Antique Panisies Glass Lamp Shade
(Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth)
—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Sayani Mukherjee,
Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stephen Kingsnorth
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stephen Kingsnorth
and Nolcha Fox
TAKE COURAGE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth,
Wrexham, Wales
It was of glass, above the bunk,
my boyhood cover, bedroom lamp,
except the scheme, repeated face,
of vivid pansies, staring eyes,
viola flowers, parade of scare.
My parents thought herbaceous care,
a pretty nurture nursery,
quite unaware of mares invoked;
evicting tabby, goodnight kiss,
those petals loomed, round bedhead danced.
That shade still hangs above my head,
a flex suspended, beams from roof,
and turning, twisting, from the rose,
I see the wall, as I grew up,
reflect on shapes that pranced by bed.
Courage, canvassed, mores too wide.
I hope for focus to provide
a concentrate, issue distilled,
to sum in one ekphrastic phase
some element, essential case.
In light alone, seen silhouette,
though shade is dead, the shadow moves,
so spreads more fear than real requires,
and gingerly, more paws, less speed,
though source that’s feared is manely ours.
For father, Courage, branded beer,
for Mother Courage, Bertolt Brecht,
for kiddie courage, cancer care—
what vistas range from single word,
shared stories from experience.
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth,
Wrexham, Wales
It was of glass, above the bunk,
my boyhood cover, bedroom lamp,
except the scheme, repeated face,
of vivid pansies, staring eyes,
viola flowers, parade of scare.
My parents thought herbaceous care,
a pretty nurture nursery,
quite unaware of mares invoked;
evicting tabby, goodnight kiss,
those petals loomed, round bedhead danced.
That shade still hangs above my head,
a flex suspended, beams from roof,
and turning, twisting, from the rose,
I see the wall, as I grew up,
reflect on shapes that pranced by bed.
Courage, canvassed, mores too wide.
I hope for focus to provide
a concentrate, issue distilled,
to sum in one ekphrastic phase
some element, essential case.
In light alone, seen silhouette,
though shade is dead, the shadow moves,
so spreads more fear than real requires,
and gingerly, more paws, less speed,
though source that’s feared is manely ours.
For father, Courage, branded beer,
for Mother Courage, Bertolt Brecht,
for kiddie courage, cancer care—
what vistas range from single word,
shared stories from experience.
Courage Lager Rooster
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth
EATING EACH OTHER
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Cicada, you burrow
between my lips,
slide down my throat.
You suck the sap
from my ribcage.
I collapse,
unravel,
at the weight
of the wait
for you.
At the end
of my breath,
you emerge,
singing,
from the slit
I knifed
in my chest.
I eat you.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Cicada, you burrow
between my lips,
slide down my throat.
You suck the sap
from my ribcage.
I collapse,
unravel,
at the weight
of the wait
for you.
At the end
of my breath,
you emerge,
singing,
from the slit
I knifed
in my chest.
I eat you.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Nolcha Fox
Stay as long as you want
but pay by the hour
at the Underbelly Motel.
VACANCY is a bat
blinking at your headlights.
Your room is reserved.
The spider in the corner
grants absolution
for a bottle of gin.
Your lust lays on stained sheets
with her legs wide open.
Leave your pants on the floor
and your conscience in the fridge.
—Nolcha Fox
but pay by the hour
at the Underbelly Motel.
VACANCY is a bat
blinking at your headlights.
Your room is reserved.
The spider in the corner
grants absolution
for a bottle of gin.
Your lust lays on stained sheets
with her legs wide open.
Leave your pants on the floor
and your conscience in the fridge.
—Nolcha Fox
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
JUSTICE
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
My listless wings found a home,
A dove's nest, home spirit
Or soul homeostasis.
Drunk-driving sacrificing
Grinding against rubbles
I tampered with my own.
What happens in deep waters?
Losses, crystals shrieking
At the far end of the almond nut
The crack cries
Justice system, Libra's stand
In deep-down
Joan of Arc, Persephone
Salem Witch trials, the high crucibles
All for the losses
Possession of men, hypocrisy, manners
Angry pitch in perfect black
White robes’ pendulum
Rules’ command committed.
But, under deep water is
Feminine
A dark serpent
Coiling merging divine devilish
No heads no tails
Sirens’ enchantress puppetry
An invitation
Ropes, rubies under her world
Nurture-nature cadavers echoing
Under her belly
The dark reigns
Deep knots
It breaks off the system.
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
My listless wings found a home,
A dove's nest, home spirit
Or soul homeostasis.
