—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down to
Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry by
Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth
and Claire J. Baker
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down to
Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry by
Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth
and Claire J. Baker
MAKING CONNECTIONS
I’m waiting while my little car gets her under-
pinnings reconnected. Waiting room with coffee
pot, TV, bored people waiting—No thanks, I’ll walk.
Explore—side street ends at a barricade.
But a rough dirt path launches into woods August-
brown and dingy. Quiet. Nobody would come here
for a picnic; my kind of place. Just keep walking.
Around a bend—the old abandoned railroad track.
A map sketches itself in my head, connecting
dots; networking this landscape beyond
the reach of cars.
I’m waiting while my little car gets her under-
pinnings reconnected. Waiting room with coffee
pot, TV, bored people waiting—No thanks, I’ll walk.
Explore—side street ends at a barricade.
But a rough dirt path launches into woods August-
brown and dingy. Quiet. Nobody would come here
for a picnic; my kind of place. Just keep walking.
Around a bend—the old abandoned railroad track.
A map sketches itself in my head, connecting
dots; networking this landscape beyond
the reach of cars.
NORTH SIDE
Beyond the school, an open gate, dirt track
well worn by traffic of boots, shoes, ranch trucks
that bog down in winter rains. Big liveoak
with picnic scatter—paper plates, drink cans,
blanket not picked up. Here’s a bramble reef,
haven of towhee and quail. Pause to pick
the ripest berries. Notice on the ground
a heap of glossy midnight-black starred with
berry seeds. Stop. Listen for padding of
the bear; give up picking, hurry along.
Beyond the school, an open gate, dirt track
well worn by traffic of boots, shoes, ranch trucks
that bog down in winter rains. Big liveoak
with picnic scatter—paper plates, drink cans,
blanket not picked up. Here’s a bramble reef,
haven of towhee and quail. Pause to pick
the ripest berries. Notice on the ground
a heap of glossy midnight-black starred with
berry seeds. Stop. Listen for padding of
the bear; give up picking, hurry along.
ASPEN QUEST
Let’s pack picnic lunches for this trip
up the mountain, guiding our pilgrimage
on hopes and instinct, wild guess hunches,
to discover a portal into secrets of the grove;
aspen quivering its welcome as a green-
veiled doorway woven into meadow.
Each tree a parchment with a message
scabbed by healing—if we could decipher
what each ancient cut’s revealing.
Let’s pack picnic lunches for this trip
up the mountain, guiding our pilgrimage
on hopes and instinct, wild guess hunches,
to discover a portal into secrets of the grove;
aspen quivering its welcome as a green-
veiled doorway woven into meadow.
Each tree a parchment with a message
scabbed by healing—if we could decipher
what each ancient cut’s revealing.
CHOOSING
Why did this place come to mind
this morning? because years ago my dog
led me on these trails through woods?
the wind talking not in words, not telling
about an old woman lost, gone
into berry-land, her name dispersed
by wind as we walked. This morning
there are fishermen on the pond,
breakfast picnickers. We’re here to walk,
not search. I let my dog choose:
a maze of paths, dirt roads put to bed,
trashed sleeping bags of homeless
evicted, gone. Woods are deeper
than pondwater and death might come
on cougar feet or from the sky,
or a thorny net of berry bramble.
But this morning’s berries are ripe
and unplucked, purple-black, delicious.
THE CREW CAME THROUGH
They’ve cut the trees that shaded sun.
August swelters, its heat rays stun.
Flushed from thicket—Jackrabbit, run,
find shelter where you can.
A heap of woods-trash mud-baked brown
from when the trees came falling down—
which is the older tree’s root-crown?
Whose the chainsaw, which man?
They’ve cut the trees that shaded sun.
August swelters, its heat rays stun.
Flushed from thicket—Jackrabbit, run,
find shelter where you can.
A heap of woods-trash mud-baked brown
from when the trees came falling down—
which is the older tree’s root-crown?
Whose the chainsaw, which man?
BEHIND THE PARK
We passed in mist of morning from meadow
to oak woods, their bedrock mortars symbolizing
what once was; soon to become streets and houses.
The day lightened, and a jay began jabbering
our presence, our descent to the pond.
Swans floated on water smooth and translucent
as pearl. I confess, I stood listening
for I didn’t know what.
How silence imagines voices
that once were.
We passed in mist of morning from meadow
to oak woods, their bedrock mortars symbolizing
what once was; soon to become streets and houses.
The day lightened, and a jay began jabbering
our presence, our descent to the pond.
Swans floated on water smooth and translucent
as pearl. I confess, I stood listening
for I didn’t know what.
How silence imagines voices
that once were.
Today’s LittleNip:
THE CANYON’S PEARL
—Taylor Graham
August heats the upper pines—
seek the pond where green entwines
shadow.
