—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Claire J. Baker,
Sayani Mukherjee, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
and Joe Nolan
PIZZA GENE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Gene lives for
take-out pizza,
ultra-vegetarian.
Cheese and sauce,
no pepperoni,
anchovies
mushrooms,
onions, olives.
Only extra-large.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Gene lives for
take-out pizza,
ultra-vegetarian.
Cheese and sauce,
no pepperoni,
anchovies
mushrooms,
onions, olives.
Only extra-large.
NOT HOLLY
is a gangster.
She is writing
a loophole to hide
her personal effects
in a taco shell
nested between
two books
on plastic arcana
in the library
that closes
tomorrow.
—Nolcha Fox
is a gangster.
She is writing
a loophole to hide
her personal effects
in a taco shell
nested between
two books
on plastic arcana
in the library
that closes
tomorrow.
—Nolcha Fox
CHEAP DATE
—Nolcha Fox
I should have noticed sooner,
he wasn’t meant to last.
He was just a nibble,
a passing summer fare.
Our only date, his pockets bare,
he said his pay was late.
It wasn’t fair, I had to drive
to get us to the fair.
Once there, I had to pay the fare
for tickets to get in.
He couldn’t even win me
that big fat teddy bear.
He ate like he was starving,
his food was on my dime,
including hot dogs,
cotton candy, funnel cakes, and beer.
I left him at the fairgrounds
to figure his way home.
What I thought was heart throbs
was only indigestion.
DIALOGUE AT LOCAL P.O.
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Hello there,
can you spare me a book
of Forever?
I can spare one, yes.
And I remember you got
Forever last week.
Some customers we remember.
Yes, I was shy when I asked you,
wondering how long I could
get Forever to last—try to
stretch out its allotted time—
never sure what it was or still is.
Again, I remember you.
So, hello, again.
Spare me a book of Forever,
eternity’s cool cousin?
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Hello there,
can you spare me a book
of Forever?
I can spare one, yes.
And I remember you got
Forever last week.
Some customers we remember.
Yes, I was shy when I asked you,
wondering how long I could
get Forever to last—try to
stretch out its allotted time—
never sure what it was or still is.
Again, I remember you.
So, hello, again.
Spare me a book of Forever,
eternity’s cool cousin?
HIBISCUS
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
A yellow blur.
The sea swans forth
The home saddles with
Moon thistle and silver-spread gleam.
A token of nudge at the door
A little grief over lost poems
Of losing a decade’s high
A family of past remembrance
Locked up in acrylics of
Pomegranate-smudged souls;
A lace curled up
Full of feminine rhymes.
It's my penmanship to own
Loose disjointed freestyles
Like a dove, an alcove, a pine tree.
The untrodden nudges
At the peak end
A forest full of mystery
A theatrical stance
Over the old bright city
A fancy out of space and while
Casually misfit, a tropical cloud.
Too much showers drown the island in me
Then suck with Pansies and whims
Two poles of wide apart
In the middle, a threadbare silence
A red string of millions
Footsteps, raspy echoes, an old lane
Illicit with bright red longing.
I clasp a hibiscus
In the middle a bright ruby red
The house clasps knot
A light within
A full moon fall
A yellowed red dance.
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
A yellow blur.
The sea swans forth
The home saddles with
Moon thistle and silver-spread gleam.
A token of nudge at the door
A little grief over lost poems
Of losing a decade’s high
A family of past remembrance
Locked up in acrylics of
Pomegranate-smudged souls;
A lace curled up
Full of feminine rhymes.
It's my penmanship to own
Loose disjointed freestyles
Like a dove, an alcove, a pine tree.
The untrodden nudges
At the peak end
A forest full of mystery
A theatrical stance
Over the old bright city
A fancy out of space and while
Casually misfit, a tropical cloud.
Too much showers drown the island in me
Then suck with Pansies and whims
Two poles of wide apart
In the middle, a threadbare silence
A red string of millions
Footsteps, raspy echoes, an old lane
Illicit with bright red longing.
