The Luxury of Misfortunes

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

—Poetry by Don Campbell, Shiva Neupane,

Stephen Kingsnorth, Nolcha Fox, 

Joe Nolan, Caschwa

—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of

Joe Nolan and Nolcha Fox

 

 

 

THE RICHEST HOMELESS GUY IN VEGAS
—Don Campbell, Alhambra, CA

On a street
running parallel
to a freeway

On the corner
where the road
angles left

There is a triangular
space between house
and sound wall

There is a man
who stands outside
his old camper

He looks up
at the sun
long bearded

He feels kinda safe
behind his makeshift
wood board fence

I think to myself
here is someone
without a mortgage

I am a bit envious
of his simple life in a
world famous sin city

The only way for this
paradise to prematurely
end is official intervention

The day that happens
will be a sad one I wonder
will he make the news

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

APPRECIATION
—Don Campbell

After attending a
super spreader pre-
Halloween poetry reading
maskless in a
black room with
no open windows,

we spend my
birthday week at
home, feverish, body
ached, sore throated,
congested and coughing.

Now I munch
on popcorn from
a white porcelain
bowl during the
writing time of
the online Saturday
workshop and hear

my wife in
the bathroom washing
clothes with the
portable spinner. I
walk down the
hallway to visit
her—she’s naked.

I apologize, give
her body a
big wet hug.
Think to myself,
I’m feeling better.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

THE LUXURY OF MISFORTUNES
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne, Australia
 
I feel lucky to be unlucky
When the misfortunes shower upon me,
because they teach me the holistic meaning of life
without any razzmatazz of materialistic hype.
 
The misfortunes open up my mind's eyes
and they endowed me with philosophical justice.
There is no need for pang of consciousness,
Which may erode the emotions and self-esteem.
 
The monsoon of misfortunes
Irrigate the crops of lesson in the field of life.
Therefore, I’m more optimistic in what I do,
Without being perplexed in my life.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

 

GRUELLING
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

Is it the attitude that grates
or late-night cheese that irritates
the tubes, pain in the neck, beneath?
It irks, this pet peeve aggregates,
sum provocation ulcerates,
a botheration, diet list—
vexatious litigation tempts—
who can I sue when overweight—
though overwrought, beyond the scale.

I change metric, imperial—
in hope the kids won’t understand—
but they weigh up my strategy
and find me wanting, calories.
From Eden on, blame laid elsewhere,
a fig leaf for a cover up,
the private arts of midnight feasts;
that’s why those numbers limber up—
as they say snake pal’s conning me.

My argument, that whisky, night,
associated, sleeping pills
for Parkinson’s insomnia,
presents the evidence at stake.
But that’s dismissed for featherlight—
if only feet and legs alike.
Rice cakes and tonic water, gruel
are on the menu for tonight,
with aggravation supplement. 

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

AGGRAVATION
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

A nettle nettled
a bug that bugged
the nag who nagged
the needle to sew
and needle the grate
to grate on the ruffle
that ruffled its feathers
that caught on the nettle,
a fine aggravation, indeed.

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy

of Nolcha Fox

 

Brave raindrop

falls, no fear of heights,
it doesn’t fear the drain,
the union into puddle,
the shock of hitting ground.
It doesn’t fear apocalypse,
it knows with warmth
it will arise to fall
another time.

—Nolcha Fox

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

YEAR’S END
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

If August was a mystery,
September was a riddle.

Fall,
Spent with apple-cider,
Sweet as sweet can be,
Was not enough.
We let it harden
Into stronger stuff.

October, lost in memory,
November stroked a fiddle
Before the great descent
Into December,
When nadir came
To siphon life
‘til Spring.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

YEARNING FOR RESCUE
—Joe Nolan

This!
Martian monster
Gets to ride
With Superman, from Krypton
And Aquaman, from Atlantis,
By his side.

And one wonders!
How anything so grand
Could be kept secret
For so long....
How in our universe
We are not alone.

Where is Lynda Carter
When we need her?
To appear and rescue us
From dismal fates?
We yearn for Wonder Woman
To anoint us,
With healing oils
And hope it’s not too late
For us,
For us,
Only Bozos on a bus
Of time
That makes its way
From stop to stop,
Along its circuit line,
Through our city.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

 

WE SEE THIS A LOT
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

so many lost kids everywhere
there is a profound disconnect
for a variety of reasons between
these kids and the trustful
guidance of responsible adults

and so kids go out on those
mean streets on their own and
learn to be the meanest kids
you ever have seen

and where do they end up when
they get a bit older? they are
recruited by local law enforcement
agencies, given a badge and a gun,
and sent out to the mean streets 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

PENNY ANTE
—Caschwa

immersed self in ocean’s
moderate waves
explored easy to enter
natural caves

took long nature walks and got
many pictures
none helped me discern poisons
from elixirs

“survived” the vibrations of
low level quake
puddled cookie dough, one was
all I could bake

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

DIDN’T DO THAT
—Caschwa

didn’t bake no pottery
didn’t win no Lottery
just got more ‘n more ornery

sitting in my studio
sinking funds portfolio
can’t go shopping on Rodeo

speaking of Beverly Hills
why can’t they just pay my bills
all replete with probates and wills

why does winning not reach me?
can’t sing banjo on my knee
I must pay, others get for free

guess I’ll try and get some sleep
put memories in a heap
I’ve got the ones I want to keep

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

DYSEPILEPXSIA
—Caschwa

a condition that at once
conjoins and transposes
different symptoms

____________________

Good morning and welcome to the Kitchen on this, the next-to-last day of January 2023. This year is pretty much doing what the last one did—whizzing by—but at least we’re promised some fine poetry and eye-popping photos. And we have a new visitor to the Kitchen today: Don Campbell from Southern California. We’ll be seeing more of him this coming Saturday, but thanks for stopping by this morning, Don!

Our Seed of the Week has been Aggravation—no shortage of that these days, both in the world and in today’s poems; many thanks to our contributors for their thoughts on the subject (and everything else)! Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.

I hope you can get Caschwa’s (Carl Schwartz’s) LittleNip with its hidden transpositions. It took me awhile…

Tonight, Sac. Poetry Center features Vincent Kobelt and Oswaldo Vargas plus open mic; then on Wednesday, El Dorado’s Poet Laureate Trail continues with a reading, workshop and open mic with Lara Gularte at El Dorado Hills Library. Poetry Unplugged continues at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento on Thursday night; also Thursday, the Poetry Night Reading Series in Davis features Rooja Mohassessy and her new book, When Your Sky Runs Into Mine, plus open mic, John Natsoula Gallery.

Next Saturday is the 11th Annual MoSt Poetry Festival w/Amanda Moore (At the Starting Line: A Workshop on Poetic Opening), sponsored by the Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center in Modesto, CA. You’ll need to register. 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.  

And congratulations to Jenni Reis McDonald for having her poem, “Sparrow”, published as Poem of the Month in Placerville’s Mountain Democrat. See https://www.mtdemocrat.com/prospecting/poem-of-the-month-sparrow/.

________________________

—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!

 

LittleSnake is hungry for poetry!