Dancers, Ohigan Festival at Wakamatsu Farm
—Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down to
Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Joe Nolan, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, and Joyce Odam
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down to
Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Joe Nolan, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, and Joyce Odam
THIS 9/11 MORNING 2023
I found blue sky washed clean of planes
crashing sirens wailing.
I found the trail along the tracks deserted
and early morning silence,
not even a barnyard cock crowing.
I found a single Queen Anne’s lace blooming
among so many others standing dead.
I found sunup on the trail, a small hawk flying,
one runner watching her feet and missing
a flurry of goldfinch
on golden tarweed and all the dead grasses
sparkling with sun.
I found empty cans of Coors Light,
evidence maybe of celebration,
de-stressing, remembering, forgetting.
I found—no, she found me—a young lady
catching up from behind, wanting
to meet my dog & we talk of our Shepherds
as long as a 30-minute walk allows
but who cares? and
I found how morning wakes the trail, smiling.
I found blue sky washed clean of planes
crashing sirens wailing.
I found the trail along the tracks deserted
and early morning silence,
not even a barnyard cock crowing.
I found a single Queen Anne’s lace blooming
among so many others standing dead.
I found sunup on the trail, a small hawk flying,
one runner watching her feet and missing
a flurry of goldfinch
on golden tarweed and all the dead grasses
sparkling with sun.
I found empty cans of Coors Light,
evidence maybe of celebration,
de-stressing, remembering, forgetting.
I found—no, she found me—a young lady
catching up from behind, wanting
to meet my dog & we talk of our Shepherds
as long as a 30-minute walk allows
but who cares? and
I found how morning wakes the trail, smiling.
ALMOST EQUINOX
Every lichened stone
is art—walk
Nature’s gallery.
Rising sun at
my left shoulder—too late
to see comet.
No Trespassing sign
beside trail—
lucky to have trail!
Madia lifts sun-
golden pinwheels thru dead weeds—
equinox tipping fall.
RENDEZVOUS WITH NATURE
From Broadway I’m climbing
sidewalk up a 2-lane, above
commuter traffic, backup beeps,
a tanker-truck discharging hazardous
fluids at the filling station.
Across this little road, a hillside
beckons with oak, pine, and incense
cedar. A place of quiet solitude,
communion with the forest,
morning meditation. But
look, a sign:
POSTED
NO TRESPASSING
KEEP OUT
Suspicion is on duty 24/7
more imposing than the forest.
MEXICO CITY, SEPT. 19
We rendezvous by email, phone, Zoom—we lost contact decades ago, got back in touch. 38 years today since quake shook the city, circumstance shook us together with our dogs, military transport into disaster. We didn’t know each other. We were a team 5 days searching; flew home to opposite coasts, our old lives. Now we reminisce: crawling between collapsed floors; learning to read & trust each other’s dogs: “live” or “dead” alert? Concrete dust & stench; aftershocks, tremors; fatigue, stress erupting after-hours in crazy laughing. Now, email, phone, Zoom—
those dogs long dead now,
and some of our teammates too—
there’s no going back.
TRAIL SOMONKA
I’ll meet you at that
barricade to keep walkers
away from the edge,
the small dry ravine below
and thirsty forest all around.
Oh but don’t we love
exploring beyond what they
call risky edges?
Places others never go,
just us alone together.
I’ll meet you at that
barricade to keep walkers
away from the edge,
the small dry ravine below
and thirsty forest all around.
Oh but don’t we love
exploring beyond what they
call risky edges?
Places others never go,
just us alone together.
Placing Poems on the Wishing Tree
AT THE POETRY READING
She sits on the fringes unnoticed,
spinning her wool as she listens to spinning
of words into poems. Her wool-work
is soft almost silent, a cycling hum
of creation, spinning wool for her weaving,
wool to become—well, who knows
where a poem might lead.
She sits on the fringes unnoticed,
spinning her wool as she listens to spinning
of words into poems. Her wool-work
is soft almost silent, a cycling hum
of creation, spinning wool for her weaving,
wool to become—well, who knows
where a poem might lead.
