poetry-Websites/.
_______________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Dansa: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/dansa-poetic-forms
•••EIO (or EIEIO): a five-line poetry form by Carol Louise Moon where the ends of lines rhyme in the scheme of A,B,A,B,B. The beginning words of each line begin with E, then I, then E, then I, then O.
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Hainka: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/hainka-haiku-tanka-new-genre-of-poetic-form
•••Kimo: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/kimo-poetic-form AND/OR poetscollective.org/poetryforms/kimo
•••List Poem: clpe.org.uk/poetryline/poeticforms/list-poem
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse AND/OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Riddle Poem: poets.org/glossary/riddle
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Verbless Poetry: poets.org/glossary/verbless-poetry
•••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.
•••Word-Repetition Envelope Stanzas: 1221, 3443, 5665, etc.
________________________
—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.
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
