—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down to
Form Fiddlers’ Friday!!
ESCAPING THE DREAM
Spend the endless hours on a trivial thing
never to be accomplished—picking a lock?
setting table where pineapple and okra sup?
running circles in a labyrinthine ring?
Dreams acknowledge no time by the clock.
Trust the morning senses of my aging pup
whining for a daylight-opening door,
nudging me from such sleep waves. Shock—
dawn-choice intrudes. My coffee cup
beckons. Ideas. Time to hit the actual floor.
Wake up!
Spend the endless hours on a trivial thing
never to be accomplished—picking a lock?
setting table where pineapple and okra sup?
running circles in a labyrinthine ring?
Dreams acknowledge no time by the clock.
Trust the morning senses of my aging pup
whining for a daylight-opening door,
nudging me from such sleep waves. Shock—
dawn-choice intrudes. My coffee cup
beckons. Ideas. Time to hit the actual floor.
Wake up!
SOURCES
By choice I drove the winding stretch of Greenstone,
2-lane narrow as a snake’s waistline, chip-seal
not asphalt, the great over-leaning oaks blessing me
as I passed underneath. It seemed the very
provenance of green.
Then came the flagmen vested in blaze-orange,
men with chainsaws and chippers.
At pavement’s edge, jetsam of trunks & limbs
whose leaves didn’t know they were already dead.
What is the provenance of grief?
By choice I drove the winding stretch of Greenstone,
2-lane narrow as a snake’s waistline, chip-seal
not asphalt, the great over-leaning oaks blessing me
as I passed underneath. It seemed the very
provenance of green.
Then came the flagmen vested in blaze-orange,
men with chainsaws and chippers.
At pavement’s edge, jetsam of trunks & limbs
whose leaves didn’t know they were already dead.
What is the provenance of grief?
SO CLOSE
Preplanning failed,
I arrived head of schedule.
What to do—look, a wetlands
just off the main drag. Scrub my plans,
start walking, observe flora and fauna,
breathe fresh air. Oh, but the trail
was edged with bulrush cattail, willow
too dense to penetrate. Somewhere —
just meters away—natural water flowed;
somewhere out of sight, birds sang
and frogs boomed, their songs
drowned by sound of traffic.
Bad choice, I was stuck on the trail
wide and paved. It dared me
find a way into Nature.
Preplanning failed,
I arrived head of schedule.
What to do—look, a wetlands
just off the main drag. Scrub my plans,
start walking, observe flora and fauna,
breathe fresh air. Oh, but the trail
was edged with bulrush cattail, willow
too dense to penetrate. Somewhere —
just meters away—natural water flowed;
somewhere out of sight, birds sang
and frogs boomed, their songs
drowned by sound of traffic.
Bad choice, I was stuck on the trail
wide and paved. It dared me
find a way into Nature.
FRONT PORCH RAMP
He “walked the plank” from bed to car
just for a drive up the mountain.
His choice: first time outside the house in weeks,
supported by two stout broomsticks.
It was tiring.
His choice: first time outside the house in weeks,
supported by two stout broomsticks.
It was tiring, but
he walked the plank from bed to car
just for a drive up the mountain.
He “walked the plank” from bed to car
just for a drive up the mountain.
His choice: first time outside the house in weeks,
supported by two stout broomsticks.
It was tiring.
His choice: first time outside the house in weeks,
supported by two stout broomsticks.
It was tiring, but
he walked the plank from bed to car
just for a drive up the mountain.
SPARK
In slight breeze, if a puff of smoke should rise
beyond the ridge like sirens without sound
or as a constellation signifies
you don’t know what. It lives behind your eyes
if you should walk on sun-burned land, your ground
combustible as all about us moves
with chance and destiny not sought but found,
end-of-summer leaves let loose around
and underfoot that quakes inside the grooves
of commonplace choices, expectancies,
and a slight breeze gathers till it behooves
the leaves to speak in tongues the wind approves
and as the smoke on higher currents flees
the sky opens choices on every breeze.
In slight breeze, if a puff of smoke should rise
beyond the ridge like sirens without sound
or as a constellation signifies
you don’t know what. It lives behind your eyes
if you should walk on sun-burned land, your ground
combustible as all about us moves
with chance and destiny not sought but found,
end-of-summer leaves let loose around
and underfoot that quakes inside the grooves
of commonplace choices, expectancies,
and a slight breeze gathers till it behooves
the leaves to speak in tongues the wind approves
and as the smoke on higher currents flees
the sky opens choices on every breeze.
INSIDE TIME AND WEATHER
photo of an old fort
Time has signed its name
all over this body—this building’s flesh—
its out-of-kilter doorways, rough steps. Evidence
of brushes, pencils, fingernail scratchings, pressure
of palms paused in perplexity
feeling for handhold, soles for foothold midst
of long-ago imperatives. As if they had no choice
at any turn. The ceiling has leaked so much weather.
