—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa (Carl Schwartz)
Jerome Berglund, and Joe Nolan
LESS NONSENSE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
I read so much of nonsense rhymes—
think sound alone can carry through.
Now, music, art, well-being fails
to fit types, templates, I explain.
So rhythm beats, that metric lone,
will maintain life—but message tone?
If word lists count, I’ve lexicon.
The rapper, sharp, precise in term
can marry koine, Greek street blues;
so though the culture far from mine
I can admire and reckon signs—
if only on slow playback, loud.
Yet when the site, ‘no rhyme allowed’,
I wonder, reading Wordsworth, Keats—
thank goodness not the rule back then.
But nonsense of itself? Stone cold,
unless I enter state of mind.
I want to read or hear sense made,
less only anarchy pervades,
and that’s intended punk purveyed.
Rock seems misspoken in the trade.
Is it chop logic that offends?
The language foreign to our ears,
is maybe Esperanto, Geek?
Or maybe viewpoint doesn’t suit—
or too near truth, must be shut down.
Those mares beyond the unities,
that gallop through with trop l’oeil
as bypass what our brains allow;
it’s only counsel from the couch
available for psycho trail.
So here I am with nihilists
who tell me sense, no sense at all,
yet they still eat, sleep, reproduce—
how else to pass their ‘no point’ on.
Perhaps the instinct to survive
trumps all else when from 9 to 5.
So share your nonsense if you dare,
but know that you alone aware,
of why you’re going, landing where?
And if you write your verse, then care—
the world needs more than great ‘I am’.
If hope, or hopeless, you would share
ensure that I engage the gear?
Auto, or first, eco, reverse,
it’s better, travel with someone.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales, UK
I read so much of nonsense rhymes—
think sound alone can carry through.
Now, music, art, well-being fails
to fit types, templates, I explain.
So rhythm beats, that metric lone,
will maintain life—but message tone?
If word lists count, I’ve lexicon.
The rapper, sharp, precise in term
can marry koine, Greek street blues;
so though the culture far from mine
I can admire and reckon signs—
if only on slow playback, loud.
Yet when the site, ‘no rhyme allowed’,
I wonder, reading Wordsworth, Keats—
thank goodness not the rule back then.
But nonsense of itself? Stone cold,
unless I enter state of mind.
I want to read or hear sense made,
less only anarchy pervades,
and that’s intended punk purveyed.
Rock seems misspoken in the trade.
Is it chop logic that offends?
The language foreign to our ears,
is maybe Esperanto, Geek?
Or maybe viewpoint doesn’t suit—
or too near truth, must be shut down.
Those mares beyond the unities,
that gallop through with trop l’oeil
as bypass what our brains allow;
it’s only counsel from the couch
available for psycho trail.
So here I am with nihilists
who tell me sense, no sense at all,
yet they still eat, sleep, reproduce—
how else to pass their ‘no point’ on.
Perhaps the instinct to survive
trumps all else when from 9 to 5.
So share your nonsense if you dare,
but know that you alone aware,
of why you’re going, landing where?
And if you write your verse, then care—
the world needs more than great ‘I am’.
If hope, or hopeless, you would share
ensure that I engage the gear?
Auto, or first, eco, reverse,
it’s better, travel with someone.
—Haiga by Jerome Berglund, Minneapolis, MN
CITE
—Stephen Kingsnorth
A first, my choice not to submit—
the norm, my style not a good fit—
but unease, the content of the site—
at home with form, but not content?
The listing of the themes they seek—
topping the list, the dangers of
western socialists, China second;
beauty in general being fourth.
Is this a site I feel at home,
one voice amongst the right-wing cant,
the worst dressed in religious garb—
assumed that God is on their side—
a moral choice, wish publish there?
—Haiga by Jerome Berglund
MIRRORS THAT LIE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
sometimes when stopped in traffic
the rear-view mirror shows a darkish
silhouette where the front seat
passenger in the car behind mine
would be sitting
the image takes the shape of a child,
an elder adult, William Shakespeare,
or suddenly a big dog pokes its head
out of the window
and then at the next stop, a different
car is in view, but the same scenario
repeats itself
sometimes when stopped in traffic
the rear-view mirror shows a darkish
silhouette where the front seat
passenger in the car behind mine
would be sitting
the image takes the shape of a child,
an elder adult, William Shakespeare,
or suddenly a big dog pokes its head
out of the window
and then at the next stop, a different
car is in view, but the same scenario
repeats itself
—Haiga by Jerome Berglund
HUSH! THE ELDER IS SPEAKING
—Caschwa
(response to Joyce Odam’s “Getting
the Point”, Medusa’s Kitchen,
March 29, 2022)
formative years fully occupied by
listening attentively to parents,
grand parents, teachers, my own
older siblings and cousins, my
parents’ older siblings and cousins,
all of whom conspired to disrupt
cheerful childhood events with their
own sweet sorties of adult chatter
they were sure to pose that damned
silly question “what did you learn in
school today?” while either knowing or
just existing in the blissful ignorance of
the fact that my whole school day was
basically rote repetition, over and over
and they would laugh wholeheartedly
at television programs that were using
humor to sell products I was too young
to buy, so of course I never got the point;
but one can get hurt by laughing, just
like tobacco, hence I suffered the affliction
of breathing in second-hand jokes
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
WOODPECKER
—Harold Asner, Overland Park, KS
A strange bird in our flower bed
Pecking at some crawling pest
A red spot atop his head
A black pattern on his breast
I went online and soon found out
What type of bird that I had spied
As I searched, there was no doubt
A Northern Flicker. Identified!
