—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday!!
LIVING HISTORY 2022
Waiting for Wagon Train—
I’ve horses on my brain.
Poems in pack or purse,
we pass the wait with verse.
Shots behind us! Whose gun?
Bull-whippersnapper. Fun!
Young kid, he’s just a snip,
artist with that leather whip.
We pause our poems, watch
the show, the cowboy quatch.
Then back to poems—horse
& trail, arroyo’s course.
Here come the horses! Hear
the great hooves drawing near….
Horses tall as a shed,
way taller than my head!
Reflected in horse-eye
how miniscule am I!
Waiting for Wagon Train—
I’ve horses on my brain.
Poems in pack or purse,
we pass the wait with verse.
Shots behind us! Whose gun?
Bull-whippersnapper. Fun!
Young kid, he’s just a snip,
artist with that leather whip.
We pause our poems, watch
the show, the cowboy quatch.
Then back to poems—horse
& trail, arroyo’s course.
Here come the horses! Hear
the great hooves drawing near….
Horses tall as a shed,
way taller than my head!
Reflected in horse-eye
how miniscule am I!
NEEDING A FIX
We’re hardcore horse & poem
addicts, differentiated from common
tourists & picnickers by our bookbags
& circled camp chairs. We wait
for the Wagon Train reliving history—
draft horses pulling covered wagons
over the summit, down our Western
Slope. We improve our wait
by sharing poems—horse & cowboy
poems. Here’s the peace of sweet
fresh mountain air in shade
of conifers. Time flies on word-
wings. From the tip of incense cedar,
Raven adds his voice: On horses
& poems, who could overdose?
We’re hardcore horse & poem
addicts, differentiated from common
tourists & picnickers by our bookbags
& circled camp chairs. We wait
for the Wagon Train reliving history—
draft horses pulling covered wagons
over the summit, down our Western
Slope. We improve our wait
by sharing poems—horse & cowboy
poems. Here’s the peace of sweet
fresh mountain air in shade
of conifers. Time flies on word-
wings. From the tip of incense cedar,
Raven adds his voice: On horses
& poems, who could overdose?
Wagon Poets
WHAT WINGS ARE FOR
An alpine lake, waters blue-choppy
so close to sun and wind.
Our dogs swam into the waves
while we searched for shoreline rock,
to strip off boots and socks,
let our feet float free.
I stepped onto a slab of granite
and—out flew a bat
surprised from shadowed sleep.
In glare of July daylight it floundered,
flailed, fell into sky-blue water;
discovered wings for
swimming and then for flight.
WATER MONSTER
for Joe
So long sheltered at home, at last
a one-day trip upcountry, you and your boys.
An easy hike—wildflowers in meadow;
climbing to a snowmelt lake blue as alpine sky.
Could it be better? A few swimmers
not staying long in the icy wind-waves,
not testing the depths. Only
one, plunging in to celebrate his birthday—
braving the lake to its center, not
turning back to shore;
gripped by the lake-monster
Hypothermia; dragged underwater.
You waded out as far as you dared, calling
to shore for help; calling
to the drowning one becoming blue water.
Calling into sun-glare
and choppy waters till the depths turned
black as Grimm fairytale.
Explaining this to your boys before bedtime.
and choppy waters till the depths turned
black as Grimm fairytale.
Explaining this to your boys before bedtime.
WHERE IS IT?
I don’t know this place—green
open space, oaks that lean
over my path. Tire tracks
set in mire long dry. Axe-
blaze long healed in tree bark.
In the field, meadowlark
sings an ease I thought was lost
on breeze, or traffic, tossed
aside by progress. This
happiness, Nature’s kiss.
A place I’ve always known
in hushed ways, in the bone.
STORM IN JUNE
East wind’s coming thru
bringing messages
from distant places
I can only guess
by how the trees dance
for joy, not distress—
so it seems to me—
some high wilderness
I long to wander
again, aspen groves
and granite spaces.
Don’t call it “squander.”
It’s the best of times,
the call of yonder.
No fences transgress
what the storm winds bless.
Today’s LittleNip:
PERCHERON IN THE WAGON TRAIN
—Taylor Graham
Here’s a creature bigger than myth.
How placidly this horse shakes earth
and leaves it unharmed. How knowing
and forgiving his eye.
