DOUBLE HELIX
blank verse
Within the spirals of life’s rousing ride
we carry DNA and spirit prints,
plus drama, foibles, freedoms and talents
through every primal and transcendent fire.
Attempting to master loop-the-loops, we lean
to milder turns and fewer jarring dips—
delighted when we pause and compromise,
cast sun on polar views to clear the fog,
rehearse some stellar acts reflecting love.
When joy bear-hugs and we hug snugly back,
we sip the tasty tea of miracles,
believe that we will thrive on earth forever…
Yet, somewhere on the journey, planets which
had circled, marked our birthplace, tumble free:
the helix starts to memorize our passage.
When we can cling no longer, the helix
gives us wings for letting go. Then we rise,
pick out our own blue hammock in the sky.
LAST PAINTING
At van Gogh’s gunshot
the gaunt wings of crows
he had slashed onto canvas
over asylum wheatfields
had gashed open the sky.
Where Vincent fell
painters and visionaries saw
sunflowers springing lively
from his fingertips.
FOR POET POST
It’s second-level pain
to read your book
on childhood sexual abuse
you appear to have written
in a subconscious shadowy closet.
I sense where you struggled
for strong-enough words, maybe
had wrenched, retched, left a
too-painful passage half-expressed—
to a spiked coke unending prayer.
Poet, I too was sexually abused!
We swarms of daughters, cousins,
mothers, Nuns could populate a large
country whose maimed citizens
are learning to SCREAM out loud!
HOW TO PRAY
I don’t know how to pray,
but some of my phrases
fall humble on their knees.
Or, without a camera
my eyes photograph ripples
in a Benicia inlet
like for an hour yesterday.
And this: a collie greets me at
a café, likewise I greet the collie,
both wag tails, both smile.
If this isn’t prayer,
tell me.
(prev. pub. in Benicia Herald)
OCEAN MEDITATION
Listening to ocean waves,
breathing
slowly
evenly
we inhale
with
others
fused
interpretations
on universal
themes
numerous
as galaxies. . .
In silence
we inhale
essences
of each becoming more.
HIGH WIRE
We balance a pole, start across
a chasm
a fragile net
to catch us
if we fall
Some days
soles too wide
too slick
poles tip
almost slip
from grip
Trying to
rebalance
through
inner
& outer
weathers
we may wonder
why we defy
gravity
when this is not
a circus act
but our own one life in progress.
HARVESTING APPLES
Apple ambrosia
rides our planet’s blue
circumference, touches sand
grains, leaves, raindrops,
apple dust, our hands.
Storms shake the trees,
stir nectar and root.
May the finest
be the ones we give away:
yellows for friendly strangers,
cored and sliced for the ill;
sweet green for the disenchanted,
bushels of hearty red
for the hungry and homeless.
When we climb mystical ladders
gathering in prime time, leaves
crown our heads,
fresh orbs nudge our cheeks.
This one day we feel godly.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
NOVEMBER MAPLE
—Claire J. Baker
Three
dark-
orange
leaves
facing
the sun
fly
off
as
robins…
____________________
—Medusa, with bushels of thanks to Claire Baker today for her fine poetry!
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.
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!
