—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Joe Nolan,
Sayani Mukherjee, Keith Snow
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox, and Keith Snow
OLD FASHIONED JOY IS . . . .
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Orphan Annie’s lost dog
bounds up out of autumn leaves
near where Annie waits;
A child’s fever lifts.
then their magical first snowfall;
Scribbling your phone # on a napkin
to preserve like a rare parchment;
Licking the last spoonful of mom’s cake
batter from mixing bowl, placing it down
for the cat’s sandpaper tongue.
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Orphan Annie’s lost dog
bounds up out of autumn leaves
near where Annie waits;
A child’s fever lifts.
then their magical first snowfall;
Scribbling your phone # on a napkin
to preserve like a rare parchment;
Licking the last spoonful of mom’s cake
batter from mixing bowl, placing it down
for the cat’s sandpaper tongue.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
The real poem
is a woman in a formal gown
and flowers in her curls
leaping over tables to celebrate
the new year
while nobody notices.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
is a woman in a formal gown
and flowers in her curls
leaping over tables to celebrate
the new year
while nobody notices.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
—Public Domain Photo
CRACKS
—Nolcha Fox
Sunlight cracks the darkness open.
Grab the fading moonbeams splitting
floorboards into splinters, store them
in the sidewalk cracks between the weeds.
Toss sunflower seed shells burst between
cracked knuckles into moments split between
stray thoughts. Watch sunflowers grow.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
I’m grateful
for the frosted grass,
the snow dust on the walkway,
that sing of end of autumn reds
and cold caress of winter.
I’m grateful for the morning stars,
the blues and pinks of sunrise,
that promise me another day
with you.
—Nolcha Fox
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
One day that I
who looks at me in the mirror
will step through, that twin who
knows my heart, who keeps
my secrets. We will drink some
coffee, watch the wind
blow leaves across the yard.
—Nolcha Fox
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
It wasn’t me
who ate the chocolates. With the foil.
It wasn’t me who tore the wrapping
from the gifts, flattened boxes,
chewed up slippers Santa brought you.
It wasn’t me who pulled the sparklies
from the tree you left for us to pee on.
The other dogs did it.
—Nolcha Fox
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
FLING
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
No longer do my arms rise straight
or palms lie flat to catch the drop,
my body balance, legs stuck out,
wide-open mouth and eyes tight shut.
This gay abandon, once was said,
sheer inhibition flung about,
as autumn gold rains, falls about,
old nature ready for the grave
from where it springs, new life again.
This acorn, girl by toggle-hold,
oakleaf, like logo, on the red,
those genes well grounded, growing life,
her sole revealed in ecstasy.
—Public Domain Photo
JIG
—Stephen Kingsnorth
How test the zeitgeist of our age
when we exist as part of it?
Immersed in values judged as sound,
by those around, both
in our circle and beyond
the pale, outside perimeter.
But then I saw her dance a jig,
a micro piece in macro world,
but whole earth essence caught in that,
sheer joy in rhythm with the world,
a total image, jigsaw globe.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
WIDESPREAD
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Recorded from the pumping heart
joy can’t be captured by sum words,
but brimming well of tears and laugh,
or innermost, soul satisfied.
Delight in gurgling baby’s smile,
glee found with long-lost friendships spree,
wonder, through wander, snow-capped tops,
the tryst with lover, cloud of bliss;
jubilation, land fairly shared,
proof to unloved, no path alone,
some pleasure known by those I love,
pilgrim exultant, journey’s end.
—Public Domain Photo
BRAILLE
—Stephen Kingsnorth
A bumpy road to navigate,
to let your feelings trace the route,
the pauses, stops, then off again,
along the lines you’ve gone before.
You’ve learnt to read the signs laid out,
like giant atlas on the lap,
when others have an A to Z,
and flick through pages casually
whenever they think that they’re lost.
At least you can read in the dark,
not with a torch and one ear cocked,
but like detective, scene of crime—
it’s yours to find, finger-tip search.
Unlike parades through ticker-tape,
election booths with hanging chads,
or punching tickets in the face,
you have impressionistic art
within your hands.
A treasure trove.
For World Braille Day, 4th January 2023
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
WHAT’S BROUGHT HOME
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
You will
Lather and salt,
Underneath
An amulet,
All caught
In between,
What’s wrought
And brought,
Home,
Home,
Home.
OM!
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE
—Joe Nolan
It was after the last procession
Of garlanded beauties in Spring,
That an angel from Heaven
Counseled me,
“Make your offering.
If you love her, then ask her.
If not you, another will take your place.
It’s the way of life and love.
It’s the way of love and grace!
It’s time to bring
Flowers and perfume,
Sweet things and gold
And embrace.
Tell her you’ll love her forever,
If she’ll consent to honor your place.”
So, I asked her
And she agreed.
We have children to
Bounce on our knees!
We’re happy this way,
Together.
