Dude, My Hands Are Huge!
—Collaborative Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY,
and Ken Tomaro, Cleveland, OH
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
In these collaborative poems, stanzas on the right
were written by Nolcha Fox, and those on the
left were by Ken Tomaro:
DUDE, MY HANDS ARE HUGE!
that explains so much!
somewhere in my childhood
I inhaled too many fumes
from Super Elastic Bubble Plastic
it's all so clear, or not so
my life is anything but super
my waste-line, the only thing elastic
I live in my own little bubble
surrounded by people made of plastic
I can't remember if I locked the door,
zipped my pants,
watered the plants, took out the trash
yes, I think this is dying
were written by Nolcha Fox, and those on the
left were by Ken Tomaro:
DUDE, MY HANDS ARE HUGE!
that explains so much!
somewhere in my childhood
I inhaled too many fumes
from Super Elastic Bubble Plastic
it's all so clear, or not so
I’m stuck in traffic
Inching forward
going nowhere slow,
inhaling toxic fumes
belched out the back
of vehicles around me.
The fumes melt into
toxic smog that blurs the sun
and eats my lungs.
I do this for a living.
Or maybe it’s a dying.
Inching forward
going nowhere slow,
inhaling toxic fumes
belched out the back
of vehicles around me.
The fumes melt into
toxic smog that blurs the sun
and eats my lungs.
I do this for a living.
Or maybe it’s a dying.
my life is anything but super
my waste-line, the only thing elastic
I live in my own little bubble
surrounded by people made of plastic
I can't remember if I locked the door,
zipped my pants,
watered the plants, took out the trash
yes, I think this is dying
Plastic elastic trash
fills the house.
Tables, chairs, bags,
combs, spoons, plants
I never water.
I don’t ever lock my house,
It’s filled with Super
Elastic Bubble Plastic
that no one wants to steal.
fills the house.
Tables, chairs, bags,
combs, spoons, plants
I never water.
I don’t ever lock my house,
It’s filled with Super
Elastic Bubble Plastic
that no one wants to steal.
GOD DROPS THE BALL AGAIN
everyone tells me I'm doing God's work
and all I can think is
God needs to get off his ass
and start chipping in
everyone tells me I'm doing God's work
and all I can think is
God needs to get off his ass
and start chipping in
I need to get off my ass
and do God’s work.
But coffee is calling.
Wait, what was I thinking about?
and do God’s work.
But coffee is calling.
Wait, what was I thinking about?
God! This work is hard!
and my ass hurts from sitting on it
and the coffee won't stop calling
and a woman's work is never done
and I'm not even a woman
wait, what was I thinking about?
My thoughts are scrambling
for the exit, tired of sitting
on their asses, praying
for the weekend. Or a nap.
Praise be God for coffee beans,
a grand excuse to drink
caffeine and get away from work.
for the exit, tired of sitting
on their asses, praying
for the weekend. Or a nap.
Praise be God for coffee beans,
a grand excuse to drink
caffeine and get away from work.
sometimes you have to put work aside,
God's or otherwise
sit back with a plate of scrambled thoughts
a side of toast, drum of coffee
and just sit on your ass,
maybe say a prayer to God, or otherwise
God is way bigger than my ass.
That’s comforting to know.
That’s comforting to know.
In my dreams
I don’t need glasses.
Everything is clear.
Without glasses
in the real world,
if this is
the real world,
corners, edges soften,
and my choices
are not clear.
I don’t need glasses.
Everything is clear.
Without glasses
in the real world,
if this is
the real world,
corners, edges soften,
and my choices
are not clear.
In my dreams
I can do anything,
I can fly.
I can speak.
I can see, but not clearly,
a bizarre world,
with rough edges
no corners
and the choice is mine.
It's never been so clear.
This life is no dream,
no dream is a life.
unless you spend
all your hours
reading romances.
Do you dine on the words
or order in?
no dream is a life.
unless you spend
all your hours
reading romances.
Do you dine on the words
or order in?
THE FLU
blows out my spark,
removes some bone,
bores out a space inside my chest,
and fills the void with phlegm.
blows out my spark,
removes some bone,
bores out a space inside my chest,
and fills the void with phlegm.
every cough, every heaving
of my wet lungsI share a small piece of me
with the world
Sharing is caring.
