Writers in Metamorphosis

 

—Poetry by Sarah B. Culp, 

Missouri

and

Gerald Friedman,

Española, New Mexico

—Photos Courtesy of 

Public Domain

BELOVED BERNICE
—Sarah B. Culp

I see you in the old ivory keys
As my fingers glide from note to note

I hear you between melodies and harmonies
The sound of your voice outperforming them all

I see you in the wood finish of my violin
Shining brighter than the glare the light creates

I hear you in the vibrations of my strings
Humming along with the slightly out-of-tune notes

If only I could see you in the audience
Smiling with great love and admiration

If only I could hear your applause
And feel your arms squeeze me tight
For I can only feel you through the melodies  

 

 

 

 

RUBBLE
—Sarah B. Culp

I stand on the rubble of six-year-old poetry
Words written by an extinct me
They paved the way for the me of today
Falling so that I may stand tall

Poetic blocks of text lay at my feet
Building a sturdy foundation
Its platform raises me up into the clouds
Mighty yet tragically forgotten

Metaphorical concepts float about
Wedging between the old and new
Some grow old yet some remain immortal
Regardless they are like gorilla glue

Scattered papers define who I am
A writer in metamorphosis
Using what remains of the past
To create a breathtaking future 

 

 

 

 

 

ORIGIN MYTH

—Gerald Friedman
 
The first person to throw a rock
created a bird,
just as the first to eat created a worm.
The first to remember something
delivered a baby out of the fecund past,
and the first to make a graveyard
was the first to write science fiction.

 

 

 

 

 

THE POETS’ DUEL
—Gerald Friedman
 
Don’t you feel you should take more risks?
    Here’s one: Give me a palinode, or else.
I aim higher than Palin odes.
    You’re challenged, Poe taster.  You get first ups.
Kiss me, O Muse!
    O animate my musings!
The fog burns off.  A gull slices the breeze.
    Pigeons clatter before us down the street
Unaware of the gold behind their necks
    The wino’s cement stare
Can’t scare the designer girls tripping by
    Or the preacher whose bellow is like hair tonic
Gale of spite
    Scatters withered leaves
The trunk standing
    Sweats lumpily
Like futile foreplay
    Sweeter than husks of lust
Carp strain the mud
    Ticks revel in blood
Deer bury the golden seed at midnight
    When the ghost of Louise Glück walks
She’s still… while her garden rings to a cloud
    Be careful where you stolch
Track my sun-gazing tropes
    Your purple anti-paralypsis
Stichomythia
    Words’ point
Steel line
    With holes for linking
In football weather
two squirrels chase each other
neither one farther.
    Running the round direction
    they get their satisfaction.

 

 

 

 

 

DISSATISFACTION
—Gerald Friedman
 
Take me to willows, wake me with birds
when tree-trunks are yellow and dawn dies a-borning.
Lap me with woven wraps and soft words
when dark grows from ravens that croak a late warning.
 
Find fear so I’ll walk under fir-trees warily.
Reach me a stalk with a rage-red berry.
Come, hungry hawk, and thirsty hare,
scrub my talk off the deaf air.

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

THE EARTHWORM’S SONG
—Gerald Friedman

The dirt comes in my face.
The dirt goes out my ass.
For comfort, in a tricky place,
I say, "This too shall pass."

___________________

 

 

 

Sarah Culp

 

 

Sarah Culp is a poet in her early 20s out of mid-Missouri. Although she is no stranger to writing poetry, she is just beginning to put herself and her work out there. She can be reached at sarahbeepoetry@gmail.com for any further correspondence regarding poetry. 

 

 

 

Gerald Friedman

 

 

Work by Gerald Friedman has appeared in El Fogón, (the now-defunct literary magazine of Northern New Mexico Community College, now Northern New Mexico College), and on Recursive Angel, a long-defunct poetry Web site. He posted "Dissatisfaction" on Usenet at one point, and “The Earthworm's Song" was his profile on a BBS in an earlier period of history.

Welcome to the Kitchen, Sarah and Gerald, and don’t be strangers!

______________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 

For upcoming poetry events in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.

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!