—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Joe Nolan and Sayani Mukherjee
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
RETREAT
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
We retreat to beat
of drum to our retreat,
our haven, a shelter
from sharp dagger words,
and blasts of deadly gossip.
A port to mend our tattered sails,
a harbor in the storm,
safe haven are the words we pray
when quagmire calls
to catch us.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
We retreat to beat
of drum to our retreat,
our haven, a shelter
from sharp dagger words,
and blasts of deadly gossip.
A port to mend our tattered sails,
a harbor in the storm,
safe haven are the words we pray
when quagmire calls
to catch us.
Thanks to the kindness of strangers…
HAVEN, REASSURING SAFE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
How can a haven but be safe,
tautology, grammarians,
an inclined slope for Sisyphus,
a pleonasm for the Greek?
But for the seekers, sanctuary,
asylum for the refugee,
it is the emphasis they need,
both safe and haven from their fear.
The only Channel most have here
is craft in crossing shipping lanes,
their fare in hands of ruthless gangs,
those carefree men who over-board.
As for safe, com-bination set,
two country split as homeland left,
but poor security supplied
at border, and for those arrived.
They’re landed, waves, now stranded, beached,
unless a lifeboat rescued, saved;
that institution’s work decried,
but crew set to, stand by sea’s lore.
This island, sold as liberty,
once acute corner, triangle,
where slaves were traded in their chains—
go west, young, man up, ’tunity.
BORDER-CROSSERS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
To slip across a border, undisturbed,
Into another nation,
While comrades
In large box-vans
Suffocate,
Is to disappear–evaporate,
To blend with air,
To float away,
To drift apart
Into separate fate.
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
To slip across a border, undisturbed,
Into another nation,
While comrades
In large box-vans
Suffocate,
Is to disappear–evaporate,
To blend with air,
To float away,
To drift apart
Into separate fate.
THE WAY OF BOTTOM-FEEDERS
—Joe Nolan
I am just
An evil-
Hermit-crab,
Bent upon
My own
Digestion.
I have no other cause
But my survival.
Hammocks offer no respite,
Since I live
Below the waves,
As a bottom-feeder.
Some must
Tell us
Their disgust
How awful
Things along the bottom
Must taste.
I have learned
To get along
With whatever
Comes my way.
Such is the way
Of bottom-feeders.
Be thankful
We’re not termites.
—Joe Nolan
I am just
An evil-
Hermit-crab,
Bent upon
My own
Digestion.
I have no other cause
But my survival.
Hammocks offer no respite,
Since I live
Below the waves,
As a bottom-feeder.
Some must
Tell us
Their disgust
How awful
Things along the bottom
Must taste.
I have learned
To get along
With whatever
Comes my way.
Such is the way
Of bottom-feeders.
Be thankful
We’re not termites.
EMPIRES
—Joe Nolan
Each empire
Arises to
Build its ruins,
To be excavated
By another empire,
Long on down
The line.
No one ever listens.
No one ever learns.
Taking devastation
And exhilaration,
By turns.
If not this,
Then what?
If we didn’t do these things
Would we just
Cavort across the prairies,
Bareback, on horses,
Slaughtering buffalo
For our sustenance?
Would the world
Then be more green?
Each empire
Arises to
Build its ruins,
To be excavated
By another empire,
Long on down
The line.
No one ever listens.
No one ever learns.
Taking devastation
And exhilaration,
By turns.
If not this,
Then what?
If we didn’t do these things
Would we just
Cavort across the prairies,
Bareback, on horses,
Slaughtering buffalo
For our sustenance?
Would the world
Then be more green?
A CASTLE FOR A CABIN
—Joe Nolan
There’s rumors
Out there
About you,
About how
You’d have traded
A castle
For a cabin
When you heard
The way Diana died.
—Joe Nolan
There’s rumors
Out there
About you,
About how
You’d have traded
A castle
For a cabin
When you heard
The way Diana died.
DIVINE PLAN
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
Heaven's fiery ash
My new-found isle of Poppies
Little-big enough
For a magic maker
A big believer, A winner
The earthly paradise of
Golden paradigm
My heavenly fire of seascapes
The Supernatural bemused art
We call her a religion
A religious art
Divinely separated truly for the best
She's our heaven
A little butterfly
A white tale
No, She's a divine plan
Rightly suited.
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
Heaven's fiery ash
My new-found isle of Poppies
Little-big enough
For a magic maker
A big believer, A winner
The earthly paradise of
Golden paradigm
My heavenly fire of seascapes
The Supernatural bemused art
We call her a religion
A religious art
Divinely separated truly for the best
She's our heaven
A little butterfly
A white tale
No, She's a divine plan
Rightly suited.
ROSES
—Sayani Mukherjee
The roses of July
Are so pretty
A pretty good problem
To be
This beautiful
Insanely fragile
Yet beautiful
Helen's face I can see
Roses in July
Just so pretty
Beautiful, a maiden robed
Our own reflections.
____________________
—Sayani Mukherjee
The roses of July
Are so pretty
A pretty good problem
To be
This beautiful
Insanely fragile
Yet beautiful
Helen's face I can see
Roses in July
Just so pretty
Beautiful, a maiden robed
Our own reflections.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THE HARBOR, TONIGHT
—Joe Nolan
The harbor is encompassing, tonight.
The harbor is awash in faint starlight.
The harbor is awash
In every watcher’s wishes.
Rhythm scales the heights.
I’m with you tonight.
More-so than on ordinary nights.
Something extra makes us bright,
Tonight!
___________________
Our Seed of the Week was Safe Haven, and some of our contributors wrote about that from different angles, from one’s home to the larger issue of refugees. Stephen Kingsnorth reminds us of Brian Bilston’s poem, “Refugees”, which is in the form of a reverse poem, to be read from top to bottom and then from botton to top. Check it out at https://nationalpoetryday.co.uk/poem/refugees/.
NorCal poetry kicks off with Poetic License read-around in Placerville this morning, starting at 10:30am; then tonight, Sac. Poetry Center presents its new monthly (second Monday) feature, Youth Open Mic Night. The rest of the week is equally busy, with a book release in Cameron Park on Tuesday; Anthony Robles at Poetry Unplugged in Sacramento on Thursday; Poetry in the Park from Sac. Poetry Center on Friday; and an all-star line-up at Poetry and Journaling Day, Calaveras County State Park, on Saturday. 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
THE HARBOR, TONIGHT
—Joe Nolan
The harbor is encompassing, tonight.
The harbor is awash in faint starlight.
The harbor is awash
In every watcher’s wishes.
Rhythm scales the heights.
I’m with you tonight.
More-so than on ordinary nights.
Something extra makes us bright,
Tonight!
___________________
Our Seed of the Week was Safe Haven, and some of our contributors wrote about that from different angles, from one’s home to the larger issue of refugees. Stephen Kingsnorth reminds us of Brian Bilston’s poem, “Refugees”, which is in the form of a reverse poem, to be read from top to bottom and then from botton to top. Check it out at https://nationalpoetryday.co.uk/poem/refugees/.
NorCal poetry kicks off with Poetic License read-around in Placerville this morning, starting at 10:30am; then tonight, Sac. Poetry Center presents its new monthly (second Monday) feature, Youth Open Mic Night. The rest of the week is equally busy, with a book release in Cameron Park on Tuesday; Anthony Robles at Poetry Unplugged in Sacramento on Thursday; Poetry in the Park from Sac. Poetry Center on Friday; and an all-star line-up at Poetry and Journaling Day, Calaveras County State Park, on Saturday. 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
The poor world needs a break…!
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!