I fill the air with drops
of phlegm so
you’ll remember me.
I fill the air with drops
of phlegm so
you’ll remember me.
But then,
how could you ever
forget me?
these little drops of phlegm
covering the sky like a million stars.
Did you know a million stars
is called a spittle?
How could you forget me now?
Victory is wearing
your enemy’s head
to dinner.
Victory is convincing the world
you are harmless,
and knowing otherwise.
A deer, a deer,
a gentle deer,
or is Bambi really
Godzilla?
a gentle deer,
or is Bambi really
Godzilla?
But even Godzilla
had a gentle side.
He only did
what he had to do.
Maybe we’re all monsters
with a frosting of sweet
to cover the poison.
with a frosting of sweet
to cover the poison.
You stand on the brim
of your ambitions,
a well with no bottom
in sight. Peer into
murky moonlit reflection,
what do you see staring back?
of your ambitions,
a well with no bottom
in sight. Peer into
murky moonlit reflection,
what do you see staring back?
I'll tell you what I see. I see me,
skin rippling in the moonlight
ripples, wrinkles, potato, potahto.
What am I supposed to see
in the eternity of a bottomless well?
I see all those things others cannot.
What things do you see
that others cannot?
In rippled reflection,
do you shake hands
with the you
in the shadows?
that others cannot?
In rippled reflection,
do you shake hands
with the you
in the shadows?
Maybe I was wrong.
Maybe they were the things
I didn't want to see.
I reach for my own hand down in this well
but being bottomless, endless
it was a handshake never connected.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip(s):
Collaboration is the essence of life. The wind, bees and flowers work together to spread the pollen.
―Amit Ray, Mindfulness Living in the Moment: Living in the Breath
* * *
Those who do not understand the power of collaboration always struggle for growth.
—Anuj Jasani
* * *
When spiders unite, they can tie down a lion.
—Ethiopian Proverb
___________________
Many thanks to Nolcha Fox and Ken Tomaro for their set of collaborative poems today! For more about the Victory poem, go to https://cowboystatedaily.com/2023/03/01/nothing-says-victory-like-wearing-your-enemys-head-gruesome-video-shows-deer-arent-gentle-after-all/.
Ken Tomaro is a writer living in Cleveland, Ohio, whose work reflects everyday life with depression. His poetry has appeared in several online and print journals and explores the common themes we all experience in life, sometimes blunt, often dark, but always grounded in reality. He has four full-length collections of poetry, most recently, Potholes and Perogies, available on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Potholes-Perogies-Ken-Tomaro/dp/B09X1ZLJVL/. Ken first appeared in the Kitchen on Oct. 5, 2022.
And Nolcha? Well, Nolcha Fox has poems pinned up all over the Kitchen since she first visited us on May 8, 2022; her work often appears on Mondays and Fridays, and she is sometimes featured by herself. See more of Nolcha at https://bit.ly/3bT9tYu/.
Thanks again to both of these fine poets! See Lothlorien Poetry Journal at https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2023/04/four-collaborative-poems-by-nolcha-fox.html?spref=fb&fbclid=IwAR16ePgLcGJeO_TUheOWHIRJ2wVPwrVpEy3h_Sm6P5FPMn4gdEIzW8lgJKA for more collaborative poems by Nolcha and Ken.
Women’s Wisdom Art in Sacramento will host a workshop today, Visual Journaling, at 1pm with Steff Echeverria. Then there will be a Sierra Poetry Festival Pop-Up Event this evening: Five Nevada County Women Poets at The Stone House in Nevada City, 6pm. Click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) 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.
_____________________
—Medusa
—Cartoon Courtesy of Public Domain
For more about National Poetry Month,
including ways to celebrate, see
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month.
And sign up for Poem-a-Day at
https://poets.org/poem-a-day/, plus
read about Poem in Your Pocket Day
(this year, April 27) at
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day/.
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!
including ways to celebrate, see
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month.
And sign up for Poem-a-Day at
https://poets.org/poem-a-day/, plus
read about Poem in Your Pocket Day
(this year, April 27) at
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day/.
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!