Drunk-driving sacrificing
Grinding against rubbles
I tampered with my own.
What happens in deep waters?
Losses, crystals shrieking
At the far end of the almond nut
The crack cries
Justice system, Libra's stand
In deep-down
Joan of Arc, Persephone
Salem Witch trials, the high crucibles
All for the losses
Possession of men, hypocrisy, manners
Angry pitch in perfect black
White robes’ pendulum
Rules’ command committed.
But, under deep water is
Feminine
A dark serpent
Coiling merging divine devilish
No heads no tails
Sirens’ enchantress puppetry
An invitation
Ropes, rubies under her world
Nurture-nature cadavers echoing
Under her belly
The dark reigns
Deep knots
It breaks off the system.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
ROOM
—Sayani Mukherjee
One room talks for long—
A single vase, a simple waiting
Roses by the window
For my two
A quite roseblush shop.
A single season
A solemn warfare.
My solitude
An overpriced vain, necessary stability.
Four pentacles
A grilled stamp-card
Necessary for the sign.
Two weeks, three days, diaried days
Critiqued, laid, flat, opened, cocooned
By the single vase
For the roses blushes, sheets, pinks
By the gates
By the curtains
Strange air, levitating, crunchy—
Airborne nymphs
Ricochets, second chances
Without cracks, we are not humans
Thorns, thrones, through
Days diaried, dialogues dialed
Filling out on vagaries, postcards
Flights, spinoff, stamped, parceled, motored
Mobility, mechanical, stability.
Against,
The rose-gold blushes in pouring rain
A tinkling seed
A single room for two.
—Sayani Mukherjee
One room talks for long—
A single vase, a simple waiting
Roses by the window
For my two
A quite roseblush shop.
A single season
A solemn warfare.
My solitude
An overpriced vain, necessary stability.
Four pentacles
A grilled stamp-card
Necessary for the sign.
Two weeks, three days, diaried days
Critiqued, laid, flat, opened, cocooned
By the single vase
For the roses blushes, sheets, pinks
By the gates
By the curtains
Strange air, levitating, crunchy—
Airborne nymphs
Ricochets, second chances
Without cracks, we are not humans
Thorns, thrones, through
Days diaried, dialogues dialed
Filling out on vagaries, postcards
Flights, spinoff, stamped, parceled, motored
Mobility, mechanical, stability.
Against,
The rose-gold blushes in pouring rain
A tinkling seed
A single room for two.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
FLOATING IN
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
I float as though
A kite upon a string,
Above your verdant landscape
In the Spring,
Descend into your quiet
Living room
To see your brilliant flowers
In their Springtime bloom.
Though I live a
Thousand miles away,
A cord is there
And somehow pulls me in.
There I wake
Another waking—
Not a dream.
You are there.
Somehow,
That is all it takes.
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
I float as though
A kite upon a string,
Above your verdant landscape
In the Spring,
Descend into your quiet
Living room
To see your brilliant flowers
In their Springtime bloom.
Though I live a
Thousand miles away,
A cord is there
And somehow pulls me in.
There I wake
Another waking—
Not a dream.
You are there.
Somehow,
That is all it takes.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
SPACE, TIME AND ROOMINESS
—Joe Nolan
I like things
All spread out
And smooth,
Like gelatin
Across a
Crystal floor.
They cannot
Be too crowded
Or I revolt,
Not knowing
What that’s for.
Carpets are
For beggars
Who can’t
Accept a floor,
Suddenly held
Beneath them,
Refusing to
Accept “what-for.”
Room is room
For roominess—
A place
To glow and shine.
Time is for
Remembrance,
For acceptance,
For rich, red wine.
—Joe Nolan
I like things
All spread out
And smooth,
Like gelatin
Across a
Crystal floor.
They cannot
Be too crowded
Or I revolt,
Not knowing
What that’s for.
Carpets are
For beggars
Who can’t
Accept a floor,
Suddenly held
Beneath them,
Refusing to
Accept “what-for.”
Room is room
For roominess—
A place
To glow and shine.
Time is for
Remembrance,
For acceptance,
For rich, red wine.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
BUZZARDS AND ROAD-KILL
—Joe Nolan
One block south of Fremont,
The buzzards circle, still,
Knowing it’s within range
To eat the recent-kill.
Fremont is a common name
For streets in the Golden State.
Buzzards only worry
They might arrive too late
To savor a large portion
Of road-kill.
—Joe Nolan
One block south of Fremont,
The buzzards circle, still,
Knowing it’s within range
To eat the recent-kill.