We shall last together,
Forever.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
OCEANIC REBELLION
—Joe Nolan
The descent
Of consent,
Random,
Mis-spent,
Overcoming the will
Of those who
Refuse to repent
From saying “No!”
Is a signpost
That points to “Go!”
In another direction.
Load up the woody-wagon.
Put surf-boards on the top.
It’s time to hit the waves,
Before we have to summon
Someone to come to save us
From the ones
Who cannot let us go–
Those who need control
Over every other.
We’ll put our surfboards in
To the waving ocean
And feel the roll of waves
To make us open
And not surrender.
—Joe Nolan
The descent
Of consent,
Random,
Mis-spent,
Overcoming the will
Of those who
Refuse to repent
From saying “No!”
Is a signpost
That points to “Go!”
In another direction.
Load up the woody-wagon.
Put surf-boards on the top.
It’s time to hit the waves,
Before we have to summon
Someone to come to save us
From the ones
Who cannot let us go–
Those who need control
Over every other.
We’ll put our surfboards in
To the waving ocean
And feel the roll of waves
To make us open
And not surrender.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
LOTUS
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar, W. Bengal, India
Odours of the new nights
Pacific peaceful ocean eyes
A big container of vapours sweet
Tunnels of figs and sweet remembrance
Aside my peony-stricken books
Not two- or three-something
But a variety of consciousness
Topples down in the rivers sweet
Namesakes’ lotus a thousands petals song
Keeping my footsteps warm
Binding the pages is easy
Sweetness-stricken path rose buds-stricken
Leftovers for the first time
Syrupy sweet nectarine smudged
Odours of sweet remembrance
Lotus consciousness odours sweet
Sycamore treehouse fig trees sweet
Dreams and half-dreams
Binding down an escapade hour
The ocean a feverish remembrance.
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar, W. Bengal, India
Odours of the new nights
Pacific peaceful ocean eyes
A big container of vapours sweet
Tunnels of figs and sweet remembrance
Aside my peony-stricken books
Not two- or three-something
But a variety of consciousness
Topples down in the rivers sweet
Namesakes’ lotus a thousands petals song
Keeping my footsteps warm
Binding the pages is easy
Sweetness-stricken path rose buds-stricken
Leftovers for the first time
Syrupy sweet nectarine smudged
Odours of sweet remembrance
Lotus consciousness odours sweet
Sycamore treehouse fig trees sweet
Dreams and half-dreams
Binding down an escapade hour
The ocean a feverish remembrance.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Keith Snow
Today’s LittleNip:
Stars
and glimpse of moon
dissolve, evolve
into dawn's chattering birds
and traffic sounds
announce, the new day.
The outside world’s white noise
reaches crescendo
and I fade into sleep.
—Keith Snow, Harrisburg, PA
__________________
Our recent Seeds of the Week have included Faith, Hope, and now Joy, and we can use an extra helping of all of these for 2023. Carl Schwartz (Caschwa wrote to Medusa last week, commenting on all the messages of hope that came from poets around the world last Monday. I, too, am delighted with the wide variety of poets who visit the Kitchen, sending their work from here, there, and “otherwheres” around the globe. May 2023 continue to expand the number of visitors who send poems and artwork to our modest little Kitchen!
Stars
and glimpse of moon
dissolve, evolve
into dawn's chattering birds
and traffic sounds
announce, the new day.
The outside world’s white noise
reaches crescendo
and I fade into sleep.
—Keith Snow, Harrisburg, PA
__________________
Our recent Seeds of the Week have included Faith, Hope, and now Joy, and we can use an extra helping of all of these for 2023. Carl Schwartz (Caschwa wrote to Medusa last week, commenting on all the messages of hope that came from poets around the world last Monday. I, too, am delighted with the wide variety of poets who visit the Kitchen, sending their work from here, there, and “otherwheres” around the globe. May 2023 continue to expand the number of visitors who send poems and artwork to our modest little Kitchen!
Happy Birthday today to Claire Baker, and watch for more poetry this week from Nolcha Fox and Stephen Kingsnorth!
Sacramento Poetry Center remains closed tonight (they will return with a reading next Monday 1/9), but Poetry Unplugged will return to Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento this Thursday night. Also Thursday, Indigo Moore will present an online workshop, Persona Literature: A New Face on Old Themes. On Saturday, West Trestle Review in Auburn will present its monthly Silver Tongue Saturdays reading, featuring Amanda Moore plus open mic. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these 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.
Congratulations to El Dorado County SpakePal Irene Lipshin for having a poem published as “Poem of the Month” in Placerville’s Mountain Democrat. See https://www.mtdemocrat.com/prospecting/poem-of-the-month-el-dorado-trail for Irene’s “El Dorado Trail” and to read more about her.
___________________
—Medusa
And here is a visit from Kourage Kat, sending us all a little fortitude to help us handle yet another year—hopefully with a bit more joy~
—Public Domain Photo
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!