____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for sending us poems and pix as summer begins to slip away here in the foothillls—some about our recent Seed of the Week, "Picnic". Forms she has used include some Blank Verse (“North Side”); a Word-Can Poem (“Behind the Park”); a Pearlette (“The Canyon's Pearl”); and a Stevenson (“The Crew Came Through”). The Pearlette and the Stevenson were last week’s Triple-F Challenges.
Foothill Poet Chris Olander and musicians Tynowyn and “Ukulele” Dan Scanlan will be performing tonight at Seven Stars Gallery in Nevada City, 7pm. Then this coming Sunday, D.R. Wagner and Dave Boles will read (plus open mic) at Chateau Davell in Camino, 2pm. For info about El Dorado County poetry events, past and future, go to Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/, or click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about 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.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
THE CANYON’S PEARL
—Taylor Graham
August heats the upper pines—
seek the pond where green entwines
shadow.
____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for sending us poems and pix as summer begins to slip away here in the foothillls—some about our recent Seed of the Week, "Picnic". Forms she has used include some Blank Verse (“North Side”); a Word-Can Poem (“Behind the Park”); a Pearlette (“The Canyon's Pearl”); and a Stevenson (“The Crew Came Through”). The Pearlette and the Stevenson were last week’s Triple-F Challenges.
Foothill Poet Chris Olander and musicians Tynowyn and “Ukulele” Dan Scanlan will be performing tonight at Seven Stars Gallery in Nevada City, 7pm. Then this coming Sunday, D.R. Wagner and Dave Boles will read (plus open mic) at Chateau Davell in Camino, 2pm. For info about El Dorado County poetry events, past and future, go to Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/, or click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about 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.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
There’s also a page at the top of Medusa’s Kitchen called, “FORMS! OMG!!!” which expresses some of my (take ‘em or leave 'em) opinions about the use of forms in poetry writing, as well as listing some more resources to help you navigate through Form Quicksand. Got any more resources to add to our list? Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com for the benefit of all man/woman/poetkind!
* * *
We received responses to last week’s Ekphrastic photo from Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox and Stephen Kingsnorth:
GEARS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Gears
With teeth
Fitting into other teeth
On other wheels,
All pre-planned,
To let them make
Foreseen effects
Occur.
Grinding
In a whir,
Fulfilling the design
Of an engineer
Who first imagined
And envisioned
A way to make things happen
Without further interaction
From God or man.
Grind on!
Meshing gears!
Those who cannot comprehend
Are aghast with fears
At what your plans
Can do.
* * *
GEAR HEAD
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Gears spun in his brain.
He whirred as he walked.
Covered in grease,
he loved fancy motors
and anything he can make go.
* * *
ART OF MOVEMENT
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Insulting fellow undergrad’s—
thought engineers were garage men—
I want this misnamed quantum work,
not shafts, wheels, gear of cotton mills
or lever that can move the world.
Of those, electron microscopes,
they scoff at magnifying glass,
at grandpa’s silver hunter case;
my cotton bud cast oily rag,
the jewels here too paste to rob.
Such macro on the micro scale,
not nano yet of second span,
this craft of physics’ principles
takes sprockets, cogs and flywheel things,
the springs that spoke through dial rings.
There figure out the numerals
in Arabic or Roman style
as stare through hourglass covering;
but take for granted the unseen,
the movement of that background scene.
But if you wrist watch nowadays
more likely bands than straps are seen
as time machines are digital,
so time to be smart, they would say;
that art of movements in decline.
* * *
Last Monday there was talk in the Kitchen of subjects which may not suitable for publication, but how in the interest of freedom of speech, we tack them up anyway. Here is a Cinquain from Claire J. Baker, who has challenged barriers all her 90-plus years:
GEARS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Gears
With teeth
Fitting into other teeth
On other wheels,
All pre-planned,
To let them make
Foreseen effects
Occur.
Grinding
In a whir,
Fulfilling the design
Of an engineer
Who first imagined
And envisioned
A way to make things happen
Without further interaction
From God or man.
Grind on!
Meshing gears!
Those who cannot comprehend
Are aghast with fears
At what your plans
Can do.
* * *
GEAR HEAD
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Gears spun in his brain.
He whirred as he walked.
Covered in grease,
he loved fancy motors
and anything he can make go.
* * *
ART OF MOVEMENT
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Insulting fellow undergrad’s—
thought engineers were garage men—
I want this misnamed quantum work,
not shafts, wheels, gear of cotton mills
or lever that can move the world.
Of those, electron microscopes,
they scoff at magnifying glass,
at grandpa’s silver hunter case;
my cotton bud cast oily rag,
the jewels here too paste to rob.
Such macro on the micro scale,
not nano yet of second span,
this craft of physics’ principles
takes sprockets, cogs and flywheel things,
the springs that spoke through dial rings.
There figure out the numerals
in Arabic or Roman style
as stare through hourglass covering;
but take for granted the unseen,
the movement of that background scene.
