Jefferson City, MO
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
MOUNTAIN STORM
It’s a rock day full of song erosion and then it rains,
the wind noise crisscrossed, cross-stitched,
glacier waters bleeding off-course, bumps and
pebbles,
stone and flesh, branch and burp. How easily bones
flush from the mountain after a storm, white-washed
like albino skin, the broken facade of stucco, the last
snow melting, and sometimes the singing is a Siren.
Great walls open and collide, stale and crusty. A tree
breaks at its waist and everyone hears it. In a rock day,
and yes, you can hear the sound of one hand clapping.
It’s a rock day full of song erosion and then it rains,
the wind noise crisscrossed, cross-stitched,
glacier waters bleeding off-course, bumps and
pebbles,
stone and flesh, branch and burp. How easily bones
flush from the mountain after a storm, white-washed
like albino skin, the broken facade of stucco, the last
snow melting, and sometimes the singing is a Siren.
Great walls open and collide, stale and crusty. A tree
breaks at its waist and everyone hears it. In a rock day,
and yes, you can hear the sound of one hand clapping.
REIGN OF ASH
This is one of those nights you never dream,
the sky not on fire, but burning.
Falling ash and ember. An orange cantaloupe moon.
Nosebleeds.
Diarrhea.
The volcano dome collapses, a sudden cloud, and
night is hyphenated.
A rain of black ash
And all of the stars drop from sight in bundles.
The people come out of their homes and stand on
their verandas,
A people of the long knife and volcanic dust,
Skin hard with ash, hair ash-poisoned, ash-sweat stew.
Spirits roam the roads and pathways, find life in
the old ones,
The village’s simple center crowded into the hill,
Welcomes the voices of the dead.
Later island rescue comes with breathing masks,
A church opens its doors early to pray for rain,
Goats come from their hiding places to shake them-
selves free.
All day dust clouds landscape and window.
The mountain sacrifices itself to lahars and spirit
people.
Everything, every leaf, every iguana, every ghost
wrapped in ash.
HIGH ON HER MOUNTAIN, THE
WITCH WITCH WARMS HERSELF
The witch witch wakes hungry,
ice on her breath,
clouds in her hair,
underwear gray and red,
warts sprawled across her arms.
There are always people who are meant to harm
you.
The witch witch is not one of them.
She can dig a shallow grave,
pray over a cat at play with a mouse,
squash a scorpion between thumb and forefinger.
The witch witch sees the dormant volcano
through an opening in her wall,
the sudden rise of steam, the push
of ash like wet sand,
the beautiful collapse of the dome.
She walks onto her veranda,
folds her small hands into a smile,
and watches the mountain catch fire.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WINTER HORIZON
—Michael H. Brownstein
Winter's horizon
an orange line across snow—
cloud-light gathers wind.
Then:
a cloudy opera,
melody of leaf and limb,
a quality of falling snow.
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Michael Brownstein for today’s fine poetry! And don't forget to spring your clock ahead one hour tonight at midnight.
A reminder that Mosaic of Voices
takes place at the Lodi Public Library
today, 2pm; then tonight, 5-8pm,
takes place at the Lodi Public Library
today, 2pm; then tonight, 5-8pm,
Sacramento Poetry Center will hold an
Art Exhibit, Reception and Reading
by Asantewaa Boykin.
For info about these 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!
For info about these 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!
