Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down to
Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Joshua C. Frank, Joyce Odam,
and Claire J. Baker
IN THE MAIL
A billing envelope—how to spoil
a bright spring day. But I didn’t sling
it onto a To Do pile. I opened it.
Surprise, a check! Net-surplus payment
for creating more electricity
than I used. The enchanted fire escape
of solar power. I’d play a happy
tune if I knew how to fiddle.
Instead, I’ll grab my battery-op
weed-eater and cut some fiddleneck
that’s growing taller and tougher
by the day. I can afford to recharge
my heavy-duty weed-whack battery
(and it sure beats fossil fuel!)
A billing envelope—how to spoil
a bright spring day. But I didn’t sling
it onto a To Do pile. I opened it.
Surprise, a check! Net-surplus payment
for creating more electricity
than I used. The enchanted fire escape
of solar power. I’d play a happy
tune if I knew how to fiddle.
Instead, I’ll grab my battery-op
weed-eater and cut some fiddleneck
that’s growing taller and tougher
by the day. I can afford to recharge
my heavy-duty weed-whack battery
(and it sure beats fossil fuel!)
THIS IS AN EXPERIMENT
Park your car, leave your phone behind.
Sling nothing over your shoulder.
Imagine you’re newly hatched from eggshell.
Notice everything—sky blue as ocean,
green as earth in May, or their vapor glimpsed
through canopy of leaves. Grasp the moment.
Beyond right-of-way fence overlooking
highway, four gray lanes passing themselves
so fast, the moment’s gone. Notice. A bush
has showered petals like confetti, a marker,
access portal to a rough path climbing.
Breathe-in leaf and sky, petal confetti,
silence beyond roar of traffic. Sweet agile
song of bird unseen. Now, find your trail
again. Can you find your self? the one
who locked your car and walked away.
The one you have, for a while, forgotten.
OWL-WATCH
Inspired by Argus, Giclee print by Tyler Vouros
One eye open into light, one
to dark, feathered gray strokes
in minute detail all seeing, recording.
Such is art. Do you wish for such
swivel vision for the path you’re
walking? still mysterious ahead,
and what’s behind you just as dark.
Your own progress visible
to the quick silent pursuing you
unseen.
WIND GAMES
Remember how old dog Cowboy
would play with the wind like his best friend?
He was supposed to be a tracking dog,
following the way some pretend-lost person
walked. Old Cowboy would find that
person alright, but by totally different ways.
You’d swear he was improvising
as he went, playing hide-and-seek
with the wind, maybe.
After Cowboy, I had a “real” tracking dog.
You could count on Loki to follow
somebody’s footsteps.
Was that as much fun? I wonder.
Now Loki, too, is gone.
What will new dog Otis do
with a stranger’s scent let loose
on the wind?
JUST BELOW THE SUMMIT
Some old memories you keep to yourself
because they seem like boats cut free
in a storm, bound to sink
into the deep
wave tossed
and lost
while your friends sleep
unaware of the brink
that life is, that rock-rooted tree—
some old memories you keep to yourself.
Otis
WHOSE NAME?
My phone recorded a call I didn’t hear.
The Great Horned Owl who’s summoned so many
in the dark before dawn. The owl who once gripped
a living cat by her flanks then dropped her,
still alive, as if a warning. That was years ago;
she’s long gone now. This time, whose name
did the owl call? Not my new dog, young, healthy,
too strong for an owl. Maybe it was his name
as puppy abandoned on the road—a name forgotten
now. He has a new name one, a new life.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
MEMORIAL DAY IRIS
Prince William to El Dorado
That day we drove the country roads
and saved them as iris tubers,
planting at home to keep—Tollgate
was blue-purple and white.
We kept driving country roads
moving place to place, free as thought.
Did Tollgate wither in new soil?
It blooms in memory.
_____________________
Taylor Graham and her dog, Otis, forge ahead through Spring in the foothills under the watchful eye of the Great Horned Owl, and we are gratefully hiking right along in their poetic footsteps. Forms TG used this week include two Word-Can Poems (“This Is an Experiment” & “In the Mail”); an eerie Ekphrastic poem that is also a Prime 53 (“Owl-Watch”); a short Balance (“Just Below the Summit”); and a Ryūka chain (“Memorial Day Iris”). The Balance was one of last week’s Triple-F Challenges.
In El Dorado County poetry this week, come up to Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville for the RIPE AREA Festival on Sunday, starting at 11am, with music, poetry, food, and family activities—see https://www.facebook.com/myrtletreearts/. For more news about this and other El Dorado County poetry—past (photos!) and future—see Taylor Graham’s Western Slope El Dorado Poetry on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ElDoradoCountyPoetry or see Lara Gularte’s Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/382234029968077/. (Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!) And of course you can always click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about future poetry events in the NorCal area.
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
There’s also a page at the top of Medusa’s Kitchen called, “FORMS! OMG!!!” which expresses some of my (take ‘em or leave 'em) opinions about the use of forms in poetry writing, as well as listing some more resources to help you navigate through Form Quicksand. Got any more resources to add to our list? Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com for the benefit of all man/woman/poetkind!
* * *
Last Week’s Ekphrastic Photo
This week, we received Ekphrastic poems from Nolcha Fox, Caschwa (Carl Schwartz), and Stephen Kingsnorth, who is telling us about Ladybird Books and the influence thereof on British children of his generation. First, Nolcha’s poem, which is in the form of a Quadrille:
BLISS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Oh, to be a ladybug
asleep upon a leaf,
soaking up the sunny
warmth and snacking
on the beasts that feast
on plants where ladybugs
prefer to snooze.
