—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for Form Fiddlers' Friday!!
MANARDINA BONES
Behind the house
a dead twig broken from the oak
desiccated in drought, twiglets
at one end in a bird’s foot and,
at the other, thickened as bark,
coccyx & spine.
What killed the bird
and left this much unconsumed, this
famished season? What became of
its wings? While weed-eating I flushed
wild gray turkey from her new nest
in the boneyard.
Behind the house
a dead twig broken from the oak
desiccated in drought, twiglets
at one end in a bird’s foot and,
at the other, thickened as bark,
coccyx & spine.
What killed the bird
and left this much unconsumed, this
famished season? What became of
its wings? While weed-eating I flushed
wild gray turkey from her new nest
in the boneyard.
EDGE OF WILDWOOD
Beyond the gate, an arch of rocks
as if thrown down from sky
to make shelter underground. A low
path sneaks inside. At dawn
gray fox slipped from her den—
Did I catch her shadow in passing?
Listen for fox-cry in the night
and in half-light, calling her tribe.
This morning I drive asphalt,
watching for what streaks across—
a deer, a vision. Fox-kit tire-treaded
into pavement center-line, head
still lifted, ears pricked as if alive.
Road crew will shovel
what’s left into their truck.
Listen for fox-cry in the night
and find a new lamb gone—lifted away
by the great horned owl. Another
killed by coyote. This is life.
The arch of rocks is empty now.
Cancer took your sister and uncle;
remember their lives, laugh and mourn,
listen for fox-cry in the night.
DEAD ZONE RIDDLE
It started with scalping and progressed
to black slurry of mud hardened to bone.
It hums along to your tread as you pass,
a song with no words or tune of its own.
It grows no grass; impervious to rain,
Its cracks bloom poppy & orange-cone.
Birds on the wing, creatures who dash
for escape, are caught, each one alone.
answer: paved highway
NARROW ESCAPE
Along the highway right-of-way
I’d love to try out my new Merlin—mythic
fount of knowledge, wisdom, magic—
mine is named for a small, fierce falcon.
How could a phone app capture
songbird voices, even the overhead scream
of hawk, over ambient early-Friday noise?
Whoom of Yellow-backed Schoolbus,
rattle-grunt of Turn-bellied Cement Mixer,
& of course the constant buzz-hum
of my Long-necked Weedeater—hungry
beast sweeping thru wild oat &
star-thistle. I must look sharp, to spare
poppies and—narrow miss! new milkweed
shoots, its flower beloved of lacy-pink
butterfly; green shoots almost lost
among May’s already brittling herbage.
YELLOW DAZE
Schoolbus yellow:
write with, write on,
& do your math
& clip results
together, &
then you’ll bind it
for keeps, & trim
& haply cut
it all apart.
DREAM’S ESCAPE
A narrow gap
between the dark-wood hills at dawn
as you wait for the rising sun
to find that gap; to tint the field
with a certain light already
gone as you watch
light elusive
as the dearest dream that carries
you through the longing day into
twilight into evening, all night—
a blessing you can’t hold, yet it
fills your wanting.
Today’s LittleNip:
ESCAPE
—Taylor Graham
Silhouette hovers above setting sun—
black skateboard with no rider
solo blazing the clouds.
______________________
Good morning! Taylor Graham has worked skillfully with our various prompts this week, using forms including the Bop (“Edge of Wildwood”); the Kimo (“Escape”); a Riddle Poem (“Dead Zone Riddle”); a Dimeter that is also Medusa's Ekphrastic Challenge from last week—see below (“Yellow Daze”); and two Manardinas (“Dream's Escape” & “Manardina Boneyard”). Thanks, TG!
Unfortunately, our new UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS, usually a link at the top of this column, has decided to take a little break from being available to us. So I’ll remind you that this Sun. (6/5), from 12-2pm, live, Sac. Poetry Alliance’s Poetry Picnic in the Park will feature Terry Moore, Dr. Brad Buchanan, Nancy St. Clair, Vlad P. Vlad plus open mic at McKinley Park, 601 Alhambra Blvd., Sacramento, CA. Plenty of food and drink for the family! Bring a ball or frisbee to toss. Enjoy sitting at one of the new park tables, between soccer pitch and tennis courts, nearest 33rd and Park Way. $5 donation requested to help cover expenses. We'll see if blogspot can whip itself into shape ASAP and give us back our calendar!
And now it’s time for . . .