I clasp a hibiscus
In the middle a bright ruby red
The house clasps knot
A light within
A full moon fall
A yellowed red dance.
AEON
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Blown solar winds when vanes stand still,
a juggler with tectonic plates,
up atmosphere unwashed, jet stream
as moon levers beams tidal waves,
warm thermals heat, rise mountainside,
are these forever, aeon time?
Mere timelords have the power required
to stretch beyond chronology;
will Cern discern black holes at work,
event horizon with the quarks,
know mysteries beyond our reach—
this place not timed as parking lots?
POMPOUS POET
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
the one ahead of me finished
to much applause, including mine,
and melted back into the darkened
room of seated poets, each one
nurturing the beverage of their choice
and then it was my turn, no trend-
setting electronic laptop, just an old
fashioned printed sheet of paper
(should have chosen a larger font)
but that would have to do, it just would
so then they called my name, and I
stood, alone, not part of a team, not
one of a group, no one else there a
regular friend, or cohort, or mentor,
everyone casually sipping something
and I began reading my poem, like
it was the king’s proclamation, or
something important that was going
to shake the foundations of literature
with the magic of polishing rocks
while I uttered word after word, phrase
after phrase, worried that it would
sound more like dropping a kidney
stone than reciting a lovely gem of a
poem; polite applause sat me down
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
the one ahead of me finished
to much applause, including mine,
and melted back into the darkened
room of seated poets, each one
nurturing the beverage of their choice
and then it was my turn, no trend-
setting electronic laptop, just an old
fashioned printed sheet of paper
(should have chosen a larger font)
but that would have to do, it just would
so then they called my name, and I
stood, alone, not part of a team, not
one of a group, no one else there a
regular friend, or cohort, or mentor,
everyone casually sipping something
and I began reading my poem, like
it was the king’s proclamation, or
something important that was going
to shake the foundations of literature
with the magic of polishing rocks
while I uttered word after word, phrase
after phrase, worried that it would
sound more like dropping a kidney
stone than reciting a lovely gem of a
poem; polite applause sat me down
German Bird-Bone Flute, 35,000 Years Old
WHY I ADMIRE FLAUTISTS
—Caschwa
I play low brass instruments
and a few others as well
composed a march that was
performed at my high school
graduation
earned a degree in music from
a well known university
but if anyone were searching for
my Achilles heel, they’d find it in
sightreading short notes
so here I am sounding some
low note every downbeat, while
flautists are busy piping out the
really fast stuff, like Flight of the
Bumblebee
those little 32nd notes with triple
barring, often set multiple ledger
lines above the staff, some
intermixed with accidentals,
and don’t get me started on
repeat signs, where the eyes
are drawn to two separate
extremes, including all of the
above
lines and bars and dots, oh my!
PATAGONIA
—Caschwa
once you
Patagonia
you have to
feedagonia,
burpagonia,
walkagonia,
cleanagonia,
cradleagonia,
and peek in
once in a while
to make sure
it’s sleeping
—Caschwa
once you
Patagonia
you have to
feedagonia,
burpagonia,
walkagonia,
cleanagonia,
cradleagonia,
and peek in
once in a while
to make sure
it’s sleeping
Bees Heading Out to Work
JUST LIKE ME
—Caschwa
A good, hot, cup of coffee
planted, nurtured, grown,
harvested, cleaned, ground,
canned, marketed, brewed
just like me!
Including those intensive labor
parts that were delegated to
the sun itself, and to other
people whom I will never meet.
MOTHER BIRDS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Mother birds visit their baby birds
In the morning, each morning.
Each little beak a thing to fill
Each morning, each morning.
You’d think they’d grow tired.
But don’t.
It’s in their DNA to give and give
Until one day,
Each baby bird is pushed away
To fetch food for its own
And mother birds can catch their breaths,
Having given birth
To life or to death.
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Mother birds visit their baby birds
In the morning, each morning.
Each little beak a thing to fill
Each morning, each morning.
You’d think they’d grow tired.
But don’t.