Dingy walls witness the idea of windows
where there are none. If you choose correctly,
you’ll solve the maze, you’ll surface into daylight
and free air. Don’t stop to think of those
who may not have found a way out
in time.
photo of an old fort
Time has signed its name
all over this body—this building’s flesh—
its out-of-kilter doorways, rough steps. Evidence
of brushes, pencils, fingernail scratchings, pressure
of palms paused in perplexity
feeling for handhold, soles for foothold midst
of long-ago imperatives. As if they had no choice
at any turn. The ceiling has leaked so much weather.
Dingy walls witness the idea of windows
where there are none. If you choose correctly,
you’ll solve the maze, you’ll surface into daylight
and free air. Don’t stop to think of those
who may not have found a way out
in time.
Today’s LittleNip:
IMAGINING STORM
—Taylor Graham
Land is stubble-dry
under cloudless sky—
an endless why?
until it rains
and the black clouds run,
bolting one by one—
horses blotting sun,
silver-drenched manes.
IMAGINING STORM
—Taylor Graham
Land is stubble-dry
under cloudless sky—
an endless why?
until it rains
and the black clouds run,
bolting one by one—
horses blotting sun,
silver-drenched manes.
* * *
Taylor Graham has written to us about Choices—our Tuesday Seed of the Week—and the drought and heat and finding our way into Nature… Forms she has used include the Word-Can Poem (“Sources” & “So Close”); a Bradford Sonnet (“Spark”); a LittleJoyce (“Front Porch Ramp); an Ekphrastic Poem (“Inside Time and Weather”); a Welsh Cyhydedd Hir, one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges (“Imagining Storm); and a Curtal Sonnet, the other Triple-F Challenge (“Escaping the Dream”).
For more about just what it is that haunts the north Oregon coast landmark of Fort Stevens and Battery Russell, see https://www.beachconnection.net/news/fortgh103112_537.php/.
Busy Saturday coming up in our area, assuming the weather/smoke doesn’t cancel any of it: The Way of Poetry workshop meets on Saturday morning; Linda Scheller and Gary Thomas read at MusicLandria Saturday afternoon; West Trestle Review presents Silver Tongue Saturdays (a new series) in Auburn on Saturday afternoon, featuring Aileen Cassinetto; and Second Saturdays at the Brickhouse Art Gallery will feature L.C. in the evening. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area.
And now it’s time for:
Form Fiddler’s 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
Today is as exciting
as sliced white bread
with no butter,
no honey,
a day looking
forward to becoming
a rancid tuna salad
sandwich.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
* * *
Soft white bread
folds and trembles
when weighted
down with
meat and cheese.
But it’s great
for squeezing
into balls to
throw at other people.
—Nolcha Fox
* * *
Dogs and buttered toast aren’t cats
because they land wrong side down.
You are a cat, elegant
in words, in motion.
I’m not fooled
by slick persuasion.
At heart you are
a dirty dog.
Your toast is buttered
with margarine.
—Nolcha Fox
(prev. pub. on Whispers and Echoes)
DAILY BREAD
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
But is this bread as I would choose,
sliced machine then knifed again,
a flat white piled for lentil stew,
a mess of pottage on the brew?
Preservative, suspect the taste,
though holesome as Emmental cheese,
a crust for beggar, refugee,
but not bucolic, rustic ways.
Was this as manna, early rise?
Did some breathe deep the oven waft?
Was comment made beyond the walls?
Did buds break forth, bloomer delight?
Not in my cottage, loaf surprise.
I want to know the seed and grain,
to see the sickle swathe the field,
and know those gleaners, bellies filled;
with stooks and haystacks, winter feed,
and stubble, barley beards removed,
cider, beer, and thatching laid.
Then later, yeast to raise the flour,
meet the butter, greet the meal.
I’m sorry if this cob offends—
you note vast range of staple names—
whilst breaking, common holy meal,
we know God’s life in every day,
the one, like bread, with many names.
* * *
GRAIN TO CRUST
—Stephen Kingsnorth
The baker’s hands, enfolding flour,
in early hours of dusting clouds,
with sweat of beating, oven power—
full fruit of farmer’s toil in soil,
and miller’s grinding at the wheel—
work hours combined to harvest time,
serve crusty pile of cottage loaves.
That cropping, winnow, flair-blown grain,
its progress through yeast secret work,
to pastry resting, rising sun.
All gathered ages, celebrate,
when seasons’ cycle rolled right through,
to mark field, market place, the trade
and its tools, food delivery.
