—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday with poets Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Michael Ceraolo,
and Caschwa
WHO HOO?
It’s a very serious walk this morning, the kind
a doctor orders to keep the old gears functioning
beyond their warranty. It isn’t raining again—yet.
Could this ray of sunshine be an April Fool’s trick?
At edge of murk-brown creek, one stunted little tree
explodes in lavish bloom like a pyramid of cheer-
leaders with pink-white pompons. Sun is shining—
who could be calling hoo-hoo?
Activate the bird-app on my phone.
It doesn’t hear an owl.
What to do but hoo-hoo back?
And receive an answer! Who is April-
fooling whom, or hoo?
Not an Owl…
WHICH SPECIES?
An owl-call: hoo-hoo
light as a winged dancer.
I called back and wondered
at the owlish answer.
MEDITATION ON A LOCK
Along the trail, a lock without a gate—
just green pasture and this one ancient tree
to hold what secrets of whimsy or fate
or just this morning as it haps to be
April and here a red-brown calf runs free
as I walk for my legs and heart and eyes
to see what view beyond the footbridge lies,
and call back to the owl who calls hoo-hoo
in greeting, warning, who knows what the skies
unlock to make this wander-day brand-new.
Along the trail, a lock without a gate—
just green pasture and this one ancient tree
to hold what secrets of whimsy or fate
or just this morning as it haps to be
April and here a red-brown calf runs free
as I walk for my legs and heart and eyes
to see what view beyond the footbridge lies,
and call back to the owl who calls hoo-hoo
in greeting, warning, who knows what the skies
unlock to make this wander-day brand-new.
IN COLD OF MARCH
We’re bundled up in the car like kids under
a comforter—passed-down hand-sewn quilt from
somebody’s childhood. We’ve planned this trip
for months. Just for the day, driving the Quilt Trail.
Rerun of a journey I made years ago to find
barn-quilts—patterns painted on plywood squares,
hung on barns, granges, wineries, tree farms.
A patchwork of human places stitched across
the landscape. I remembered sleeping
under a heap of ancestors’ quilts in an unheated
house in winter. Worn-out garments cut up,
repurposed, sewn together as folk-art in service
to the life-force. A matter of survival.
We’ve planned this journey today for months—
family scattered up and down the coast,
come together for a Quilt Trail—and it’s raining,
cold enough for snow. This trip should be enjoyed
in sunny weather. Should we cancel? Who
am I kidding? Quilts are made for survival. So
is our family. An adventure to remember.
We’re bundled up in the car like kids under
a comforter—passed-down hand-sewn quilt from
somebody’s childhood. We’ve planned this trip
for months. Just for the day, driving the Quilt Trail.
Rerun of a journey I made years ago to find
barn-quilts—patterns painted on plywood squares,
hung on barns, granges, wineries, tree farms.
A patchwork of human places stitched across
the landscape. I remembered sleeping
under a heap of ancestors’ quilts in an unheated
house in winter. Worn-out garments cut up,
repurposed, sewn together as folk-art in service
to the life-force. A matter of survival.
We’ve planned this journey today for months—
family scattered up and down the coast,
come together for a Quilt Trail—and it’s raining,
cold enough for snow. This trip should be enjoyed
in sunny weather. Should we cancel? Who
am I kidding? Quilts are made for survival. So
is our family. An adventure to remember.
SMOKEY RIDGE POND SONG
Quilted star shines bright
against time-weathered barnwood—
raindrops plink on pond
and who’s to listen, sitting
at snow-decked picnic table?
Quilted star shines bright
against time-weathered barnwood—
raindrops plink on pond
and who’s to listen, sitting
at snow-decked picnic table?
OH WHAT A NIGHT
Bedroom smoke alarm somewhere in the realm of midnight. Three blasts times three to wake me. I rush room to room. No fire. No smoke, toxic or otherwise. Tocsin quits. Back to bed. Alarm repeats. Its sister sentries— smoke & CO detectors—silent. Maverick alarm repeats: once twice thrice…. eight times: Wake up! Rouse dog, cat, husband—all oblivious to the noise. Must we dash out into frigid March in sleep clothes? It’s oh dark thirty.
Shut bedroom door on
alarm alarming itself.
Start day. Who needs sleep?
