* * *
—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Dawn Pisturino,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Caschwa,
Shiva Neupane, Sayanı Mukherjee,
and Joe Nolan
—Photos by Dawn Pisturino, Caschwa,
and Shiva Neupane
WINTER MOONLIGHT WITH NO COMPASS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
I thought it was impossible
to survive his death
until I did. I still survive,
although his eyes, his smiles,
are winter moonlit forest paths
erased by leaves and wind
I follow in my sleep.
No boots or coat to keep
me warm from snow and chill.
The paths lead me in circles,
past landmarks I remember
then forget and yet
I know I’ve been this way before,
and I’ll come back.
And back.
And back.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
I thought it was impossible
to survive his death
until I did. I still survive,
although his eyes, his smiles,
are winter moonlit forest paths
erased by leaves and wind
I follow in my sleep.
No boots or coat to keep
me warm from snow and chill.
The paths lead me in circles,
past landmarks I remember
then forget and yet
I know I’ve been this way before,
and I’ll come back.
And back.
And back.
Dawn Pisturino
FIVE MOON HAIKU
—Dawn Pisturino, Golden Valley, AZ
Samurai
samurai practice
underneath large golden moon
bamboo flute playing
* * *
Fancy Dress
gazing soulfully
at the moon in fancy dress
deep meditation
* * *
Snow Moon
the full moon rises
with supernatural glow
reflecting on snow
* * *
Healing
mooncakes and water
capture moonlight’s silver rays
powerful healing
* * *
Moon Festival
moon festival comes
gazers flock to open fields
and watch the moonrise
—Photo by Dawn Pisturino
MOONSHINE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Moonlighting, black economy,
it’s on the dark side where there’s work,
so is it nighttime, gains the name,
or does the lunar hide from sight?
It’s off the books, no questions asked,
under the table, cash in hand,
black market, not in sales but jobs,
It’s summer norm, on building sites,
in spring, grant ending, balance spend,
then autumn when the fairs close down,
and winter with tears, moonshine drunk.
A redshift marks expanding stars,
though Before Yule, and Long Nights, Cold,
are names of full moons as year turns.
Here’s latest operation code,
without connection to its rôle,
as crosswords puzzlers, pub quiz teams,
and gossip columnists at work
debate the meaning of the words—
sonata playing to the trill—
as tidal pull of secrets calls.
Do agents plotting in the shade,
ghost friction writers fanning flames,
now in this season, discontent,
lay out deceptions, frozen waste?
The sky’s clear, ‘Winter Moonlight’ op.,
when silver tingles, shiver light,
but midnight asks what’s going on.
Suburban Panther
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
A PERFECT WORLD
—Stephen Kingsnorth
After “A Perfect World” by Joe Nolan, MK, 2/19/24
She could have made, imperfect world
In which we’d all agree,
In which we’d all be happy,
In which we’d all be free,
Automatons, lone DNA,
Without a choice,
To love or hate,
A programmed mind,
pre-printed card for Valentine,
But instead,
She made a world,
Her choice and ours,
Where we enslave and disagree,
With wars and fears
And pain and tears,
But love and care, where we choose so.
Can love be true, set by decree,
or only if not so, possibility?
But ours is sure to question why,
And reckon path, like Son to die,
Painfully, for that was choice,
Both hers, and His and ours to be,
For loving’s costly, worth shown so.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
MOONY WINTERLIGHT
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
burns through the windows
like a goony birthright
claiming all in its path
denouncing rules and laws
shiny orb, connected to L.L.C.
narrow outlook, sparrow to cook
sweet habit, cockamamie orbit
imitating mainly worms and bees
captures the eyes, then forsakes
the tender scalp for rising snakes
piles of high-numbered scrabble
pieces police the geese for a fee
is there no end to globe circling art?
who holds the snow globe we share?
the call of the ball, to hear a sphere
“a stage where every man must play a part”
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
BEGINNER’S LUCK
—Caschwa
in Southern California, early in the
cold morning old fishermen gather
at the end of the pier and set up
their gear for the day
one by one they cast a baited line
into the water and hope to get a
response; they know all the tricks,
or so they’d tell me, and with nothing
yet on their hook, I was their captive
audience
and so I, a newcomer, cast my line and
got a bite! in an instant, I was showered
with all manner of suggestions, don’t tug
too fast, work the line, trust me, don’t
listen to them, you need a lucky charm or
dance, etc., etc.
ultimately I reeled in a 10 lb. King Salmon,
teasingly small, opined my friend from
Alaska, but a hearty family dinner on the
grill at home
—Photo by Caschwa
WAVY VIEWS
—Caschwa
peering out the back window
moderate winds massage a
mature apricot tree that my son
had planted from bare root
the same winds brush against
a neighbor’s oak tree, and its
leaves do a different dance
high and away from the trees
are various cloud formations in
constant motion, their outlines
at once map personification and
just as abruptly kaleidoscope
into confetti explosions
Shiva with Python
PYTHON AND ME
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne, Australia
The python slithered along
My neck.
