—Painting by Doug Polk
—Poetry by Doug Polk, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Shiva Neupane, Caschwa, Michael Ceraolo,
Joe Nolan, Claire J. Baker, and Nolcha Fox
—Original Paintings by Doug Polk
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan and Stephen Kingsnorth
MISTY MORNINGS
—Doug Polk, Central Nebraska
through the morning mist,
trees begin to appear,
the sight surreal,
invokes memories of times gone by,
and friends now lost,
but comforting and beautiful to the soul.
—Doug Polk, Central Nebraska
through the morning mist,
trees begin to appear,
the sight surreal,
invokes memories of times gone by,
and friends now lost,
but comforting and beautiful to the soul.
—Painting by Doug Polk
LONELY
—Doug Polk
towering landmarks,
lone pieces of stone,
stand their ground against time,
and weather,
missing brothers lost long ago.
—Painting by Doug Polk
THE LAND
—Doug Polk
the land measured and fenced,
but yet untamed,
basically still doing its own thing,
growing the plants it wants to grow,
hiding its secrets even in this day and age,
uninhabited,
except for a few families,
modern-day serfs,
the land owners living far far away,
in cities full of the grimiest things in life,
ignorant,
yet happily living a life,
measured and tamed.
—Doug Polk
the land measured and fenced,
but yet untamed,
basically still doing its own thing,
growing the plants it wants to grow,
hiding its secrets even in this day and age,
uninhabited,
except for a few families,
modern-day serfs,
the land owners living far far away,
in cities full of the grimiest things in life,
ignorant,
yet happily living a life,
measured and tamed.
—Public Domain Photo
LOOKING
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Used prepositions place what’s seen—
which length deployed as focus set,
for word is either at or in,
the glass surveyed or myself scene.
So is it I or me, eyes see,
what is indeed objectivised?
The rate of light-shine in the night
is heightened bright, reflectors out,
the panes with silver nitrate coats
that throw back what is in their site.
But what the portrait, bevelled edge,
which merely outlines flesh as sized?
Unless, on course, my inner joints
count outward show as armature,
a clotheshorse exoskeleton,
sum dressage competition points?
Like Droste effect, so many me’s,
but which is ultimately prized?
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Used prepositions place what’s seen—
which length deployed as focus set,
for word is either at or in,
the glass surveyed or myself scene.
So is it I or me, eyes see,
what is indeed objectivised?
The rate of light-shine in the night
is heightened bright, reflectors out,
the panes with silver nitrate coats
that throw back what is in their site.
But what the portrait, bevelled edge,
which merely outlines flesh as sized?
Unless, on course, my inner joints
count outward show as armature,
a clotheshorse exoskeleton,
sum dressage competition points?
Like Droste effect, so many me’s,
but which is ultimately prized?
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Stephen Kingsnorth
Stephen Kingsnorth
COFFIN BOX
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Claustrophobia, coffin,
but couch tells me inside;
if to lift this from my life
then stare it in the eyes.
Timidly I raise my arms
to glare the captive sides;
when I face enclosure top,
my image just returns.
Fingers frozen, clench dying,
feet spread, unbalanced fear;
G-forces take me upwards,
my stomach left on earth.
Glass circles round my orbits,
I fear I may be flung;
this rocket launched by NASA,
I travel space in space.
If dare a glance, outside world
vast girders frame my rise;
hope my pain is bullet proof,
I’ve suffered quite enough.
The module dressed by strip bulbs
to border late spring flowers;
no, I’m taken for a ride
on mocking fairground swing.
This therapy is crazy,
should have remained at home;
here dressed in woolly jumpers,
airman leathers left, lone.
My life must have its rhythms,
that give stability;
whilst others like their freedoms,
dark box my sanctuary.
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Claustrophobia, coffin,
but couch tells me inside;
if to lift this from my life
then stare it in the eyes.
Timidly I raise my arms
to glare the captive sides;
when I face enclosure top,
my image just returns.
Fingers frozen, clench dying,
feet spread, unbalanced fear;
G-forces take me upwards,
my stomach left on earth.
Glass circles round my orbits,
I fear I may be flung;
this rocket launched by NASA,
I travel space in space.
If dare a glance, outside world
vast girders frame my rise;
hope my pain is bullet proof,
I’ve suffered quite enough.
The module dressed by strip bulbs
to border late spring flowers;
no, I’m taken for a ride
on mocking fairground swing.
This therapy is crazy,
should have remained at home;
here dressed in woolly jumpers,
airman leathers left, lone.