Bedroom smoke alarm somewhere in the realm of midnight. Three blasts times three to wake me. I rush room to room. No fire. No smoke, toxic or otherwise. Tocsin quits. Back to bed. Alarm repeats. Its sister sentries— smoke & CO detectors—silent. Maverick alarm repeats: once twice thrice…. eight times: Wake up! Rouse dog, cat, husband—all oblivious to the noise. Must we dash out into frigid March in sleep clothes? It’s oh dark thirty.
Shut bedroom door on
alarm alarming itself.
Start day. Who needs sleep?
Today’s LittleNip:
1st OF APRIL WALK
—Taylor Graham
Beside the polluted creek
a small tree has burst into blossom
despite posted warning signs,
despite April Fool’s Day,
life lives.
___________________
Good Friday morning to poets everywhere on this Good Friday, and thanks to Taylor Graham for writing to us today about her adventures—owls and quilts and rogue smoke alarms! Forms she has used include a: Haibun (“Oh What a Night”); a Waka (“Smokey Ridge Pond Song”); two responses to Medusa's Ekphrastic photo from last week (“1st of April Walk”, & “Who Hoo?”); an Irish Breccbairdne (“Which Species?”); and a Dizain (“Meditation on a Lock”). The Breccbairdne and the Dizain were Triple-F Challenges last week.
About her quilt photos and poem, TG writes: “All the quilt blocks are on the El Dorado Quilt Trail—an easy drive from Placerville. The ladies are [my husband] Hatch's daughter, Heather, and daughter-in-law, Dana, who came to see the Quilt Trail (and Hatch, of course, and me).” Check out the Quilt Trail at https://visit-eldorado.com/quilt-trail/.
Be sure to join Taylor Graham and other El Dorado County poets at the Placerville Sr. Center next Monday morning, 10:30am, for the monthly Poetic License read-around. The suggested topic for this month is "portal”, but other subjects are also welcome. Click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) 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.
For more info about El Dorado County poetry events, go to Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/, or see El Dorado County Poet Laureate Lara Gularte’s Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
There’s also a newly dusted-off page at the top of Medusa’s Kitchen called, “FORMS! OMG!!!” which expresses some of my (take ‘em or leave 'em) opinions about the use of forms in poetry writing, as well as listing some more resources to help you navigate through Form Quicksand. Got any more resources to add to our list? Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com for the benefit of all man/woman/poetkind!
We had responses to last week’s Ekphrastic Photo from Nolcha Fox and Stephen Kingsnorth, and see above for two from Taylor Graham:
SOMEONE IS LEAVING
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Hunger for new is the opposite of a lilac tree.
Bags and suitcases are a kiss goodbye.
The mother sobs, a rainbow of fear.
Shadows enclose her glistening raincoat.
The windows behind her are shut to revelation.
The sweep of her hair is a trail of birdseed.
Someone is leaving. Adieu.
(prev. pub. in Poetica Review Autumn Edition in 2022. It is also included in Cow Candy [https://www.amazon.com/Cow-Candy-Nolcha-Fox/dp/9395224789] by Nolcha Fox and Vangie Hansen.)
* * *
ENTWINED
—Nolcha Fox
Over time, the lilac tree
entwined its trunk and branches
with a crabby apple tree,
a bond of sweet and sour.
* * *
REBOOT
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
One may wonder, the next detect;
now does this blossom start a row,
an avenue or quarrelsome?
Cherry assumed, I double check;
and my tec agent, orange states,
but surely web has wrongly named?
For these petals not within range,
my gaze at navel, Jaffa type,
or glacé cherries, shining red;
maybe Type ‘O’, it’s blood-orange?
This not syringa—that I know,
though my shoe polish is dark tan,
light brown, opened ‘fish-plate’ to boot,
so where is it I take my stand?
It is the clusters, crowded clumps,
those pompom balls as reaching out,
though fragile, delicate in form;
no place for leafing, tracery,
but profuse space that gives the air
of plenitude amongst the skies.
Reboot, contrast, that shoeshine plant.
though my shoe polish is dark tan,
light brown, opened ‘fish-plate’ to boot,
so where is it I take my stand?
It is the clusters, crowded clumps,
those pompom balls as reaching out,
though fragile, delicate in form;
no place for leafing, tracery,
but profuse space that gives the air
of plenitude amongst the skies.