It’s in their DNA to give and give
Until one day,
Each baby bird is pushed away
To fetch food for its own
And mother birds can catch their breaths,
Having given birth
To life or to death.
NICE GUYS FINISH FAST
—Joe Nolan
The sex-worker had a sign
Hung on the wall
At the head of her bed
That read,
“Nice Guys Finish Fast!”
It was activated after three minutes
By sounds of squeaky bedsprings
She never oiled.
For her, it was not a labor of love,
But of toil,
She hoped would not long last.
“Serious fuckers, only,”
Read her business card.
—Joe Nolan
The sex-worker had a sign
Hung on the wall
At the head of her bed
That read,
“Nice Guys Finish Fast!”
It was activated after three minutes
By sounds of squeaky bedsprings
She never oiled.
For her, it was not a labor of love,
But of toil,
She hoped would not long last.
“Serious fuckers, only,”
Read her business card.
THE INTEGRAL VERTICAL
—Joe Nolan
How integral
Is vertical
When elliptical’s
Capacity to surround
Turns up-and-down
Upside-down?
Inverting
What was hurting—
How could pain
Ever be set free?
It takes a rare inversion
To completely
Be set free
From angst,
Especially,
These
Flea-bitten days!
Perhaps, horizontal
Might be a better
Way to float
Across our wavy waters
That seem to want
To wash us away?
Maybe with a little skiff,
A sail and a rudder
We might find a way to
Make our way
Through rising, crashing swells?
Riddle me with hard-to-tell
Mysteries one utters
When nothing’s well
And one thing
Is worse than the other.
—Joe Nolan
How integral
Is vertical
When elliptical’s
Capacity to surround
Turns up-and-down
Upside-down?
Inverting
What was hurting—
How could pain
Ever be set free?
It takes a rare inversion
To completely
Be set free
From angst,
Especially,
These
Flea-bitten days!
Perhaps, horizontal
Might be a better
Way to float
Across our wavy waters
That seem to want
To wash us away?
Maybe with a little skiff,
A sail and a rudder
We might find a way to
Make our way
Through rising, crashing swells?
Riddle me with hard-to-tell
Mysteries one utters
When nothing’s well
And one thing
Is worse than the other.
CHASING SHADOWS
—Joe Nolan
Are you chasing shadows
Inside a mausoleum?
Have you forsaken
All your passions
For a shot at a
Greater “I?”
Incredible
As shadows may be,
Light dissolves them
Easily.
Light is light
And knows no boundaries—
No darkness can impede.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
RE-RUNS, AGAIN
—Caschwa
let us give the brave,
immortal souls of our
Patriot fathers something
better than old re-runs
to watch
______________________
Saddle up! It’s Monday, and that means a rainbow of poetry from our contributors. Thanks to them for their colorful poetry this morning! We’re talking about, among other things, “Forever”, our Seed of the Week. (Sex workers? That opened my eyes…) Be sure to check each Tuesday for the next Seed of the Week.
Straight Out Scribes are reading at the Sacramento Poetry Center tonight—always a treat! Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future readings in the NorCal area for this week and beyond, including the free online Gary Snyder tribute on July 20.
____________________
—Medusa
—Joe Nolan
Are you chasing shadows
Inside a mausoleum?
Have you forsaken
All your passions
For a shot at a
Greater “I?”
Incredible
As shadows may be,
Light dissolves them
Easily.
Light is light
And knows no boundaries—
No darkness can impede.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
RE-RUNS, AGAIN
—Caschwa
let us give the brave,
immortal souls of our
Patriot fathers something
better than old re-runs
to watch
______________________
Saddle up! It’s Monday, and that means a rainbow of poetry from our contributors. Thanks to them for their colorful poetry this morning! We’re talking about, among other things, “Forever”, our Seed of the Week. (Sex workers? That opened my eyes…) Be sure to check each Tuesday for the next Seed of the Week.
Straight Out Scribes are reading at the Sacramento Poetry Center tonight—always a treat! Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future readings in the NorCal area for this week and beyond, including the free online Gary Snyder tribute on July 20.
____________________
—Medusa
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!
