—Poetry by Dr. Anissa Sboui, Suisse, Tunisia
—Public Domain Photos by Joe Nolan,
Stockton, CA
OLD STORY
Stella is still telling the same old stories,
Her jaw keeps releasing words, to and fro,
Up and down, forward and backward,
Evacuating dangerous scenes
Of a man, sober and obscene,
Of fairies, dreamy and serene,
Her mind is crammed with the same folk tale,
Her contemplating eyes, fixed like the gaze of a
Stella is still telling the same old stories,
Her jaw keeps releasing words, to and fro,
Up and down, forward and backward,
Evacuating dangerous scenes
Of a man, sober and obscene,
Of fairies, dreamy and serene,
Her mind is crammed with the same folk tale,
Her contemplating eyes, fixed like the gaze of a
Starving tiger or a famished whale,
Her hands, wavering in the air like an orchestra man,
Her hands, wavering in the air like an orchestra man,
Exalted with nostalgia
At the sight of the ballet dancer
Like a dreamer, on cloud nine,
Stuck to the redundant fumes of utopia,
Inhale,
Isabel sweeps her inundated sneeze,
Cleans the bleeding thumb,
Exhale,
The tragic disappearance of the dupe numb,
The extinction of the innocent nymph,
Amid that bushy forest,
This witch, with a sparkling garment, a sordid cane,
a magic spell,
An organic spit on those poisoned mushrooms, on sale,
Travels nonstop,
Preserves the sour shop,
Avoids an approaching drop,
As an acrobat, on the woody bench,
Like an amateur actor, stuttering the long script,
A new adventurer in hip-hop,
With an amazing desire to
Sing even in nearer public closet,
Dance in tunnels.
At the sight of the ballet dancer
Like a dreamer, on cloud nine,
Stuck to the redundant fumes of utopia,
Inhale,
Isabel sweeps her inundated sneeze,
Cleans the bleeding thumb,
Exhale,
The tragic disappearance of the dupe numb,
The extinction of the innocent nymph,
Amid that bushy forest,
This witch, with a sparkling garment, a sordid cane,
a magic spell,
An organic spit on those poisoned mushrooms, on sale,
Travels nonstop,
Preserves the sour shop,
Avoids an approaching drop,
As an acrobat, on the woody bench,
Like an amateur actor, stuttering the long script,
A new adventurer in hip-hop,
With an amazing desire to
Sing even in nearer public closet,
Dance in tunnels.
QUESTIONS
She’s lost appetite to think or aspire,
She’s been caught into the chain of regret,
She’s asked herself so many questions
About that fleeting time,
When she dreamt to be the most beautiful
Bride in the neighborhood,
When flowers were dispersed
at the Protestant Church,
When guests were smiling to her beaming face,
When her groom was holding her hand as warm
as he wants,
Whispering to her: “I love you, Sweetheart. You
look gorgeous today. From now on you are mine,
my soul mate, my darling, my everything”.
She’s inquired about this moment,
When the ring suits her delicate finger
In the depth of December
When the mutual vows crept out from their
throats
Only then did she kiss her mom
Bade her farewell
Sheer panic,
Not angelic,
Like the disheartening love Story on board
the Titanic
She spoiled her day before it came true.
She’s lost appetite to think or aspire,
She’s been caught into the chain of regret,
She’s asked herself so many questions
About that fleeting time,
When she dreamt to be the most beautiful
Bride in the neighborhood,
When flowers were dispersed
at the Protestant Church,
When guests were smiling to her beaming face,
When her groom was holding her hand as warm
as he wants,
Whispering to her: “I love you, Sweetheart. You
look gorgeous today. From now on you are mine,
my soul mate, my darling, my everything”.
She’s inquired about this moment,
When the ring suits her delicate finger
In the depth of December
When the mutual vows crept out from their
throats
Only then did she kiss her mom
Bade her farewell
Sheer panic,
Not angelic,
Like the disheartening love Story on board
the Titanic
She spoiled her day before it came true.
HURRICANE
On this chilling day,
On this virgin page,
By the high valley
I can see the smoke of rain,
The dew of the hurricane,
Creeping into that ink,
Effacing every single word,
Wrapped in drizzly silk
This secret reporter
Saw something unpredictable:
The devastating storm
Sets woody norms,
Water rushes into
Some grizzly buildings,
Crushed rooms,
Weeping roofs,
Walls, shedding tears,
People, sending desperate pleas
Blocked by the basement cane
On this page, I can see the end of the world
The story of the crazy wars,
The toll of the pandemic martyrs,
The unending sound of working women, desperate
On this chilling day,
On this virgin page,
By the high valley
I can see the smoke of rain,
The dew of the hurricane,
Creeping into that ink,
Effacing every single word,
Wrapped in drizzly silk
This secret reporter
Saw something unpredictable:
The devastating storm
Sets woody norms,
Water rushes into
Some grizzly buildings,
Crushed rooms,
Weeping roofs,
Walls, shedding tears,
People, sending desperate pleas
Blocked by the basement cane
On this page, I can see the end of the world
The story of the crazy wars,
The toll of the pandemic martyrs,
The unending sound of working women, desperate
househusbands,
Deformed faces, new brand bodies with no charm,
Scattered all over an apocalyptic city,
Awaiting wolves to grind
Those soaking scapegoats
Deformed faces, new brand bodies with no charm,
Scattered all over an apocalyptic city,
Awaiting wolves to grind
Those soaking scapegoats
Fiddlehead in the Rain
HURRY, CANE
Hurry, Cane
Sturm und Drang
Von Goethe with Herder
Shakespeare on fictive plane
Hurry Cane,
Get closer to Harry Kane,
A ball geek,
Hurry Harry Kane,
Hold that iron-made cane
Beckett was in an earthly hurry,
Weaving street pebbles with sand,
At the wooden gates of the satanic campaign
Tells me, Jane
Tells me, Jane
Tells me, Jane
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
LITTER PICKING
—Dr. Anissa Sboui
In a few ports of the world, litter picking
—Dr. Anissa Sboui
In a few ports of the world, litter picking
makes the poor money
___________________
Welcome back to the Kitchen to Dr. Anissa Sboui, a University teacher and poet from Sousse, Tunisia. Dr. Sboui was first posted in Medusa’s Kitchen on 6/1/22.
Congratulations to Faith A. Delgado, a junior at Pitman High School in Turlock, CA, who was selected as the Inaugural Stanislaus County Youth Poet Laureate. She will serve a one-year term, participate in several engagements throughout the year, and receive a $500 honorarium. Janelle Yulo, a junior at Modesto’s Johansen High School, and Zoe Byron, a freshman at Oakdale High School, were both finalists. The Stanislaus County Youth Poet Laureate is a program of the Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center (MoSt Poetry), in partnership with Stanislaus County Office of Education, Stanislaus County Library, Modesto Junior College’s School of Language Arts and Education, and Stanislaus Library Foundation.
Busy day in NorCal poetry! Storytellers Festival in Sacramento, along with Sac. Poetry Alliance this afternoon, and, tonight, The Blue Light Poetry Night from T-Mo Entertainment, also in Sacramento. In Lodi, Mosaic of Voices, 2pm. 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
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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!