Reboot, contrast, that shoeshine plant.
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth)
Stephen Kingsnorth)
* * *
Michael Ceraolo is celebrating the opening of baseball season with two poems that are in forms. Michael has been a SnakePal for years; MK has posted many of his poems. But these are the first he has sent that are in forms! Bravo, Michael! The Dizain was one of our Triple-F Challenges last week. I suppose one could also call these Odes:
CASEY AT THE BAT DIZAIN
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
It is a story valid any time:
the hero has the chance to save the day
in a decasyllabic line with rhyme
Would it be in the normal cliched way?
Well, the poet would get to have a say
The pitcher too would have a say, no doubt
Many were watching this diamond bout;
this game has now received a million likes
Did Casey club the cliched circuit clout?
No, once-mighty Casey went down on strikes
* * *
CASEY AT THE BAT TRIVERSEN
—Michael Ceraolo
The outlook
wasn't sunny for
the Mudville nine that day
They were down two runs
with just three outs
left to give away
The first two hitters
went down quickly;
so much for that
There seemed very
little chance of
Casey's getting to the bat
And then it seemed
we'd win the game,
without a doubt
But it was not to be,
for with two on,
our Casey then struck out
* * *
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has sent us a Dechnad Cummaisc, an Irish form which was a recent Triple-F Challenge:
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
It is a story valid any time:
the hero has the chance to save the day
in a decasyllabic line with rhyme
Would it be in the normal cliched way?
Well, the poet would get to have a say
The pitcher too would have a say, no doubt
Many were watching this diamond bout;
this game has now received a million likes
Did Casey club the cliched circuit clout?
No, once-mighty Casey went down on strikes
* * *
CASEY AT THE BAT TRIVERSEN
—Michael Ceraolo
The outlook
wasn't sunny for
the Mudville nine that day
They were down two runs
with just three outs
left to give away
The first two hitters
went down quickly;
so much for that
There seemed very
little chance of
Casey's getting to the bat
And then it seemed
we'd win the game,
without a doubt
But it was not to be,
for with two on,
our Casey then struck out
* * *
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has sent us a Dechnad Cummaisc, an Irish form which was a recent Triple-F Challenge:
SCAT CAT
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
we see a cat from our window
laying nicely
right in the back yard patio
then go spritely
hiding ‘neath the raised bed garden
we let it be
neither he nor we are a threat
and yet we see
this happens as daily routine
just like bus rides
or counting the days of the week
we peek, he hides
* * *
Nolcha Fox writes: “… I successfully murdered another form, the Triolet: Mine doesn't have the right number of syllables per line, has no rhyming, and has 7 lines instead of 8. Can I go to jail for this?” I told her no, but it would go on her record… Such a rebel she is!
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
we see a cat from our window
laying nicely
right in the back yard patio
then go spritely
hiding ‘neath the raised bed garden
we let it be
neither he nor we are a threat
and yet we see
this happens as daily routine
just like bus rides
or counting the days of the week
we peek, he hides
* * *
Nolcha Fox writes: “… I successfully murdered another form, the Triolet: Mine doesn't have the right number of syllables per line, has no rhyming, and has 7 lines instead of 8. Can I go to jail for this?” I told her no, but it would go on her record… Such a rebel she is!
TRIOLET TRA LA
—Nolcha Fox
I bet you think I follow form,
but I just naturally break it,
I make up rhythm as I go.
I bet you think I follow form,
This triolet is shattered.
I bet you think I follow form,
but I just naturally break it.
* * *
And here is an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth, one that is fitting for this Christian Holy Week. “For whom… and what the purpose deemed?”
—Nolcha Fox
I bet you think I follow form,
but I just naturally break it,
I make up rhythm as I go.
I bet you think I follow form,
This triolet is shattered.
I bet you think I follow form,
but I just naturally break it.
* * *
And here is an Ars Poetica from Stephen Kingsnorth, one that is fitting for this Christian Holy Week. “For whom… and what the purpose deemed?”
SPEAKING TERMS
—Stephen Kingsnorth
For whom—that is the audience,
and what the purpose deemed;
the scholars robed in synagogue
or workers in the field?
The academic treatise,
a bard to span decades,
or words for everyman to hear,
though not that all will take?
I note that Galilean
spoke each in changing terms,
although the tone not varied,
except compassion stayed.