* * *
This poem by Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) is an Ekphrastic one, as well as last week’s Triple-F Challenge, the Curtal Sonnet:
PICK YOUR BLADE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
starting out, pick up a gleaming machete
then rest your hand on a top-notch saber
can you keep a secret? include a bread knife
they’re always really handy, waiting, and ready
you won’t need to borrow from your neighbor
don’t forget what you learned from your wife:
power tools are fine in the shop, not here
warning, keeping them sharp is manual labor
find the right convenience tools, ease not strife
drop those dreams of caveman with a spear
slice that fresh-baked bread and enjoy your life
* * *
Here is an Acrostic from Nolcha Fox:
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
But is this bread as I would choose,
sliced machine then knifed again,
a flat white piled for lentil stew,
a mess of pottage on the brew?
Preservative, suspect the taste,
though holesome as Emmental cheese,
a crust for beggar, refugee,
but not bucolic, rustic ways.
Was this as manna, early rise?
Did some breathe deep the oven waft?
Was comment made beyond the walls?
Did buds break forth, bloomer delight?
Not in my cottage, loaf surprise.
I want to know the seed and grain,
to see the sickle swathe the field,
and know those gleaners, bellies filled;
with stooks and haystacks, winter feed,
and stubble, barley beards removed,
cider, beer, and thatching laid.
Then later, yeast to raise the flour,
meet the butter, greet the meal.
I’m sorry if this cob offends—
you note vast range of staple names—
whilst breaking, common holy meal,
we know God’s life in every day,
the one, like bread, with many names.
* * *
GRAIN TO CRUST
—Stephen Kingsnorth
The baker’s hands, enfolding flour,
in early hours of dusting clouds,
with sweat of beating, oven power—
full fruit of farmer’s toil in soil,
and miller’s grinding at the wheel—
work hours combined to harvest time,
serve crusty pile of cottage loaves.
That cropping, winnow, flair-blown grain,
its progress through yeast secret work,
to pastry resting, rising sun.
All gathered ages, celebrate,
when seasons’ cycle rolled right through,
to mark field, market place, the trade
and its tools, food delivery.
* * *
This poem by Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) is an Ekphrastic one, as well as last week’s Triple-F Challenge, the Curtal Sonnet:
PICK YOUR BLADE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
starting out, pick up a gleaming machete
then rest your hand on a top-notch saber
can you keep a secret? include a bread knife
they’re always really handy, waiting, and ready
you won’t need to borrow from your neighbor
don’t forget what you learned from your wife:
power tools are fine in the shop, not here
warning, keeping them sharp is manual labor
find the right convenience tools, ease not strife
drop those dreams of caveman with a spear
slice that fresh-baked bread and enjoy your life
* * *
Here is an Acrostic from Nolcha Fox:
DOGS ON DRUGS
—Nolcha Fox
Dogs
Rush in
Under, around my feet
Goo-goo eyes only for food
Spinning
* * *
Joyce Odam has sent us a Vivianne today, a “15-line Rimas Dissolutas Sonnet incorporating iambic pentameter, and rhyming abcd,abcd,abcd,eee, for ‘subtle rhyming’ ending with a strong rhyming triplet. (Pattern created by Marianne Logan).” This form previously appeared in Poets’ Forum Magazine, but you probably won’t find it online, so we’ll just go with Joyce’s description. Here is Joyce’s Vivianne; the important things to remember are iambic pentameter, rhyming abcd, abcd, abcd, eee:
THE BEAUTIFUL HORSE
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
There is a sway in life—there is a sway
that moves in itself and never knows it moves,
whatever sets itself against some force,
whatever we desire and think to hold,
something in the mind that won’t obey
its own resistance, some old rule that proves :
seductive choice becomes its own remorse
—like follies of the young are to the old.
There’s always something that you can’t make stay
when the mind imprisons what it loves :
In moonlight I beheld a beautiful horse
that would not come to me, though I cajoled
and thought to possess with love. It stared at me :
whatever haunts us knows just where to be
—something that the mind will not set free.
(prev. pub. in Poets Forum Magazine, 2004,
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/14/18)
—Nolcha Fox
Dogs
Rush in
Under, around my feet
Goo-goo eyes only for food
Spinning
* * *
Joyce Odam has sent us a Vivianne today, a “15-line Rimas Dissolutas Sonnet incorporating iambic pentameter, and rhyming abcd,abcd,abcd,eee, for ‘subtle rhyming’ ending with a strong rhyming triplet. (Pattern created by Marianne Logan).” This form previously appeared in Poets’ Forum Magazine, but you probably won’t find it online, so we’ll just go with Joyce’s description. Here is Joyce’s Vivianne; the important things to remember are iambic pentameter, rhyming abcd, abcd, abcd, eee:
THE BEAUTIFUL HORSE
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
There is a sway in life—there is a sway
that moves in itself and never knows it moves,
whatever sets itself against some force,
whatever we desire and think to hold,
something in the mind that won’t obey
its own resistance, some old rule that proves :
seductive choice becomes its own remorse
—like follies of the young are to the old.