Wishing Tree at Wakamatsu Farm
Today’s LittleNip:
FOR OHIGAN—AUTUMN FESTIVAL
—Taylor Graham
O young cherry tree,
how gracious your slender boughs
to bear our poems.
Taiko Drummers at Ohigan
__________________
Welcome to the Kitchen today as we gear up for the Fall Equinox which takes place tonight at 11:49pm. Taylor Graham has a poem about the Equinox, and she also explores the trail, as well as remembering the earthquake in Mexico, to which she and her husband, Hatch, took their search dogs to help find survivors.
Forms TG has sent us this week include an Anaphora (“This 9/11 Morning 2023”),; a Haibun (“Mexico City, Sept. 19”); a chain of Lunes (“Almost Equinox”); a Somonka (“Trail Somonka”); and a Haiku (“For Ohigan—Autumn Festival”). The Anaphora was one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges.
TG’s poem about Ohigan refers to the Japanese festival which took place at Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville last weekend. Poets wrote short poems which they added to The Wishing Tree; see photos. For info and photos of Ohigan and for news about other El Dorado County poetry events, past and future, go to Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado poetry on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry/. This week in El Dorado County brings a reading at Chateau Davell in Camino this Sunday, featuring Wendy Patrice Williams and Jennifer O’Neill Pickering plus open mic; and on Thursday, a reading at Switchboard Gallery in Placerville, featuring Ekphrastic poems based on the current exhibit by Claudine Granthem, “Details and Materials”.
Otherwheres, tonight in Grass Valley, The Poetry Crashers host a Tilt Session, an Autumn Equinox open mic. Click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about this
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.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers, in addition to those sent to us by Taylor Graham! Each Friday, there will be poems posted here from our readers using forms—either ones which were sent to Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some challenges— Whaddaya got to lose… ? If you send ‘em, I’ll post ‘em! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for resources and for links to poetry terms used in today’s post.)
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 Nolcha Fox, Joe Nolan, Stephen Kingsnorth and Caschwa (Carl Schwartz:
Between the was and the want
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
I’m sullen shadow shifting
in and out of focus.
Perfect picture, broken frame,
crooked smile, frozen pain.
The was of what wasn’t,
the want to redress wrongness,
the confusion of fusion,
broken boundaries,
empty space.
* * *
MOVE ON?
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
It’s not all it could be,
Obviously,
Something denied,
Something withheld,
Making other plans,
Considering whether to settle
Or move on.
Something cruelly indifferent?
Boundaries.
Adjustments.
Insensitivity.
Dissatisfaction, ultimately.
You never get all you want
With this one or another.
Accept and stay
Or move on?
* * *
ARMS AND THE MAN
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
For sure the title relevant,
and here it names the same in one.
First arms, then eyes, with pout of lips—
not sulk I think, but quiver shock;
the real, now as realised,
in being taken for a ride.
In orange, scarlet, pink of flesh—
not, scarlet woman, epithet.
In grip of folds, resentment streaks,
yet nonchalance, near dog-end man;
the stance, compartmentalised, as
scene is screened both front and back.
Why does my sympathy feel right,
swift judgement made, position held?
Yet pupils learn to read what seen,
the body language, open book;
and he has passed, sentence required,
the promised earth returned to dust.
No blinds to counter pane wide view,
though insight needs the inside mood.
Here’s victim impact stated best,
the train of thought at her behest;
carriage, deportment, up in smoke—
betrayal meets indifference.
* * *
DEAL BREAKER
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
likes everything about him
except the damn cigarette
sure futures ender
* * *
Carl Schwartz writes that he is sending us an additional Haiku:
THEY ARE STALKING ME
—Caschwa
Got a hole in one!
on multiple occasions
in garments, not golf
* * *
And here is a Triversen from Joyce Odam:
THE POWER OF THE MOMENT
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
The power of the moment
is not that it’s here
but that it’s gone.
All over the cold mornings
the far sirens are sounding,
hot and loud.
The curtains speak to nothing
but only hang still or flutter-in
for my quiet staring.