______________________
Today Taylor Graham has written to us about the annual Wagon Train re-enactment up here in the Sierra Nevada, starting in South Lake Tahoe and ending up in Placerville. A group of local poets gathered to celebrate poetry while they waited in the stop-over in Pollock Pines, and thanks to TG for the photos, too!
Taylor sent her poem in forms: the Ryūka (“Percheron in the Wagon Train”); a Word-Can poem (“Needing a Fix”); some rhymed hexameter couplets (“Living History 2022”); an Essence that is also last week’s Ekphrastic Challenge (“Where Is It?”); and an Octameter (“Storm in June”).
The Essence was last week’s Triple-F Challenge, and the link I posted for it was www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/essence.html (which they incorrectly labelled as the “Florette”). TG had problems accessing that link, so she used one from Poets Collective (poetscollective.org/poetryforms/essence/). She got to the Essence of the thing, anyway…
Speaking of Placerville, tomorrow night is the 3rd Sat. Art Walk Poetry Reading at 6pm at TooGood Cellers. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future readings in the NorCal area.
And now it’s time for…
and leaves it unharmed. How knowing
and forgiving his eye.
______________________
Today Taylor Graham has written to us about the annual Wagon Train re-enactment up here in the Sierra Nevada, starting in South Lake Tahoe and ending up in Placerville. A group of local poets gathered to celebrate poetry while they waited in the stop-over in Pollock Pines, and thanks to TG for the photos, too!
Taylor sent her poem in forms: the Ryūka (“Percheron in the Wagon Train”); a Word-Can poem (“Needing a Fix”); some rhymed hexameter couplets (“Living History 2022”); an Essence that is also last week’s Ekphrastic Challenge (“Where Is It?”); and an Octameter (“Storm in June”).
The Essence was last week’s Triple-F Challenge, and the link I posted for it was www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/essence.html (which they incorrectly labelled as the “Florette”). TG had problems accessing that link, so she used one from Poets Collective (poetscollective.org/poetryforms/essence/). She got to the Essence of the thing, anyway…
Speaking of Placerville, tomorrow night is the 3rd Sat. Art Walk Poetry Reading at 6pm at TooGood Cellers. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future readings in the NorCal area.
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 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!
Here is a lovely poem by Joyce Odam in iambic pentameter, just to start us off right:
Here is a lovely poem by Joyce Odam in iambic pentameter, just to start us off right:
Wash Day on the Maine Coast
—Painting by N.C. Wyeth, 1934
—Painting by N.C. Wyeth, 1934
THE COVE
After Wash Day on the Maine Coast
by N.C. Wyeth
Upon the hill the winds are fierce and loud.
The bending woman scrubs the Monday sheets.
The day is tense. The hours all undo.
The boats below the hill are in a lull
at rest on calmer water in the cove.
The scene is frozen still. The sky is free.
The tugging clothesline fights the whipping sheets.
The centered woman, bending to her chore,
does not heed the rumors of the day.
The clothespins give—the sheets accumulate—
sheets billow into clouds. The woman scrubs.
The child upon the step plays with the wind,
the weather changing for the playing child.
The sheets become the sails for all the boats.
* * *
Isn’t that a wonderful ending?
Claire Baker sent us a snappy Triolet this week. She says, “Out of all the forms, I like to play the Triolet.” Claire Baker was a star of the 95th annual Ina Coolbrith Circle of Poets Dinner in Benicia in early June, winning three prizes. Congratulations, Claire! Here she is, along with her Triolet:
Claire with her prizes
BRAIN APPLICATION
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
I need a fresh App for my brain—
alas, I must admit!
And the installer? Not insane.
I need a smooth App for my brain
so thoughts don’t falter, grab a cane,
but choose apt words that fit.
I crave a slick App for my brain—
jeepers. I ADMIT.
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
I need a fresh App for my brain—
alas, I must admit!
And the installer? Not insane.
I need a smooth App for my brain
so thoughts don’t falter, grab a cane,
but choose apt words that fit.
I crave a slick App for my brain—
jeepers. I ADMIT.
Last Week's Ekphrastic Challenge
Stephen Kingsnorth and Nolcha Fox responded to last week’s Ekphrastic Challenge—which looks a lot like the British Isles, yes?
GREEN AND PLEASANT
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
I thought it verdant rural walk,
sum, casual scene, in country park,
until I peer beyond the norm—
a kissing gate, but bridleway
barred, not five, but double wire,
and maybe even barbed across—
but why such sling shot over aisle?