Just a woodpecker with a fancy name
In our neighborhood he’s hiding
Now and then he plays a game
Of tapping on our clapboard siding
Again I saw that Northern Flicker
Went to take a closer look
I ran fast, but he was quicker
A fleeting glance was all I took
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
HOVERING OWL
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Circling back in darkness,
An owl in the night,
Who’s heard a sound run faintly
Across dry, fallen leaves
With colors, bright,
That can’t be seen,
But by owls can be heard—
The treble of bright-yellow!
Scraped by tiny claws.
So, the owl hovers,
Takes some time to pause,
Before plucking dinner
From dried-leaf servers,
Claw-borne
To the sky.
—Public Domain Photo
GRAVITY AND SUPPRESSION
—Joe Nolan
How delicate!
Each unsupported thing,
Lacking anything to hold it up,
It must fall down.
How dismal is to
Be made
To fall down—
Humiliating,
But gravity
Does not play
Favorites,
Nor does the game
Of Whack-a-Mole
Where gravity
Is not the issue;
It’s something else, instead—
Blows from above
To drive down
Rising-ups.
How painful
Is the head
That’s been
Banged down.
Rising-up
Is obviously discouraged
When everyone around
Is armed with
Whacking-hammers,
But these are games
We like to play,
Like pulling-out-rug.
—Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Joe Nolan
PLUTO PLOTS HIS REVENGE
—Joe Nolan
Pluto doesn’t worry about Venus.
He assumes whatever is warming her,
Will continue to keep her warm.
Pluto is in the outer darkness,
The extreme cold,
Stripped of the dignity of planet-hood.
Pluto’s ego has been damaged.
It’s only a matter of time,
If he can find a way,
To crash the party of the inner circle—
Mercury, Venus, Earth and Mars.
If only he could
Make a dent
In any of their spheres,
It would be worth it!
Although, he might disappear.
Pluto sounds a lot like Putin,
Please keep in mind,
Before you begin,
To counter those
Who rule in snows,
In the upper-regions
Of the latitudes.
—Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Joe Nolan
SISYPHUS AND THE AVALANCHE
—Joe Nolan
Looking at an avalanche,
In slow motion,
Coming down,
A wall of white
Made of powder,
Roaring sound,
Sisyphus
Just
Shrugs.
Just another obstacle,
Over which
To push
A boulder
All day-long,
Forever.
Infinity makes sudden things
Seem slow.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
DIRTY’S EVEN BETTER
—Joe Nolan
None could fetch the dainty thing
Dropped upon the dueling field
Before it would get dirty,
Perfumed, though, it was,
To bolster courage in her favored knight,
But dirty’s even better.
_____________________
Our contributors are out in full force today, with poems about spring, about our Seed of the Week, “Nonsense”, and about Ars Poetica, celebrating National Poetry Month—plus photo-visits of the season. Thanks to all for these!
Jerome Berglund
Today we have a new poet/photographer, Jerome Berglund from Minneapolis, who has sent us three Haiga. Jerome is a writer and artist who co-wrote a television pilot which, at a festival for them, received numerous accolades, including best in show. He graduated summa cum laude from the University of Southern California’s Cinema-Television Production program, with emphases in screenwriting and philosophy. Berglund is author of the novel, Havenauts, and the story collection, Dick Jokes. His short fiction has been exhibited by the Watershed Review, Paragon Press, and the Stardust Review. His poetry appears in Abstract Magazine, Bangalore Review, Barstow & Grand, and most recently, O:JA&L. A drama he penned was published in Iris Literary Journal. Berglund is also an established, award-winning fine art photographer, whose black and white pictures have been exhibited in galleries across New York, Minneapolis, and Santa Monica. Welcome to the Kitchen, Jerome, and don’t be a stranger! For more about the Haiga, see poets.org/text/haiga-haiku-calligraphy-and-painting/. And if you’re interested in forms, be sure to check out Medusa's Fridays for the Form Fiddlers, as we exercise our form muscles every week.
Be sure to click once on any photo in the Kitchen to get its full effect.
•••Tonight (Mon., 4/4), 7:30pm, Sac. Poetry Center Socially Distant Verse features Bill O’Daly and Nick LaForce plus open mic. Zoom at us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. (Meeting ID: 763 873 3462 / pass: r3trnofsdv/.) Info: www.facebook.com/sacpoetrycenter/.
•••Medusa herself is a "graduate" of Sac. Poetry Center's Tuesday Night Workshop. You might check it out, see if it works for you.
•••This coming Thursday at 7pm, Poetry Night Reading Series in Davis presents Julia Levine and Frank Gaspar at John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis, CA. Open mic after the readers (one chosen text or three minutes). Host: Dr. Andy Jones. Info: www.facebook.com/events/887483028628485/?acontext{"source"%3A"29"%2C"ref_notif_type"%3A"plan_user_invited"%2C"action_history"%3A"null"}¬if_id=1641058547529962¬if_t=plan_user_invited&ref=notif/.
•••For info about El Dorado County poetry events, check Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/.
_____________________
—Medusa
•••For info about El Dorado County poetry events, check Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/.
_____________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Cartoon Courtesy of Joe Nolan
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!
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!