Such a day is this one
with its sad brink
upon which I do nothing.
From chapbook, The Power of the Moment, 1998
by Roger Langton, Red Cedar Press (of Colorado);
also prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen 8/23/10
* * *
Here is an Ars Poetica about the importance of the reader from Stephen Kingsnorth:
ROAD BUMPS
—Stephen Kingsnorth
My poem tends to pidgin style,
in English lingo, but curtailed,
for as compacting wordy terms,
it’s apt for gaps. When definite,
assume the reader telegrams,
inserts the tetragrammaton,
the word unspoken, but known there,
a gap in line, but owned by them,
or to be frank, the article.
As in France, wanting bread, I said
une pain, s’il vous plait; she made plain,
with quiver lip, this tourist pain,
un pain, as if a crime, but knew,
and took my cash, baguette in hand.
So play along and act your part,
as hear the poser, apron tied,
and give reply, whatever tide.
Why should the stage work entertain,
without response from that fourth wall—
for readership, a talking point,
who adds what’s missing, as reviews.
Some haiku with a broader brush,
potholes meant to slow your drive,
road bumps to frustrate the rush,
and workmen from a stripy tent
who dig, survey, stop work for tea—
the choice is yours, no foreman here—
keep digging, drinking, or clock off.
* * *
And another of Stephen's flea poems, this one about fleas and hip-hop—not as unlikely as one would think:
—Stephen Kingsnorth
My poem tends to pidgin style,
in English lingo, but curtailed,
for as compacting wordy terms,
it’s apt for gaps. When definite,
assume the reader telegrams,
inserts the tetragrammaton,
the word unspoken, but known there,
a gap in line, but owned by them,
or to be frank, the article.
As in France, wanting bread, I said
une pain, s’il vous plait; she made plain,
with quiver lip, this tourist pain,
un pain, as if a crime, but knew,
and took my cash, baguette in hand.
So play along and act your part,
as hear the poser, apron tied,
and give reply, whatever tide.
Why should the stage work entertain,
without response from that fourth wall—
for readership, a talking point,
who adds what’s missing, as reviews.
Some haiku with a broader brush,
potholes meant to slow your drive,
road bumps to frustrate the rush,
and workmen from a stripy tent
who dig, survey, stop work for tea—
the choice is yours, no foreman here—
keep digging, drinking, or clock off.
* * *
And another of Stephen's flea poems, this one about fleas and hip-hop—not as unlikely as one would think:
Street Flea
HIP-HOP FLEAS
—Stephen Kingsnorth
A hip-hop tour through street patois,
slow show funk, sweat of earthy skin,
honest work, where groove fights fleas,
when spaces, rests part of norm vamp,
slapping, popping, propulsive thumped.
Splashers, hi-hat string chicken scratch,
chika, chank where choke mood mapped,
street urban slang of coded words,
where bad means good, call-and-response.
Fleas’ hip-hop taken for a ride
____________________
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!
See what you can make of these challenge, and send it/them to kathykieth@hotmail.com! (No deadline.) Here is the Grá Reformata, based on the Villanelle:
•••Grá Reformata: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/grareformata.html
•••AND/OR try a Parallelogram de Crystalline:
•••Parallelogram de Crystalline: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/parallelogramdecrystalline.html
•••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 “Titillation”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Anaphora: https://literarydevices.net/anaphora
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••Haiku: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Grá Reformata: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/grareformata.html
•••Lune: www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-lune-poetry#what-is-lune-poetry AND/OR www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/poetic-form-lune
•••Parallelogram de Crystalline: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/parallelogramdecrystalline.html
•••Somonka: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/somonka-poetic-form
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
____________________
—Medusa
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
Make what you can of today's
photo, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Illustration 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.
Find previous four posts by scrolling down
under today’s post; or find previous poets by
typing the name into the little beige box
at the top left-hand side of today’s post; or
go to Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
and find the date you want.
(A cookie from the Kitchen for today)
Peace rose has started
to bloom again,
missing the message
that autumn is upon us~
