—Poetry by Jason Ryberg, Kansas City, MO
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
THIS AND / OR THAT
Gusts
of
dead leaves
like ghosts who
just can’t lie still and
go to sleep, an otherwise well-
dressed man without his shoes, asking people for
advice as to the local cuisine, every television,
everywhere, turned to a channel
with a soap opera overflowing with every
emotion, every radio
tuned to the latest
breaking news
about
this
and /
or
that.
Gusts
of
dead leaves
like ghosts who
just can’t lie still and
go to sleep, an otherwise well-
dressed man without his shoes, asking people for
advice as to the local cuisine, every television,
everywhere, turned to a channel
with a soap opera overflowing with every
emotion, every radio
tuned to the latest
breaking news
about
this
and /
or
that.
SOMETHING LIKE NORMAL
An
old
tree limb
cracking some-
where, out there in the
deep wood, somehow intensifies
the sharp power of the stars,
the darkness between them
and all around us, and the stillness
An
old
tree limb
cracking some-
where, out there in the
deep wood, somehow intensifies
the sharp power of the stars,
the darkness between them
and all around us, and the stillness
and silence
that always follows until we are
startled by the next rude intrusion,
be it a cow
bellowing in
the distance, or
whippoorwill call, and
everything
settles
on
down,
back
to
something
like normal.
startled by the next rude intrusion,
be it a cow
bellowing in
the distance, or
whippoorwill call, and
everything
settles
on
down,
back
to
something
like normal.
Whatever that is.
ORIGAMI CRANE
How
long
has that
been there? I
asked, meaning the black
origami crane hanging from
the rear-view mirror of his faded sky blue
pick-up truck (still somehow functional and in-use
on a daily basis), dancing and twirling
above the dashboard in the cross-winds
coming in through our respective drivers’-side and
passenger windows,
to a cassette tape deck playing
Little Richard’s Greatest Hits (from back when
the later Reverend Richard Penniman was
still shoutin’ bamalama down in Alabama,
not giving a flying fuck what
those crackers thought). And
then my friend
asks When
was
the
last
time
you were
in town?” / “Five
years, maybe. / Yeah, I
must have made it sometime,
since then.
Little Richard does most of the talking
after that.
How
long
has that
been there? I
asked, meaning the black
origami crane hanging from
the rear-view mirror of his faded sky blue
pick-up truck (still somehow functional and in-use
on a daily basis), dancing and twirling
above the dashboard in the cross-winds
coming in through our respective drivers’-side and
passenger windows,
to a cassette tape deck playing
Little Richard’s Greatest Hits (from back when
the later Reverend Richard Penniman was
still shoutin’ bamalama down in Alabama,
not giving a flying fuck what
those crackers thought). And
then my friend
asks When
was
the
last
time
you were
in town?” / “Five
years, maybe. / Yeah, I
must have made it sometime,
since then.
Little Richard does most of the talking
after that.
FASHION STATEMENT
3-
D
glasses
and a pork-
pie hat was a bold
fashion statement for a junior
high school kid to make in small town Kansas in
the mid-‘80s. And she listened to the Kennedys,
3-
D
glasses
and a pork-
pie hat was a bold
fashion statement for a junior
high school kid to make in small town Kansas in
the mid-‘80s. And she listened to the Kennedys,
and she listened to the Ramones,
the Misfits, Bad Brains, Agent Orange,
and she wore combat boots and
a black leather jacket, had
a switch-blade knife and
just couldn’t
give a
rat’s
ass.
the Misfits, Bad Brains, Agent Orange,
and she wore combat boots and
a black leather jacket, had
a switch-blade knife and
just couldn’t
give a
rat’s
ass.
THE DEAD THAT REMAIN UNAVENGED
It
takes
disco
balls to snort
crank off the swirled horn
of a pink unicorn while the
ghosts of Che Guevara and
Bob Marley give you the big, purpled-
fisted thumbs-up and the flaming
skulls of the dead that
remain unavenged
provide a chorus of multi-phonic singing
It
takes
disco
balls to snort
crank off the swirled horn
of a pink unicorn while the
ghosts of Che Guevara and
Bob Marley give you the big, purpled-
fisted thumbs-up and the flaming
skulls of the dead that
remain unavenged
provide a chorus of multi-phonic singing
while clacking their bones and pistons
to keep time as golden
sunflowers
begin
to
fall.
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps… so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder it.
—Dylan Thomas
_________________
—Medusa, welcoming back Jason Ryberg, who first visited the Kitchen in July of this year.
to keep time as golden
sunflowers
begin
to
fall.
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps… so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder it.
—Dylan Thomas
_________________
—Medusa, welcoming back Jason Ryberg, who first visited the Kitchen in July of this year.
Jason Ryberg in the river
—Photo Courtesy of
someone else in the river
someone else in the river
A reminder that Poets Club of Lincoln
features Greg Gregory today; and
Tim Kahl, Gene Berson, and Iven Lourie
read in Nevada City tonight.
For info about these 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!
features Greg Gregory today; and
Tim Kahl, Gene Berson, and Iven Lourie
read in Nevada City tonight.
For info about these 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!
LittleSnake’s Glimmer of Hope:
sudden breeze
rustles the skirts
of the valley oak~
rustles the skirts
of the valley oak~