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
ESCAPE
—Taylor Graham
Silhouette hovers above setting sun—
black skateboard with no rider
solo blazing the clouds.
______________________
Good morning! Taylor Graham has worked skillfully with our various prompts this week, using forms including the Bop (“Edge of Wildwood”); the Kimo (“Escape”); a Riddle Poem (“Dead Zone Riddle”); a Dimeter that is also Medusa's Ekphrastic Challenge from last week—see below (“Yellow Daze”); and two Manardinas (“Dream's Escape” & “Manardina Boneyard”). Thanks, TG!
Unfortunately, our new UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS, usually a link at the top of this column, has decided to take a little break from being available to us. So I’ll remind you that this Sun. (6/5), from 12-2pm, live, Sac. Poetry Alliance’s Poetry Picnic in the Park will feature Terry Moore, Dr. Brad Buchanan, Nancy St. Clair, Vlad P. Vlad plus open mic at McKinley Park, 601 Alhambra Blvd., Sacramento, CA. Plenty of food and drink for the family! Bring a ball or frisbee to toss. Enjoy sitting at one of the new park tables, between soccer pitch and tennis courts, nearest 33rd and Park Way. $5 donation requested to help cover expenses. We'll see if blogspot can whip itself into shape ASAP and give us back our calendar!
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/woman/poetkind!
Last Week’s Ekphrastic Challenge
Why send one when two come along, says Stephen… ! Stephen Kingsnorth was struck by the yellow in this photo, and his obliging muse went right along:
IN HIS BONNET
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
This yellow, black of busy bee,
except the bumble must have flown,
left honeyed trail, a sting in tail
for any who dare try create.
This station’s set for making plans
to memorise—don’t open book—
for fear that binding spineless spin,
and looseleaf may fall out of place.
No hornet’s nest, no flybuzz words,
far too serene, creative screams;
this worker bee both been and gone
so Bonsai plants remain in shape.
Clip time, tick motion boards recalled,
their calculations drained of power;
this space, proof Prof Parkinson’s Law—
neat, needs tremor, eponymous.
My main concern is pencil length—
note one leads shorter near an inch;
and then those paperclips in pairs,
though incongruent, shame laid out?
Conceptual art for worker, sacked?
A cabinet display for laze?
Here’s someone, too much time to muse,
too trim, if spick is span for work.
If poet, style is formal verse,
with rhythm, rhyming scheme in place,
for every foot is measured pace,
and stanzas spaced in uniform.
That discipline, as learning curve,
though straight preferred—mere scissor swerve—
is yellow leading through to gold
if pages scribbled, crossings out.
These may be steps from that brick road,
a route to rainbow crock we’re told.
Or maybe slabs, recycled, bored,
the layout for exam prepared?
Who shot or cropped this amber horde,
an ad for colour, admin hoard?
This landscape slant, diagonal;
how would it bee in poetry?
IN HIS BONNET
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
This yellow, black of busy bee,
except the bumble must have flown,
left honeyed trail, a sting in tail
for any who dare try create.
This station’s set for making plans
to memorise—don’t open book—
for fear that binding spineless spin,
and looseleaf may fall out of place.
No hornet’s nest, no flybuzz words,
far too serene, creative screams;
this worker bee both been and gone
so Bonsai plants remain in shape.
Clip time, tick motion boards recalled,
their calculations drained of power;
this space, proof Prof Parkinson’s Law—
neat, needs tremor, eponymous.
My main concern is pencil length—
note one leads shorter near an inch;
and then those paperclips in pairs,
though incongruent, shame laid out?
Conceptual art for worker, sacked?
A cabinet display for laze?
Here’s someone, too much time to muse,
too trim, if spick is span for work.
If poet, style is formal verse,
with rhythm, rhyming scheme in place,
for every foot is measured pace,
and stanzas spaced in uniform.
That discipline, as learning curve,
though straight preferred—mere scissor swerve—
is yellow leading through to gold
if pages scribbled, crossings out.
These may be steps from that brick road,
a route to rainbow crock we’re told.
Or maybe slabs, recycled, bored,
the layout for exam prepared?
Who shot or cropped this amber horde,
an ad for colour, admin hoard?
This landscape slant, diagonal;
how would it bee in poetry?
Lyle’s Golden Syrup
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth
SYMBIOTIC
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Buzz busy black stripe yellow bee,
a worker, drone left sterile scene;
though hive well organised as seen
with ordered cells, compartment lines—
can golden goo seep, overflow,
ambrosia, food for the gods?