It gave me an adrenaline rush.
The leathery wet-like skin rubbed
My neck.
I felt sensationally amazed
At being its amicable friend.
There is so much to learn
About its instinctual betrayal
When it gets hurt and threatened
By its surroundings.
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne, Australia
The python slithered along
My neck.
It gave me an adrenaline rush.
The leathery wet-like skin rubbed
My neck.
I felt sensationally amazed
At being its amicable friend.
There is so much to learn
About its instinctual betrayal
When it gets hurt and threatened
By its surroundings.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
HALT
—Sayani Mukherjee,
Chandannagar, W. Bengal, India
A symphony of noon dew song
A cavernous inspiration
A tulle skirt, a picfair in display
Swirling motion in amorphous zeal
Born and broken in a Cavendish heart
I lost my numbers in a while
Play folios on rent
I pictured a sumptuous scorn
Mere wordplay of vivid illusions
Time's lost unbidden voice
She strummed through
A magical labyrinth of airy valve
Before it came a burning halt
As it happens in a symphony song.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
[typo is not our fault here at MK!]
LIFE IS STRANGE AND KARMA, CRAZY
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Life is strange.
Karma, crazy.
Wisdom,
Often lazy,
When it comes
To scraping up
The dross.
Obedience,
Resists commands
When it’s left
To dictators’ demands,
From foreign kings—
Execrable offerings,
From the damned,
Who promise wealth,
When they plan
To steal
Your bottom dollar.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
SCIENTISM VERSUS EXPERIENCE
—Joe Nolan
Someone must have told you
What was real and what was not,
What exists and what does not,
As a metaphysical exposition
Of Scientism,
As though they had a lock on reality
And all those who differed
In what they experienced
Were mentally ill.
It’s the politics of experience
That clobbered R. D. Laing—
Defining experiential deviants
As insane–
Suffering from deficiencies
Of certain chemicals
In their brains,
Potentially offset
With major doses of lithium
Or other, mind-altering drugs.
But there was magic
Before there was science,
Music, beat out with drums
To induce a state of trance
While everyone got up to dance.
The advent of scientism
Has failed to make a cure
For the wisdom of experience—
Transcendent landscapes, pure.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
SHAMANISM
—Joe Nolan
Smoke, incense, vapors
To bring us into trance
To summon outer spirits
Into our shaman dance
There is more than
We know or
Care to know,
More than we could handle
Day to day.
Who will watch our children
While we play?
To touch the
Outer garment of a hem,
Plunging inward
Through the mists of mayhem
That jumble up the mind
To let the spirits in,
Together
To dance in trance.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
A NEW IDEA
—Joe Nolan
It’s a new idea
That’s yet to find its reign
Inside our culture,
Inside our brains.
It’s hard to push in edgewise,
Since something new can hurt,
Since it’s unfamiliar,
Like living in a yurt,
Outside, in winter,
When the snow is deep
Somewhere in Mongolia
Where temperature-drops are steep,
And the sons and daughters
Of Genghis Khan
Raise sheep,
Whose wool is so warm,
Because it’s so cold.
But when a new idea
Has taken root in Fall,
Before an avalanche of snow
Has covered all,
Spring will bring its outburst,
Surprising one and all—
That life is for living and
Families for forgiving.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
Today’s LittleNip:
DARE I SAY THIS
—Caschwa
never had a dog, Spot
forever had a bald spot
all my cars had a blind spot
which was easier to spot
than an open parking spot
__________________
Lots going on in the Kitchen today—snakes and whales and puppy-dog tails—not to mention sheep—and some responses to our Seed of the Week, Winter Moonlight. (Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.) Our thanks to our contributors for their lively input this morning. I guess I’ll participate in this Monday...
As for the typo in the public domain karma visual—I'll go to my grave changing it's to its and vice versa, even for some poets who should know better. I won't live to see it, but it seems clear that apostrophes will be toast within a few decades.
__________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
A reminder that
Dr. Jeremy D. Green will present
an evening of poetry and stories
at Sacramento Poetry Center tonight.
For info about this and other
future 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!
Dr. Jeremy D. Green will present
an evening of poetry and stories
at Sacramento Poetry Center tonight.
For info about this and other
future 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!