There’s always something that you can’t make stay
when the mind imprisons what it loves :
In moonlight I beheld a beautiful horse
that would not come to me, though I cajoled
and thought to possess with love. It stared at me :
whatever haunts us knows just where to be
—something that the mind will not set free.
(prev. pub. in Poets Forum Magazine, 2004,
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/14/18)
Here is a little ditty from Joyce called the Snare, another one of those forms that has floated around but doesn’t appear on Google:
Rhymed: AXA, bxb, cxc, dxd, AXA
Syllables: 343 454 565 676 343
ON TEMPTATION
—Joyce Odam
It is here—
the hidden trap.
Why go near?
Others have failed
to go safely past.
Their eyes stay veiled.
The innocent map
can’t warn you away,
or mention the trap.
It’s a choice, not a clue—
to recognize and avoid,
or learn what teaches you.
It is here—
the hidden trap.
Why go near?
* * *
We shall close with another Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth. Stanzas 4-5 tell the tale of his wrassle with Parkinson’s (“the shake”), and how poetry helps him in that battle:
Rhymed: AXA, bxb, cxc, dxd, AXA
Syllables: 343 454 565 676 343
ON TEMPTATION
—Joyce Odam
It is here—
the hidden trap.
Why go near?
Others have failed
to go safely past.
Their eyes stay veiled.
The innocent map
can’t warn you away,
or mention the trap.
It’s a choice, not a clue—
to recognize and avoid,
or learn what teaches you.
It is here—
the hidden trap.
Why go near?
* * *
We shall close with another Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth. Stanzas 4-5 tell the tale of his wrassle with Parkinson’s (“the shake”), and how poetry helps him in that battle:
DISTRACTION
—Stephen Kingsnorth
I fear distraction, why I write,
a double-take on what I give,
if not the treble, betting odds,
though I am no gambling man.
The meal comes as my terms are turned,
needs grace is real, though not a prayer;
a lonesome, would-be poet, home,
where verse is my soliloquy.
But focus chosen by my ache,
what heart, mind tells what to be done,
through tools supplied, this journeyman,
and noted, observation post.
Though focus stolen less absorbed
by work at hand and not the shake,
the metre walked, the feet restrained,
unless in body of my verse.
So tonic, tablet, trail of soles,
each play their part, resist the creep,
but none blot nerve ends, paths of pain,
than dopamine, creating verse.
My style for reading, not recite—
for who could hear the word playwright?
too dense for some, though pick what fits—
though sorry if expecting rhyme.
____________________
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 CHALLENGES!
•••Sonnet, Vivianne: 15-line Rimas Dissolutas Sonnet incorporating iambic pentameter, and rhyming abcd,abcd,abcd,eee, for ‘subtle rhyming’ ending with a strong rhyming triplet. (Pattern created by Marianne Logan). This form previously appeared in Poets’ Forum Magazine, but you probably won’t find it online, so we’ll just go with Joyce’s description, and follow her example up above here, “The Beautiful Horse”.
•••And/or you could try Joyce’s Snare:
Rhymed: AXA, bxb, cxc, dxd, AXA
Syllables: 343 454 565 676 343
(See her “On Temptation” up above.)
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic Photo.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Strange Bedfellows”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Acrostic: literarydevices.net/acrostic
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Cyhydedd Hir: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/cyhydedd-hir-poetic-forms
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••LittleJoyce (Joyce Odam): 4-ft/4-ft/5-ft/4-ft/2-ft
•••Snare: Rhymed: AXA, bxb, cxc, dxd, AXA
Syllables: 343 454 565 676 343
•••Sonnet, Bradford: abaabcbb cdcc dd
•••Sonnet, Curtal: blog.prepscholar.com/what-is-a-sonnet-poem-form (and scroll down)
•••Sonnet, Vivianne: 15-line Rimas Dissolutas Sonnet incorporating iambic pentameter, and rhyming abcd,abcd,abcd,eee, for ‘subtle rhyming’ ending with a strong rhyming triplet. (Pattern created by Marianne Logan).
•••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.
For more about meter, see:
•••www.studiobinder.com/blog/what-is-iambic-pentameter-definition-literature •••www.pandorapost.com/2021/05/examples-of-iambic-pentameter-tetrameter-and-trimeter-in-poetry.html
•••nosweatshakespeare.com/sonnets/iambic-pentameter
•••www.thoughtco.com/introducing-iambic-pentameter-2985082
•••www.nfi.edu/iambic-pentameter
____________________
—Medusa
See what you can make of the above
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
***
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
For upcoming poetry happenings 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.