My life must have its rhythms,
that give stability;
whilst others like their freedoms,
dark box my sanctuary.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne Australia
The slough of despond is concerning
because the tolerance is diminishing.
The people are losing their hope
And fail to cope.
I wondered at large
As to why people are hopeless
And loitering around
Sans finding their realistic ground.
They are imbued with a sense of seriousness
Because of their irrational mess.
They are serendipitously
Mired into the ambush of illusion
And showered with the suicidal tendencies.
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne Australia
The slough of despond is concerning
because the tolerance is diminishing.
The people are losing their hope
And fail to cope.
I wondered at large
As to why people are hopeless
And loitering around
Sans finding their realistic ground.
They are imbued with a sense of seriousness
Because of their irrational mess.
They are serendipitously
Mired into the ambush of illusion
And showered with the suicidal tendencies.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
of Joe Nolan
PARROTS’ ESTATE TO EDEN’S PARADISO
—Sayani Mukherjee
Mornings a bemused lullaby
Today’s muse is God itself
Eden Los Angeles Calcutta Brooklyn
He showered his gifts plenty
Mavericks are born out of thorns
He knew he knitted his warm blankets
Precisely a coin folded butchered mastery
Slavery's independence Russia's
Green-flagged
Sadomasochism
No I don’t write about Nations’
Politics too costly for God’s sake
Purity is noble
It’s simple
A retreat in God’s ambush
Learn Art if you reached God
A soothing palette
Beyond Borderlines
Learn Art in God’s precious hands
Earth In Eden’s palette.
—Sayani Mukherjee
Mornings a bemused lullaby
Today’s muse is God itself
Eden Los Angeles Calcutta Brooklyn
He showered his gifts plenty
Mavericks are born out of thorns
He knew he knitted his warm blankets
Precisely a coin folded butchered mastery
Slavery's independence Russia's
Green-flagged
Sadomasochism
No I don’t write about Nations’
Politics too costly for God’s sake
Purity is noble
It’s simple
A retreat in God’s ambush
Learn Art if you reached God
A soothing palette
Beyond Borderlines
Learn Art in God’s precious hands
Earth In Eden’s palette.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
of Joe Nolan
BEARING
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
once an egg is fertilized
women are train tracks
obediently sitting still
accepting the enormous weight
of rail cars, having no voice
at all among the clanks,
groans, squeaks, and whistles,
fiery hot, icy cold, no complaints
men are making plans, not
anywhere as firm and steady as
the rails which they seek to gang rape
using more train cars, amusing themselves
with the bold vibrations and noise
as different cars bump together
later crews come out to clean and shine
the rails, then leave them as naked and exposed
as ancient Grecian athletes
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
once an egg is fertilized
women are train tracks
obediently sitting still
accepting the enormous weight
of rail cars, having no voice
at all among the clanks,
groans, squeaks, and whistles,
fiery hot, icy cold, no complaints
men are making plans, not
anywhere as firm and steady as
the rails which they seek to gang rape
using more train cars, amusing themselves
with the bold vibrations and noise
as different cars bump together
later crews come out to clean and shine
the rails, then leave them as naked and exposed
as ancient Grecian athletes
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
of Joe Nolan
SEVEN CLEVELAND HAIKU
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
Cleveland Haiku #640
Morning in the park—
city workers
chalking the ball field
* * *
Cleveland Haiku #641
Morning in the park—
branches crackling
from an unseen creature
* * *
Cleveland Haiku #642
Morning in the park—
empty soccer goals
await today's gam
* * *
Cleveland Haiku #643
Morning in the park—
chain-link fence no barrier
to the squirrel
* * *
Cleveland Haiku #644
Deer gaze at the plants
on the other side of the
airport's barbed-wire fence
* * *
Cleveland Haiku #645
Morning in the park—
the rain garden a foot higher
than last week
* * *
Cleveland Haiku #646
Morning in the park—
trees and bushes growing through
and around the fence
… and in my quiet cavern, I made my own abide…
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
COOL SUMMER BREEZES, A-MORNING
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
The coolness of
A shaded breeze,
Here, below, in the Valley,
Is a whisper from the snows
Atop the white Sierras.
Cool mornings in the Summer
Are a gift of
Sea-breeze,
Cooled by Pacific currents
Coming from Alaska.
We bed down in sweat
To wake up in chill,
Pulling up a blanket
To let morning
Slowly emerge
Into a summer day
Here in the Valley.
We try not to hurry—
The coolest times
Of summer days
Are just around dawn.