Fremont is a common name
For streets in the Golden State.
Buzzards only worry
They might arrive too late
To savor a large portion
Of road-kill.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
FRESH, HOT BREAD
—Joe Nolan
Roll it over.
Dust with flour.
Gather power.
Mash again.
Let it rise.
Knock it down.
Let it rise
A second time.
Put it in
A buttered pan.
Put it in
An oven.
Cook it until
Golden-brown.
Let mouths water,
All around.
Delight the table,
All surround.
Fresh hot bread!
Oh, the smell!
As long as we
Have something
So luscious,
We shall salivate
And celebrate,
Breaking bread,
Together!
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Brett Jordan and Nolcha Fox
of Brett Jordan and Nolcha Fox
Today’s LittleNip:
Courage is
getting up before dawn
and starting the day
without coffee.
—Nolcha Fox
____________________
Kourage Kat welcomes you to Monday morning, casting his/her lionesque shadow on the wall in honor of our Seed of the Week: Courage. As Nolcha Fox writes, courage is just getting up in the morning these days—and maybe it always was… Anyway, thanks to today’s contributors for getting us up, whatever bravery is required. And be sure to check each Tuesday for the week’s Seed of the Week.
Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about future poetry events in the NorCal area. Poetry in Motion returns to Placerville this Monday morning, 10:30am, and Ladies of the Knight return to Sac. Poetry Center tonight (7pm). Wednesday brings an online conversation with Royal Chicano Air Force Artists (4pm). Thursday night, Poetry Night Reading Series in Davis presents Margaret Ronda and Augusta Funk plus open mic (7pm), and Sacraento's Joe Montoya’s Poetry Unplugged features readers and open mic, starting at 8pm.
If you’re down in Livermore on Sunday, Verse on the Vine begins its new series: Livermore Poets Laureate, Past and Present (3pm). For details on these and other poetry events that might pop up during the week, click on UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column.
Deborah Fruchey’s Strictly East monthly newsletter full of submission calls and East Bay (and otherwheres) poetry events for October is now available at www.strictly-east.org/.
Artists Embassy International’s long-running (29 years!) Dancing Poetry Festival (www.dancingpoetry.com), which aims to present poetry and dance as a unified art form, is on YouTube this year, and is being presented in three parts: Part One premiered on Sept 24 (see https://youtu.be/rkjKVuyX_KA); Part Two premiered this past Saturday, Oct. 15 (see
Deborah Fruchey’s Strictly East monthly newsletter full of submission calls and East Bay (and otherwheres) poetry events for October is now available at www.strictly-east.org/.
Artists Embassy International’s long-running (29 years!) Dancing Poetry Festival (www.dancingpoetry.com), which aims to present poetry and dance as a unified art form, is on YouTube this year, and is being presented in three parts: Part One premiered on Sept 24 (see https://youtu.be/rkjKVuyX_KA); Part Two premiered this past Saturday, Oct. 15 (see
https://youtu.be/U6JdAAjYhYk); and Part Three will premier at noon on November 5. Announcements of Artists Embassy International’s Gold Seal Book Awards of 2022 are also awarded. Artists Embassy International and The Dancing Poetry Festival thank you for sharing in this outreach of the work of the arts in the world toward understanding and peace.
Just reminding everyone that Oct. 26 is Sacramento Poetry Day, thanks to a proclamation signed in 1996 by then-Mayor Anne Rudin. [For more about that, click on the SACRAMENTO POETRY DAY by PATRICK GRIZZELL link at the top of this column.] Current Sacramento Poet Laureate Andru Defeye reports that, on Oct. 13, the Sacramento City Unified School District School Board signed a resolution which includes “valuing poets at their worth, creating opportunities for poets, and celebrating Sacramento Poetry Day every year on October 26th.” Here is the resolution:
Just reminding everyone that Oct. 26 is Sacramento Poetry Day, thanks to a proclamation signed in 1996 by then-Mayor Anne Rudin. [For more about that, click on the SACRAMENTO POETRY DAY by PATRICK GRIZZELL link at the top of this column.] Current Sacramento Poet Laureate Andru Defeye reports that, on Oct. 13, the Sacramento City Unified School District School Board signed a resolution which includes “valuing poets at their worth, creating opportunities for poets, and celebrating Sacramento Poetry Day every year on October 26th.” Here is the resolution:
Go to the UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS link for more about this year’s celebration of Sacramento Poetry Day, and our thanks to Andru Defeye for the role he has had in this year's events.
____________________
—Medusa
____________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Joe Nolan
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!
by all this poetry!
