Sploosh!

 

—Public Domain Photo by Tamas Pap

—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

breakfast

is a bowl
of chronic
stress,
full of
pebbles
looking
for a shoe.


(prev. pub. on Diphthong Lit)

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo by Samuel Scrimshaw

 

When Your Wife Writes Weird Poetry

How many times you’ve asked me
why I’m out of bed so late at night.
Sleep can’t compete with a poem
birthing in my brain.
And yelling to be written down.

How many times you’ve
found weird poetry waiting
for you to read when you get up.
It breaks convention as you know it.
You don’t know what to say.

I love poetry like
you love Godzilla.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo by Valier Blanchett

 

 

Dear failed poet,

Yes, we rejected
your poem again,
the one you sent
us seven times.
Read between
the lines.
We’re holding
your scribbles
hostage.
Send us money,
we won’t shame you
on Twitter.


(prev. pub. on Diphthong Lit)

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo by Anton

 

At first

we thought it wouldn’t last,
wore lipstick under masks.
As fear wore on
and wore us down,
we lost our snouts and lips.
We couldn’t breathe.
We couldn’t talk.
We didn’t recognize our friends,
thought everyone would kill us.

Though now we have removed our masks,
we still feel isolated.
Though now we have our faces back,
we don’t know who to trust.

 

 

 

  —Public Domain Photo by Annette Batista Day

 

Ocean

I am your merchild,
water and salt.
I leap through your surf,
toss my smile
to your waves,
unaware that you

reclaim what is yours. 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo by Alexandru Tudorache

 

She’s a snoop

who peeks through windows,
records our conversations,
looks for our misdeeds.
She digs up dirt
or makes it up
when we are doing nothing.
She publishes her findings
on social media sites,
laughing as we swarm as bees
in her yellow trench coat.

 

 

 

  —Public Domain Photo by Rene Bohmer

You scrape

your shadow off the wall
with a spatula,
toss it in the frying pan
with butter and bacon
to fatten it up.
You eat it.

You cast a bigger shadow now.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo by Thomas Dills

 

Suicide Note
for John Yamrus

These words
are haphazard,
fluid, alive.
These words breathe.
These words
are a suicide note
scribbled in haste,
covered in sweat
and blood and tears.
These words
are this moment.
They mean so little,
so much.
Love them
and move on.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo by Thomas Dills

 

 

Happiness comes between

breaths that break
an icy moon
into diamonds.
Happiness comes
in the middle
of muddled
apologies.
Happiness slips
between steps
on a carpet of leaves.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo by Jonathan Daniels

 

Forever

Forever might be shorter
than spring flower bloom,
scorched by summer sun.

Forever might be shorter
than the second half of joy,
knowing pain is sure to follow.

Forever might be shorter
than the upturn of your lips
when you smile.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo by George Cox

Today’s LittleNip:

Sploosh
—Nolcha Fox

Waves slap the rocks,
a prelude to goodbye.

_________________

Welcome back to Nolcha Fox, sending us waves of poetry from Wyoming!

The Poets Club of Lincoln meets this afternoon at 3pm. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.

________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

Nolcha Fox

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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!