Its feathered grass and edging shrubs—
at casual glance, I’d assume may,
though nowadays that’s April bloom—
as hedgerows mark the smaller fields,
enclosure acts and footpaths mapped,
ditches, nests and butterflies,
roots that trace small mammal routes.
I cannot pass this way again—
wheelchairs don’t swing through three point turns,
manoeuvre well, those kissing gates
or smoothly skim cross rougher ground—
but I hear many happy sounds
from sixty years, unbounded walks.
And I can check ekphrastic views,
unravel puzzles, mindset test,
recall or prompt what synapse lost,
loss, muscle memory resist.
On course, it does not change the world,
except for mine, as is designed,
that one may share what they have found;
it can be, question shared is halved?
So here it is, my pondered few,
the focus loose, imagine, fill,
so many erotemes to choose.
That may be June, another bloom—
at least a complement for month—
that timber swing, too small for pair,
suspended flex not guard at all,
for who would bar mown country mile
with thin gauge stretch, no block prepared?
A title for the published shot—
in UK, lane is metalled road,
and not this well-tamed grassy crop—
less the landowner has in mind
to claim themselves our commonwealth?
* * *
GREEN GATE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
I walked this path
with you before
the grass stained
footsteps green.
No gate, no barrier
could keep
our joyful laughs
contained.
But now the path
is overgrown.
Stillness makes
no sound.
Green gate
a guard,
a reprimand
to keep
our shadows out.
GREEN AND PLEASANT
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
I thought it verdant rural walk,
sum, casual scene, in country park,
until I peer beyond the norm—
a kissing gate, but bridleway
barred, not five, but double wire,
and maybe even barbed across—
but why such sling shot over aisle?
Its feathered grass and edging shrubs—
at casual glance, I’d assume may,
though nowadays that’s April bloom—
as hedgerows mark the smaller fields,
enclosure acts and footpaths mapped,
ditches, nests and butterflies,
roots that trace small mammal routes.
I cannot pass this way again—
wheelchairs don’t swing through three point turns,
manoeuvre well, those kissing gates
or smoothly skim cross rougher ground—
but I hear many happy sounds
from sixty years, unbounded walks.
And I can check ekphrastic views,
unravel puzzles, mindset test,
recall or prompt what synapse lost,
loss, muscle memory resist.
On course, it does not change the world,
except for mine, as is designed,
that one may share what they have found;
it can be, question shared is halved?
So here it is, my pondered few,
the focus loose, imagine, fill,
so many erotemes to choose.
That may be June, another bloom—
at least a complement for month—
that timber swing, too small for pair,
suspended flex not guard at all,
for who would bar mown country mile
with thin gauge stretch, no block prepared?
A title for the published shot—
in UK, lane is metalled road,
and not this well-tamed grassy crop—
less the landowner has in mind
to claim themselves our commonwealth?
* * *
GREEN GATE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
I walked this path
with you before
the grass stained
footsteps green.
No gate, no barrier
could keep
our joyful laughs
contained.
But now the path
is overgrown.
Stillness makes
no sound.
Green gate
a guard,
a reprimand
to keep
our shadows out.
And Carl Schwartz sent us what he calls “An Essence [chain, our FFF Challenge last week], with a sprinkling of hyperbole.” Well, that’s the “Essence” of my life—and more than just a sprinkling of hyperbole . . .!
SEXUAL
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
A tingle here and there
no special gear to wear
***
an all-nude marching band
forms a rude ampersand
***
the fans cheered on and on
poses weird, dusk to dawn
___________________
SEXUAL
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
A tingle here and there
no special gear to wear
***
an all-nude marching band
forms a rude ampersand
***
the fans cheered on and on
poses weird, dusk to dawn
___________________
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!
See what you can make of this week’s poetry form, and send it to kathykieth@hotmail.com! (No deadline.) Hopefully this will be hopeful, in keeping with the instructions:
•••Spirit’s Vessel: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/spiritsvessel.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 “Hope”.
___________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Essence: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/essence.html (incorrectly labelled as “Florette”) AND/OR poetscollective.org/poetryforms/essence
•••Octameter: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/octameter.html AND/OR poetscollective.org/poetryforms/octameter
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Spirit’s Vessel: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/spiritsvessel.html
•••Triolet: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/triolet-an-easy-way-to-write-8-lines-of-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.
__________________
—Medusa
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
See what you can make of the above
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.