So some will understand the word
and most will think they do,
but millennia will pass
intent, intense tirade.
Beelzebub the subject
when pharisees are faced,
and resurrection marriage
when Sadducees in fray;
yet for Gerizim woman,
move mountains to find spring,
Syrophoenician mother,
give crumbs to puppy dogs.
Matthean manifesto
holds little sway with me,
but not my Jewish scriptures
that need to match the scene.
I hear that Luke moves others,
the Gentile, spirit strong,
who honours place of women,
and gives due weight to them.
Now John has left me speechless,
the beating heart leaned close,
but I am simple-minded,
and signs fall short of bull.
Which leaves me one to make its mark,
that koine ruffian,
mother-in-law lies sick in bed,
raised for the washing up.
So retire academia,
if polymath, step down,
and write, as preach, without a text,
converse while wait the bus.
Though recognise, priority,
the rock—guess that’s a joke—
tells as it is, the son of man,
a first theology.
___________________
Many thanks to our SnakePals for their brave fiddling! Would you like to be a SnakePal? All you have to do is send poetry—forms or not—and/or photos and artwork to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
___________________
TRIPLE-F CHALLENGES!
—Stephen Kingsnorth
For whom—that is the audience,
and what the purpose deemed;
the scholars robed in synagogue
or workers in the field?
The academic treatise,
a bard to span decades,
or words for everyman to hear,
though not that all will take?
I note that Galilean
spoke each in changing terms,
although the tone not varied,
except compassion stayed.
So some will understand the word
and most will think they do,
but millennia will pass
intent, intense tirade.
Beelzebub the subject
when pharisees are faced,
and resurrection marriage
when Sadducees in fray;
yet for Gerizim woman,
move mountains to find spring,
Syrophoenician mother,
give crumbs to puppy dogs.
Matthean manifesto
holds little sway with me,
but not my Jewish scriptures
that need to match the scene.
I hear that Luke moves others,
the Gentile, spirit strong,
who honours place of women,
and gives due weight to them.
Now John has left me speechless,
the beating heart leaned close,
but I am simple-minded,
and signs fall short of bull.
Which leaves me one to make its mark,
that koine ruffian,
mother-in-law lies sick in bed,
raised for the washing up.
So retire academia,
if polymath, step down,
and write, as preach, without a text,
converse while wait the bus.
Though recognise, priority,
the rock—guess that’s a joke—
tells as it is, the son of man,
a first theology.
___________________
Many thanks to our SnakePals for their brave fiddling! Would you like to be a SnakePal? All you have to do is send poetry—forms or not—and/or photos and artwork to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
___________________
TRIPLE-F CHALLENGES!
See what you can make of this week’s poetry forms, and send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com! (No deadline.) Here—have at a Canzone (as opposed to a Calzone…)”
•••Canzone: https://poemanalysis.com/poetic-form/canzone
AND/OR choose any poem and write a Companion Poem for it:
•••Companion Poem: https://poemanalysis.com/genre/companion-poem
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic photo.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “I Wish . . . ”.
•••Canzone: https://poemanalysis.com/poetic-form/canzone
AND/OR choose any poem and write a Companion Poem for it:
•••Companion Poem: https://poemanalysis.com/genre/companion-poem
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic photo.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “I Wish . . . ”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Breccbairdne: https://www.writersdigest.com/poetic-asides/breccbairdne-poetic-forms
•••Canzone: https://poemanalysis.com/poetic-form/canzone
•••Companion Poem: https://poemanalysis.com/genre/companion-poem
•••Decnad Cummaisc: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/dechnad-cummaisc-poetic-forms
•••Dizain: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/dizain-poetic-form
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Triolet: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/triolet-an-easy-way-to-write-8-lines-of-poetry
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
•••Waka: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/waka
For more about meter, see:
•••www.studiobinder.com/blog/what-is-iambic-pentameter-definition-literature
•••www.pandorapost.com/2021/05/examples-of-iambic-pentameter-tetrameter-and-trimeter-in-poetry.html
•••nosweatshakespeare.com/sonnets/iambic-pentameter
•••www.thoughtco.com/introducing-iambic-pentameter-2985082
•••www.nfi.edu/iambic-pentameter
____________________
—Medusa
Make what you can of today's
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
