—Public Domain Photos
Courtesy of Nolcha Fox and Joe Nolan
I sing
the song of coffee brewing,
hiss and gurgle, splash in cup,
a melody accompanied
by barking dogs and children
laughing, curbside crash
of trash can pick-up,
wheels on gravel,
as I rumba in my robe
the song of coffee brewing,
hiss and gurgle, splash in cup,
a melody accompanied
by barking dogs and children
laughing, curbside crash
of trash can pick-up,
wheels on gravel,
as I rumba in my robe
How My Morning Starts
Chaos barges through the door
before I can turn the lock.
My mental list collapses,
a house of cards
with no foundation.
My promises sizzle
to cigarette ash
that burns a hole
through the carpet.
My coffee is cold,
the cream is curdled,
one sock is missing,
and the ice cream
is in the cupboard.
I’ll just feed the dogs,
call it a day,
and crawl under the covers.
Four Eyes
They hide. They watch us blindly stumble with no coffee through the room. They wait. They watch us blindly stumble over toys and poop and pee. They grin. They know the kitchen is the best show, so much better than TV.
I Didn’t Plan This, Really
An elephant is sitting on my head.
The circus left town last week.
The nearest zoo is 300 miles away.
My nose is stuffed.
I can smell dog pee.
Through a closed door.
The kitchen light stabs my eyes.
I turn it off, and wash
dishes by nightlight.
I’m not going crazy,
but I should stay home.
It’s just another migraine.
Natural Magic
You are a summer thunderstorm on a string, hanging from the porch. You are red and gold leaves in a snow globe. You are a prism of light in the afternoon sky. You are a silhouette of branches, cleaning the window at dusk. You simply are. You. A flock of birds sewing the edges of the sky together. I sit beside you. Amazed at how common a miracle can be.
You are a summer thunderstorm on a string, hanging from the porch. You are red and gold leaves in a snow globe. You are a prism of light in the afternoon sky. You are a silhouette of branches, cleaning the window at dusk. You simply are. You. A flock of birds sewing the edges of the sky together. I sit beside you. Amazed at how common a miracle can be.
Winter’s Promise
Winter is a necklace of gray
days strung together.
It is a bedtime story,
a kiss goodnight.
It is a promise of roses
frozen for spring.
Trail of Food
I don’t have to jot down what I ate, or rely on poor memory. I can find cheese, red sauce, dog food, and something mysterious on the cuffs of the sleeves of my robe.
After the Reading
Will my poems simply land
on the floor and be swept up,
words that end up in the trash?
Or will they be seedlings
that grow into tall trees
that shelter long after I’m gone?
Will my poems simply land
on the floor and be swept up,
words that end up in the trash?
Or will they be seedlings
that grow into tall trees
that shelter long after I’m gone?
Another Brother Poem
My brother lives forever
in poem after poem.
All the words in the world
won’t bring him back to life.
Bully
You see me standing
here alone, you see
an easy victim.
You hit me hard,
you knock me
back and forth.
Busy bully, you
don’t see me
sending seeds
to grow like me
with each blow.
Flipped
She flipped over
the beach shorts man,
thought she found
her turning point.
They flipped the switch
on single life,
walked down the aisle
to man and wife.
when her mink stole
walked by on
someone else,
she took beach shorts
to the cleaners,
and flipped him for
a richer model.
Forbidden Fruit
Raspberries’ red bursts are shielded by green leaves,
secretive sweetness between thorny stems.
Their pureness protected, I pluck them discreetly,
replace them with wiles that I shouldn’t have.
Seductiveness hidden beneath intellection,
My fruit is at odds with the wits that I show.
Older and Still Dumb
Even though my hair turned gray
and gravity is winning
at making me a smaller self,
I haven’t learned a thing.
I don’t know why I’m still surprised
that life’s not how I want it.
The dog poops only off the pad,
preferably on a rug.
The salesman is selling sex,
but all I want is coffee.
I want to beg forgiveness
from a friend for thoughtless words.
but I find out she died last night,
and I must bear the guilt.
I wish I could be ten again
when I knew everything.
But I’m too dumb to figure out how
I can make me smarter.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THIS DAY
—Nolcha Fox
The sun is gold honey poured from the hive
to sweeten the flowers too sleepy to rise.
Each day is a gift I embrace as a prize,
in awe of the awe of being alive.
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Nolcha Fox for today’s fine poetry, and for finding pix to go with it~and to Joe Nolan for his foxy contribution below~
Even though my hair turned gray
and gravity is winning
at making me a smaller self,
I haven’t learned a thing.
I don’t know why I’m still surprised
that life’s not how I want it.
The dog poops only off the pad,
preferably on a rug.
The salesman is selling sex,
but all I want is coffee.
I want to beg forgiveness
from a friend for thoughtless words.
but I find out she died last night,
and I must bear the guilt.
I wish I could be ten again
when I knew everything.
But I’m too dumb to figure out how
I can make me smarter.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THIS DAY
—Nolcha Fox
The sun is gold honey poured from the hive
to sweeten the flowers too sleepy to rise.
Each day is a gift I embrace as a prize,
in awe of the awe of being alive.
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Nolcha Fox for today’s fine poetry, and for finding pix to go with it~and to Joe Nolan for his foxy contribution below~
—Public Domain Visual Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
A reminder that there will be
two workshops today: one
at Verge Center in Sacramento,
and one in Cameron Park.
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—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
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
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
two workshops today: one
at Verge Center in Sacramento,
and one in Cameron Park.
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—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
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
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