Say, will the queen reach jubilee
with royal jelly as a cream,
her servants swarming, writhing mass,
like lion’s cage, Lyle’s syrup tin,
Judge Samson’s riddle, ‘sweet from strong’—
a culture stretched to grocer’s shelf.
Some pointers here—is lead HB?
bound books, closed scissors, pairs of clips—
under control, beyond reproach,
stark choice if one dare write a word,
a calculation, order stirred,
one peace disturbed by angel poise?
What is right angle if to be
sum poser, question uniform?
Our lore says order, chaos born,
so pollen serendipity
of dusty fluff fits formal well.
To symbiotic bee or not?
Public Domain Photo
* * *
Nolcha Fox’s muse was equally busy-bee, also obliging with two poems:
NEW PLANNER
NEW PLANNER
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
You laugh when
I show you yet
another planner, you say
I’m obsessed. I agree.
I want to confine
time, my pen drawing
borders around minutes
and hours, all that I do
to prove I exist.
Do these pages prove
I can live forever?
No, I’m the real prisoner.
Time is the jailor.
You laugh when
I show you yet
another planner, you say
I’m obsessed. I agree.
I want to confine
time, my pen drawing
borders around minutes
and hours, all that I do
to prove I exist.
Do these pages prove
I can live forever?
No, I’m the real prisoner.
Time is the jailor.
Fighting the Forces of Chaos
—Public Domain Illustration
FIGHTING IN STYLE
—Nolcha Fox
I prepare for combat
weapons at ready,
to fight the forces
of chaos.
Notebook, pencils,
planner, journal,
solar calculator,
paper clips,
sticky notes,
scissors
all lined up,
soldiers ready to charge.
Cloaked in gold,
success assured,
no boss can stop me now.
My armaments
should be brilliant
frost, icons of purity
and goodness,
but white isn’t
allowed after
Labor Day.
* * *
And be sure to see Taylor Graham’s “School Bus Yellow” in her post up above. Seems like the yellow of that photo caught everybody’s eye!
—Nolcha Fox
I prepare for combat
weapons at ready,
to fight the forces
of chaos.
Notebook, pencils,
planner, journal,
solar calculator,
paper clips,
sticky notes,
scissors
all lined up,
soldiers ready to charge.
Cloaked in gold,
success assured,
no boss can stop me now.
My armaments
should be brilliant
frost, icons of purity
and goodness,
but white isn’t
allowed after
Labor Day.
* * *
And be sure to see Taylor Graham’s “School Bus Yellow” in her post up above. Seems like the yellow of that photo caught everybody’s eye!
 |
| —Public Domain Photo |
* * *
This poem of Carl Schwartz’s is shaped into, well, a shape. Thanks, Carl! Shapely though it is, it doesn’t really shape up to be a Shape (Concrete) Poem—or is it… ?
INAPPOSITE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
they gathered all us little kids
together in a classroom
each assigned a seat
every day, same seat
same old neighbor
same old view
we were way
too young
to make
choices
then they “exposed” us to raw
knowledge, branded in all
the generic wrappings of
rote repetition, rotgut
rote repetition, until
we had swallowed
our ABCs, still
too young
to make
choices
eventually we matriculated
into higher level schools
with different rooms,
both old and new
classmates, but
now, we were
mandated
to make
choices
Wow!
we
carried
the burden
of Charles Ives
(Three Places In
New England) forced
to march ahead boldly
against an opposite-facing
band issuing loud sounds that
we ourselves could not even hear
or
modulate,
and we would
be graded on that,
goodbye to rotgut rote
repetition, regurgitate all
those ABCs and start over,
we are now “young adults”
with all the usual rights and
privileges of an abandoned grave
___________________
Many thanks to all 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!
See what you can make of this week’s poetry form, and send it to kathykieth@hotmail.com! (No deadline.)
•••Duo-Rhyme: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/duorhyme.html
See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one.
And don’t forget every Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Too Close to the Sun”.
______________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Bop: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-form-the-bop
•••Concrete (Shape) Poetry: poemanalysis.com/poetic-form/concrete-poem
•••Dimeter: two poetic feet per line
•••Duo-Rhyme: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/duorhyme.html
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Kimo: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/kimo-poetic-form AND/OR poetscollective.org/poetryforms/kimo
•••Manardina: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/manardina
•••Riddle Poem: poets.org/glossary/riddle
______________________
—Medusa
See what you can make of the above
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
***
—Public Domain Photo
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.