But if you wrist watch nowadays
more likely bands than straps are seen
as time machines are digital,
so time to be smart, they would say;
that art of movements in decline.
* * *
Last Monday there was talk in the Kitchen of subjects which may not suitable for publication, but how in the interest of freedom of speech, we tack them up anyway. Here is a Cinquain from Claire J. Baker, who has challenged barriers all her 90-plus years:
AGING’S DRIED-OUT SKIN
in backyard garden
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
When she
rubs down her arms,
she believes skin-flakings
falling away bring nourishment
to birds.
* * *
And here is another Cinquain from Claire, this one in response to the Tuesday Seed of the Week, "As Summer Slips Away":
in backyard garden
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
When she
rubs down her arms,
she believes skin-flakings
falling away bring nourishment
to birds.
* * *
And here is another Cinquain from Claire, this one in response to the Tuesday Seed of the Week, "As Summer Slips Away":
GEESE CROSS FULL MOON
—Claire J. Baker
All these
summer dog-days
we held our own long leash--
even howled at silhouetted
moon birds.
—Claire J. Baker
All these
summer dog-days
we held our own long leash--
even howled at silhouetted
moon birds.
* * *
Last Monday, Joe Nolan sent a poem about fleas, which greatly inspired Stephen Kingsnorth; here are two of his responses. Watch out—word-play proliferates in Stephen’s poetry like, well, fleas…
BRANDED
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Lift your legs
the Hoover’s buzzing, carpet drone—
recall the ease, Linoleum—
brushing cushions, clouding dust,
like the Kleenezy man’s about.
Because bare ankles bear the marks,
those jumping critters, flailing ‘bout;
why do they choose her blood, not mine?
Branded now, generic fleas.
* * *
IN FUR
—Stephen Kingsnorth
That ring, a ring of roses,
as posies fail to ward off fleas—
it’s not the sneezes, tissues, fall,
but rows of roses in full bloom.
A plague’s about, as rats roam free,
a shipload travelled down the plank—
of smugglers—stowaways infer,
snug bugs in rugs, black yak hair stacks.
___________________
Many thanks to our SnakePals for their brave fiddling! Would you like to be a SnakePal? All you have to do is send poetry—forms or not—and/or photos and artwork to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
_____________________
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Lift your legs
the Hoover’s buzzing, carpet drone—
recall the ease, Linoleum—
brushing cushions, clouding dust,
like the Kleenezy man’s about.
Because bare ankles bear the marks,
those jumping critters, flailing ‘bout;
why do they choose her blood, not mine?
Branded now, generic fleas.
* * *
IN FUR
—Stephen Kingsnorth
That ring, a ring of roses,
as posies fail to ward off fleas—
it’s not the sneezes, tissues, fall,
but rows of roses in full bloom.
A plague’s about, as rats roam free,
a shipload travelled down the plank—
of smugglers—stowaways infer,
snug bugs in rugs, black yak hair stacks.
___________________
Many thanks to our SnakePals for their brave fiddling! Would you like to be a SnakePal? All you have to do is send poetry—forms or not—and/or photos and artwork to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
_____________________
TRIPLE-F CHALLENGES!
•••Ballade: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/ballade-poetic-forms
•••AND/OR the cute little Irish Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire (cuter to write than to say…):
•••Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/cethramtu-rannaigechta-moire-poetic-asides
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic photo.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “As Summer Slips Away”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Ballad: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ballad AND/OR www.baymoon.com/~ariadne/form/ballade.htm
•••Ballade: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/ballade-poetic-forms
•••Ballade Supreme: http://www.poetrybase.info/forms/000/16.shtml
•••Blank Verse: literarydevices.net/blank-verse AND/OR www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-the-difference-between-blank-verse-and-free-verse#quiz-0
•••Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/cethramtu-rannaigechta-moire-poetic-asides
•••Cinquain: poets.org/glossary/cinquain AND/OR www.poewar.com/poetry-in-forms-series-cinquain/. See www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/adelaide-crapsey for info about its inventor, Adelaide Crapsey.
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Pearlette (Poet’s Choice Magazine/Joyce Odam): 7/7/2; a a x, b b x (etc.) where x is no rhyme
•••Stevenson: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/the-stevenson
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them
____________________
—Medusa
•••Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/cethramtu-rannaigechta-moire-poetic-asides
•••Cinquain: poets.org/glossary/cinquain AND/OR www.poewar.com/poetry-in-forms-series-cinquain/. See www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/adelaide-crapsey for info about its inventor, Adelaide Crapsey.
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Pearlette (Poet’s Choice Magazine/Joyce Odam): 7/7/2; a a x, b b x (etc.) where x is no rhyme
•••Stevenson: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/the-stevenson
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them
____________________
—Medusa
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
Make what you can of today's
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
Make what you can of today's
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
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.
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
dragon’s breath
ignites the tongue:
flames of wasabi!