—Original Art by Ann Privateer
—Poetry by Ann Privateer, Stephan Kingsnorth,
Kumar Ghimire, Shiva Neupane, Laura Stamps,
and Nolcha Fox
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joe Nolan
—Poetry by Ann Privateer, Stephan Kingsnorth,
Kumar Ghimire, Shiva Neupane, Laura Stamps,
and Nolcha Fox
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joe Nolan
MORNING GLORY PEOPLE
—Ann Privateer, Davis, CA
Dance in purple rain
Amid luscious weeds
Preparing peppers
Peeling parchment
They crumble cookies
To make a pie
While stalactites
Hang free with all
Their might
Digging into
Knowledge.
—Ann Privateer, Davis, CA
Dance in purple rain
Amid luscious weeds
Preparing peppers
Peeling parchment
They crumble cookies
To make a pie
While stalactites
Hang free with all
Their might
Digging into
Knowledge.
—Original Art by Ann Privateer
Around the corner
There's a purple house
Painted for
The neighbors
To see, and wonder
What the back yard
Might be, quick
Or crude, blasted
Or maybe paved
For a volley of gossip
Words writ large.
—Ann Privateer
—Original Art by Ann Privateer
MARCHING
—Ann Privateer
wearing purple robes
while riding a white mare
with spotted margins
western leanings
withered waistlines
as they enter Warsville
sent there by witches.
—Public Domain Photo
Courtesy of Joe Nolan
COMFORT BREAK
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
There’s nowt so cozy, cup of tea,
said pot prepared with boiling scald,
one scoop for each plus ‘one for pot’,
then cosy capped against cool draught,
as leaves infused or mashed, e’en stewed,
each clause of place as gazetteer.
From first weak pour to builder’s brew:
bone china cup with pinkie crooked,
translucent body of the ware,
or mug with sugars piling up,
and floating bag since loose the norm.
‘Shall I be mother’, lore of pour,
a cuppa, char and chai well known,
when ‘squeeze one more’, ceramic told,
the rite for every mishap calmed,
a comfort break as ministered,
ceremony unrealised.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
MY LOVE
—Kumar Ghimire, Biratnagar-12, Nepal
My tiny heart is too narrow to uphold
My limitless love.
So, I have been inscribing on a white blank paper.
My love language has blended
With my evergreen creativity.
It is very hard for me
To behold my love in wavering heart.
The shiny rays of happiness and worries
Have pierced my body,
Shining brighter than the sun.
Colours of love are flying to paint the desires.
The pathways of my love end with your
Imagination.
My love is a seed of togetherness that still
Needs to be nurtured.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
ONE SHOE
—Laura Stamps, Columbia, SC
I’m always amazed. I am. When
driving down a busy road and
see. You know. One shoe. Just
one. Not two. In the middle
of the street. I mean. What’s
up with that? I wonder, wonder.
And Amelia does too. Her
expression. Those eyes. Yeah.
I can tell. My Amelia. Buckled
in her car seat. Staring at that
shoe. Wondering. She is. But
then, but then. I give her a
treat. And she forgets. All her
wondering. Gone. Yeah. She’s
simple like that. Too bad I’m
not. I wish, I wish. Life would
be much easier. Wouldn’t it?
So, so simple. If I were. You
know. A Chihuahua. It would.
And yet, and yet. That shoe.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
SUITCASE
—Laura Stamps
My Amelia. Her name. Did
I ever tell you? What it was.
What they named her. Before
I changed it. Her name. To
Amelia. Before, before. Back
when she was surrendered.
This tiny Chihuahua. A
senior. Stuffed in a suitcase.
She was. With her favorite
toy. (Can you imagine?) Left
at the front door. Abandoned.
At the Humane Society. So
that’s what they named her:
Suitcase. Loved her toy.
She did. Ragged, dirty. Just
a child’s sock monkey. The
only toy she’d play with.
Cling to. Loved. For months.
Until I found it. That day.
Beneath the bed. Forgotten.
Like the past. Her past. Like
we all need to do. Try to do.
Should do. Forget the past.
Move on. We should. And
she did. To a new life. New
toys. No suitcase needed.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
SPARKLIES NOT FOR THEM
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Crows shake their heads,
they caw, they peck,
but dewdrops are not sparklies
they can grab.
SPARKLIES NOT FOR THEM
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Crows shake their heads,
they caw, they peck,
but dewdrops are not sparklies
they can grab.
______________________
Kumar Ghirmire
Welcome to October in the Kitchen, and thanks to today’s contributors! Newcomer Kumar Ghimire is a Nepalese poet whose poems have been published in many national and international magazines, including Sahitya Post, Polish Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, Spillwords, Writers Club, Ink Pantry, and International Times. Welcome to the Kitchen, Kumar, and don’t be a stranger!
The same goes for the rest of you! Click on “Placating the Gorgon” in the links at the top of this page (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/placating-harridan.html) for details about submitting to the Kitchen. Like the man says (whoever the man is…), the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
Sacramento Poetry Day is coming up on Oct. 24, but meanwhile, Sac. Poetry Center has readers tonight; there’s a workshop in Cameron Park on Tuesday and a series of workshops coming every Weds. in October from Women’s Wisdom Art (not to mention all the weekly workshops around here; go to the calendar and scroll down to the bottom for a listing); and Thursday brings Poetry Night Reading Series in Davis. 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
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
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.
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.
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.
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!
(A cookie from the Kitchen for today):
squirrel chases
squirrel in an
ouroboros—
each dreaming of
world
domination…