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
The coolness of
A shaded breeze,
Here, below, in the Valley,
Is a whisper from the snows
Atop the white Sierras.
Cool mornings in the Summer
Are a gift of
Sea-breeze,
Cooled by Pacific currents
Coming from Alaska.
We bed down in sweat
To wake up in chill,
Pulling up a blanket
To let morning
Slowly emerge
Into a summer day
Here in the Valley.
We try not to hurry—
The coolest times
Of summer days
Are just around dawn.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
of Joe Nolan
TREES
—Joe Nolan
Trees are always busy
Growing forests,
Growing wood,
Always busy for the good.
Synthesizing water,
Sunshine and air
Into trees,
And, communally,
Into forests.
Yes, they would,
If they could,
Cover all the mountainsides,
Hillsides and valleys
With green leaves
That wave in the breeze.
That’s just what they do.
They can’t help it.
It’s in their nature.
Isn’t it amazing?
They’re perfectly willing
To share the Earth,
The sky,
The sun,
Breezes blowing by
And all the rain.
Trees are very patient.
The don’t complain of pain.
—Joe Nolan
Trees are always busy
Growing forests,
Growing wood,
Always busy for the good.
Synthesizing water,
Sunshine and air
Into trees,
And, communally,
Into forests.
Yes, they would,
If they could,
Cover all the mountainsides,
Hillsides and valleys
With green leaves
That wave in the breeze.
That’s just what they do.
They can’t help it.
It’s in their nature.
Isn’t it amazing?
They’re perfectly willing
To share the Earth,
The sky,
The sun,
Breezes blowing by
And all the rain.
Trees are very patient.
The don’t complain of pain.
—Public Domain Photo
HUMPTY-DUMPTY PLANS HIS NEXT VACATION
—Joe Nolan
Our love-light,
Scattered and distracted,
Into many colors, passing
Through clear glass.
Harrumph, harrumph!
Humpty Dumpty counts his blessings,
Planning a vacation, overseas.
It’s easy to break
Into a thousand pieces—
It only takes a fall
From a wall
On which you were sitting.
Doesn’t that say it all?
Markets crash and markets fall.
Investors jump from window towers
When they’ve lost it all.
It’s easier than going home
To tell your wife you’ve lost—
That you are a loser,
When she counted on you
To see her clear from storms,
Her “tug-boat in the wind.”
The fact that you have lost
Means you have sinned
Against your compromise,
Where she agreed to marry
Despite her sneaking feeling
That you were unwise.
—Joe Nolan
Our love-light,
Scattered and distracted,
Into many colors, passing
Through clear glass.
Harrumph, harrumph!
Humpty Dumpty counts his blessings,
Planning a vacation, overseas.
It’s easy to break
Into a thousand pieces—
It only takes a fall
From a wall
On which you were sitting.
Doesn’t that say it all?
Markets crash and markets fall.
Investors jump from window towers
When they’ve lost it all.
It’s easier than going home
To tell your wife you’ve lost—
That you are a loser,
When she counted on you
To see her clear from storms,
Her “tug-boat in the wind.”
The fact that you have lost
Means you have sinned
Against your compromise,
Where she agreed to marry
Despite her sneaking feeling
That you were unwise.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
of Joe Nolan
TO TOUCH AND GRACE
—Joe Nolan
It’s like sunlight filtering through leaves,
Tracing in rays,
Reaching out through waves,
The way friendship extends
To touch and grace
A friend far away
In a too-distant place.
Grace,
In one place,
Then in another,
A ray of light
Between brothers.
It’s not much,
Just such,
The ways life and light can shine—
Our fleeting time.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip(s):
THE NORD-STREAM PIPELINE
—Joe Nolan
Who blew up
The Nord-stream pipeline?
“Not I!” said the fly.
“Not me,” said the flea.
“It must have been thee.”
* * *
WEARY QUERY
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Must my mirror’s glass
enlarge my face so briny?
I bid my wrinkles pass
or, mirrored, show more tiny.
* * *
Mirror in the fun house
makes me busty,
makes me thin.
If only it would
make me rich,
I’d take that mirror home.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
______________________
Our thanks to today’s poets and artists for their fine contributions this Memorial Day. Our Seed of the Week was “Mirrors”, so some of our poets took a peek in the mirror.
There will be no Women’s Wisdom Art workshop this afternoon, but Sacramento Poetry Center will present Candice Lamarche and Cameron McHenry at 7:30pm in Sacramento. 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
—Public Domain Photo
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