—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Nolcha Fox
DECLUTTER
My thoughts are chaos clutter
stacked up higher than the roof.
I have to make more room to house
my butterfly collection.
I box the thoughts that have no end
with last year’s Christmas tree,
and donate them to needy kids
three hundred miles away.
The thoughts that might grow poems
I dust and line up alphabetically.
I attack with mop and broom the fear
that’s hiding in the corners of my brain.
Before I finish up the job and pat me
on the back, my thoughts return with buddies
bent on chasing good intentions out
‘til next year’s failed spring cleaning.
My thoughts are chaos clutter
stacked up higher than the roof.
I have to make more room to house
my butterfly collection.
I box the thoughts that have no end
with last year’s Christmas tree,
and donate them to needy kids
three hundred miles away.
The thoughts that might grow poems
I dust and line up alphabetically.
I attack with mop and broom the fear
that’s hiding in the corners of my brain.
Before I finish up the job and pat me
on the back, my thoughts return with buddies
bent on chasing good intentions out
‘til next year’s failed spring cleaning.
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS
The gardener planted bee balm,
just one, she’ll plant some more.
And soon she’ll plant some lavender,
and then some creeping thyme.
Soon purples, reds, and pinks will pop,
and butterflies and bees
and hummingbirds will come to feast.
Our garden will be overrun
with scent and hum and zing.
The gardener planted bee balm,
just one, she’ll plant some more.
And soon she’ll plant some lavender,
and then some creeping thyme.
Soon purples, reds, and pinks will pop,
and butterflies and bees
and hummingbirds will come to feast.
Our garden will be overrun
with scent and hum and zing.
CARDINAL
The Cardinal walked
down the aisle
in all his finery.
His scarlet robes
could not compete
with the cardinal
whistling in the tree.
The Cardinal walked
down the aisle
in all his finery.
His scarlet robes
could not compete
with the cardinal
whistling in the tree.
My ducks
do not know the meaning of row.
Two of them get into a canoe
but their little wings are
too short to use the oars.
Three of my ducks practice arguing
to get in the spirit of row.
Two ducks don’t want to deal with it
and hide with the dust bunnies instead.
One of my ducks is really a goose
who makes a row to raise the dead.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll get myself together
and line up toy ducks instead.
do not know the meaning of row.
Two of them get into a canoe
but their little wings are
too short to use the oars.
Three of my ducks practice arguing
to get in the spirit of row.
Two ducks don’t want to deal with it
and hide with the dust bunnies instead.
One of my ducks is really a goose
who makes a row to raise the dead.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll get myself together
and line up toy ducks instead.
CURE
Lady island, rock me in the
hammock of your moon.
Bathe me with essential oils.
Let your sun erase nostalgia
for the hamster wheel that spins
through busy city streets.
Lullaby me with the winds
that rustle palm tree fronds.
Baptize me in sea-green waves.
Lavish me with seashells
washed up shiny on the beach.
Lose my passport, toss
my worries into starry nights.
Calm my endless running
to be nowhere. Keep me here.
Lady island, slow me down,
drench me in jasmine,
be my remedy.
Lady island, rock me in the
hammock of your moon.
Bathe me with essential oils.
Let your sun erase nostalgia
for the hamster wheel that spins
through busy city streets.
Lullaby me with the winds
that rustle palm tree fronds.
Baptize me in sea-green waves.
Lavish me with seashells
washed up shiny on the beach.
Lose my passport, toss
my worries into starry nights.
Calm my endless running
to be nowhere. Keep me here.
Lady island, slow me down,
drench me in jasmine,
be my remedy.
FROSTBITE
The maple tree is bald.
It wears a wreath skirt of leaves.
It will never go to that barber again.
I am the
wilderness, I am the wild.
I walk through the rules
and howl.
wilderness, I am the wild.
I walk through the rules
and howl.
Light seeps
through branches, speckling
dancing shards of bright
upon the lawn.
Light seeps through blinds,
exudes the smell of sprinklers
dribbling summer into fall.
through branches, speckling
dancing shards of bright
upon the lawn.
Light seeps through blinds,
exudes the smell of sprinklers
dribbling summer into fall.
MOONING
The moon is a smile in the sky.
I want to rock in her cradle,
eat her croissant,
peel her banana.
But she’s too far away to reach.
The moon is a smile in the sky.
I want to rock in her cradle,
eat her croissant,
peel her banana.
But she’s too far away to reach.
MY FIRST
Before I knew my a-b-c’s,
when I was just a toddler,
I found morning
glories on the fence,
and my world turned
purple.
Before I knew my a-b-c’s,
when I was just a toddler,
I found morning
glories on the fence,
and my world turned
purple.
PARK
Too beautiful a day to stay
inside, birds bathing
in sprinkler rain that
outsparkled droplets on roses.
I put my car in park
at the park down the street.
Parked myself on the bleachers,
threw my parka on the ground,
let the sun bake my skin
while players hit it
out of the park.
Too beautiful a day to stay
inside, birds bathing
in sprinkler rain that
outsparkled droplets on roses.
I put my car in park
at the park down the street.
Parked myself on the bleachers,
threw my parka on the ground,
let the sun bake my skin
while players hit it
out of the park.
Please scatter me just off the trail
I used to hike when I was wild
and free of care, when I could dare
to sleep and dream on rocks in streams.
But now I wheeze, my joints all seize,
I can’t go back to grassy tracks
until I leave this life. Don’t grieve,
just toss me under windswept trees.
I used to hike when I was wild
and free of care, when I could dare
to sleep and dream on rocks in streams.
But now I wheeze, my joints all seize,
I can’t go back to grassy tracks
until I leave this life. Don’t grieve,
just toss me under windswept trees.
So much for
sprawling on the grass
with wine and cheese and meat.
My checkered cloth is now
a shelter from the
thunderstorm.
sprawling on the grass
with wine and cheese and meat.
My checkered cloth is now
a shelter from the
thunderstorm.
Today’s LittleNip:
DANDY
—Nolcha Fox
I love dandelions,
the bees love dandelions,
my husband loves
to weed-whack
dandelions.
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Buffalo Gal Nolcha Fox for today’s fine poetry and pix! Nolcha's poetry is all over the Internet; the most recent being in Fevers of the Mind at https://feversofthemind.com/2023/07/12/a-poetry-showcase-challenge-from-nolcha-fox/?fbclid=IwAR0H7ZvnJECHiXOBB-YKMp6r1PWaRwIRZ-Cmp-I2SMlTzN8gmt5wgd5oevY/.
DANDY
—Nolcha Fox
I love dandelions,
the bees love dandelions,
my husband loves
to weed-whack
dandelions.
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Buffalo Gal Nolcha Fox for today’s fine poetry and pix! Nolcha's poetry is all over the Internet; the most recent being in Fevers of the Mind at https://feversofthemind.com/2023/07/12/a-poetry-showcase-challenge-from-nolcha-fox/?fbclid=IwAR0H7ZvnJECHiXOBB-YKMp6r1PWaRwIRZ-Cmp-I2SMlTzN8gmt5wgd5oevY/.
NOTICE: Sac. Poetry Center's Poetry in the Park event scheduled in Sacramento for this week has been postponed due to the heat expected. It has been rescheduled for Friday, July 21, 6 p.m.
Nolcha with pals
A reminder that Anthony Robles
will be reading at Luna’s Cafe in
Sacramento tonight, 8pm.
For details about this and
other upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
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!
will be reading at Luna’s Cafe in
Sacramento tonight, 8pm.
For details about this and
other upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
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!
