—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Sayani Mukherjee,
Shiva Neupane, Joe Nolan
and Stephen Kingsnorth
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan
SPROUTS, SPROUTS, SPROUTS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Trees and columbine sprout sprouts
that march through open space,
they’re heading for the house.
I arm myself with gloves and every
garden tool that I can reach.
I have to whack them back
before they come inside for lunch.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Trees and columbine sprout sprouts
that march through open space,
they’re heading for the house.
I arm myself with gloves and every
garden tool that I can reach.
I have to whack them back
before they come inside for lunch.
LILIES
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
Lilies are simple
Pond-scape of my obituaries
The tilted stage of spring to monsoon
It calms a soothing tornado
Kite-ridden lachrymose crystals
The pond-scape is a mirror
Of leafy coquettish swim
Honeydipped solar gaze
Perfect for mated leaves
Lilies are simple
Monsoon bespoken
It keeps things afloat.
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
Lilies are simple
Pond-scape of my obituaries
The tilted stage of spring to monsoon
It calms a soothing tornado
Kite-ridden lachrymose crystals
The pond-scape is a mirror
Of leafy coquettish swim
Honeydipped solar gaze
Perfect for mated leaves
Lilies are simple
Monsoon bespoken
It keeps things afloat.
THE DIGITAL SLAVERY
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne, Australia
You don’t know how many times
Your eyes run through the screen
The visual gravity is very powerful
You cannot refrain from
the orbit of addiction
On the digital landscape,
Your visual-plough is digging
the past information of bigwigs.
Your digital obsession
has made you an offence-archaeologist
and digital slave if you will.
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne, Australia
You don’t know how many times
Your eyes run through the screen
The visual gravity is very powerful
You cannot refrain from
the orbit of addiction
On the digital landscape,
Your visual-plough is digging
the past information of bigwigs.
Your digital obsession
has made you an offence-archaeologist
and digital slave if you will.
MOTHERHOOD
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Motherhood—
An expansion of soul,
Into numerous offspring.
Let them grow!
Each mother knows
Development emerges
With developments.
Kindly efforts will convey
Information infants need
To change into what they may
Eventually become,
When their mother’s numb.
It’s in no way easy
To allow development
Across the course of
Any moment’s page.
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Motherhood—
An expansion of soul,
Into numerous offspring.
Let them grow!
Each mother knows
Development emerges
With developments.
Kindly efforts will convey
Information infants need
To change into what they may
Eventually become,
When their mother’s numb.
It’s in no way easy
To allow development
Across the course of
Any moment’s page.
SHORTNESS OF BREATH
—Joe Nolan
Shortness of breath—
The finger of death.
Breathing won’t come,
Anymore.
Infinity of space,
Infinity of time,
Cannot comprehend
With small, human mind.
When breathing won’t come
What’s left behind?
What must move on?
There are no problems,
Only solutions—
Dissolution.
By death shall we part,
Despite the fondest
Feelings of heart.
—Joe Nolan
Shortness of breath—
The finger of death.
Breathing won’t come,
Anymore.
Infinity of space,
Infinity of time,
Cannot comprehend
With small, human mind.
When breathing won’t come
What’s left behind?
What must move on?
There are no problems,
Only solutions—
Dissolution.
By death shall we part,
Despite the fondest
Feelings of heart.
THE CATECHISM OF JOY
—Joe Nolan
The Catechism of Joy
Has yet to be revealed.
Everyone’s mentioning sinning,
Instead of what might yield
More pleasured times.
Think of children’s nursery rhymes—
The cadence and measure,
The repeat and the rhyme,
Every obverse surface—
Perfection made sublime!
Exactly how to offer
A jump to joy
That’s found?
For that,
They charge admission
At the Interface of Sound.
—Joe Nolan
The Catechism of Joy
Has yet to be revealed.
Everyone’s mentioning sinning,
Instead of what might yield
More pleasured times.
Think of children’s nursery rhymes—
The cadence and measure,
The repeat and the rhyme,
Every obverse surface—
Perfection made sublime!
Exactly how to offer
A jump to joy
That’s found?
For that,
They charge admission
At the Interface of Sound.
MOKSHA BY JNĀNA
—Joe Nolan
When logic led to inspiration,
Inspiration to exaltation,
Exaltation to realization,
Jnāna to sat-chit-ananda,
A jiva jumped into moksha,
Knowing, for the first time,
He was That.
It really does
Sometimes
Go like that.
—Joe Nolan
When logic led to inspiration,
Inspiration to exaltation,
Exaltation to realization,
Jnāna to sat-chit-ananda,
A jiva jumped into moksha,
Knowing, for the first time,
He was That.
It really does
Sometimes
Go like that.
Today’s LittleNip:
SPROUTS
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
If Brussels, legend, veg disliked,
as by the cook, bullets or mush,
but strong tradition, Christmas lunch,
the only green, before late Queen.
And there again, that post-war jibe,
‘now eat your greens’, spring type on plate;
how far removed (or is it so?),
when celebrate our garden’s growth.
Our tastebuds hungry for that sense
that new life sprouts where dead has seemed,
and from soiled earth fresh hope revealed
in buds and shoots as spring uncoils.
_______________________
Sprouts—Human and otherwise. That was our Seed of the Week: Sprouts; some of our contributors rose to the occasion this morning, and we thank them and, of course, all of our poets for their work. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
There are numerous poetry events in the NorCal region this week; click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about them—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for additional happenings that might pop up during the week.
_______________________
—Medusa
SPROUTS
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
If Brussels, legend, veg disliked,
as by the cook, bullets or mush,
but strong tradition, Christmas lunch,
the only green, before late Queen.
And there again, that post-war jibe,
‘now eat your greens’, spring type on plate;
how far removed (or is it so?),
when celebrate our garden’s growth.
Our tastebuds hungry for that sense
that new life sprouts where dead has seemed,
and from soiled earth fresh hope revealed
in buds and shoots as spring uncoils.
_______________________
Sprouts—Human and otherwise. That was our Seed of the Week: Sprouts; some of our contributors rose to the occasion this morning, and we thank them and, of course, all of our poets for their work. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
There are numerous poetry events in the NorCal region this week; click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about them—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for additional happenings that might pop up during the week.
_______________________
—Medusa
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!
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!
(Eat your greens!)