Beware, you aphids,
mites, and other creepy
crawly things. Watch
your backs. You will be
history.
* * *
CLASS DISTINCTION
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Of ladybug I’m unaware
for ladybird’s name over here,
though one First Lady took aback,
as insect nickname seemed to mock—
our ignorance, nomenclature.
A harvester of aphid prey,
it is that beetle’s red, I say,
with spots to count while being friend,
that earned familiarity,
unlike its wider family.
We children of the fifties know
first books to read were Ladybirds.
From open wings in World War One,
the logo changed to roundel closed,
less beetle than that friendly red.
Matriculating when I did,
the hundred-year-old company
first booked its trading, ‘Ladybird’,
a branding widely recognised,
for rôle in teaching history.
In British schools its reading scheme
predominated, leading class—
its cast stereotypical,
established postwar patterned past,
a mindset, broken bones set fast.
The innocence, siblings at play,
as Peter, Jane portrayed our life,
the housewife Mum, breadwinner Dad,
a silent mother, mum indeed,
as father earned and learned his power.
Sarcasm now, spoof titles list,
pastiche on how things used to be:
The Nerd, Mid-Life Crisis, Branding,
Shoplifting with Mother, Dating—
but imitation, flattery.
* * *
And two ladybug quatrains from Carl:
CHALLENGE ACCEPTED
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
you can rent lots of hungry goats
to gobble up those pesky weeds
or lady bugs with spotted coats
to satisfy their aphid needs
but no one has the appetite
to help you lose that extra weight
unless it’s a bull, twice your height
raging mad at the bullring gate
* * *
Here is a Rispetto from Caschwa:
BIG VACUUM
—Caschwa
my wife is gone, and yet she’s here
there’s little things I recognize
I’ll tell a joke that has no peer
sarcastic hissing will arise
alive or not she’ll have her way
the Welcome Mat has lots to say
the backyard grill awaits her grin
I gaze around, and she’s not in
* * *
Caschwa has also sent a Tri-Cube chain, the poetry form devised by Sacramentan Phillip Larrea, who passed away recently:
WE ALMOST MET
—Caschwa
I saw you
at the prom
hard at it
dancing with
nobody
that I knew
won’t ask you
again to
be my date
better that
I hide in
the jazz band
take in the
spectacle
from afar
I’ll be fine
not touching
perfection
you’ll become
a trophy
wife that I
could never
afford to
satisfy
a big house
swimming pool
social skills
luxury
won’t let you
get away
* * *
Josh Frank sent us a Kyrielle:
A PARENT’S PRAYER
—Joshua C. Frank
How heavy the crosses that You have been giving—
Dear God, ever gladly I’ll bear them
And heavier still for as long as I’m living,
But as for my children, Lord, spare them.
I know that their lives on the earth are a trial,
But heartbreaks and griefs that impair them,
I’ll carry that burden myself with a smile,
And as for my children, Lord, spare them.
Don’t let them remake the mistakes of my youth,
And don’t let the devil ensnare them,
But help me to teach them to revel in Truth—
I beg You: my children, Lord, spare them.
(First published in The Society of Classical Poets)
* * *
Our recent Tuesday Seed of the Week was Memories Worth Keeping, and today we have three form contributions from Joyce Odam, starting with some Blank Verse in Tetrameter:
WHEN I INVOKE THESE MEMORIES
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
You are to blame for them. You are
the veil that wraps around my mind—
smothering thought—the suffocation
of your eyes—the way you died.
Gone to your death, your presence is
within me where I grieve and try
to separate myself from you.
Layers of life (we called them years)
have found their place to be. My heart
contains all this, symbolically,
my heart, too frail for love, my heart
that breaks in symbol—as hearts do.
This also is a myth—but words,
for those who can articulate,
are only words. Emotions rule,
and memories—too few—too dim,
to find their own reality, too quick
with pain. It is no use—they’ll have
their way—guided by you, my ghost.
How can I be the self I own
within my mind, haunted by you,
held in your aura, which is black—
black and passionate with death,
this new design by which you rule?
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/23/18)
* * *
In the Poems-Are-Everywhere Department: Looking at the photos she sent for her post last Tuesday, Joyce discovered this lovely Found Poem which could be made out of the titles of those photos, if they were strung together:
(P.S.) FOUND POEM
—Joyce Odam
before the storm
boundaries
fault line
in his garden
the color of her eyes
touch of pink
way deep
* * *
And here is Joyce’s lovely Italian Sonnet. Check in with us every Tuesday for more from Joyce and her daughter, Robin:
—Joyce Odam
before the storm
boundaries
fault line
in his garden
the color of her eyes
touch of pink
way deep
* * *
And here is Joyce’s lovely Italian Sonnet. Check in with us every Tuesday for more from Joyce and her daughter, Robin:
GRAIL
—Joyce Odam
Oh, how I want, and find I cannot have,
I who would challenge everything that binds.
Every restriction, every pitfall, finds me
back at some beginning, nothing to grab
but hands that slip away. A curse, a laugh,
escapes my mouth, for that far shining blinds
me still, and my persistence winds its
dull way forward—and its dull way back.
Oh, how I pity me—woe after woe—
longing, for what it’s worth, does not teach much.
I lick my wounds and wish it were not so,
for still the need continues to aspire
beyond reality’s elusive touch—
and at the end, there is only this desire.
* * *
Stephen Kingsnorth wrote an Ekphrastic poem to this delicate painting which was posted in MK last Monday:
—Joyce Odam
Oh, how I want, and find I cannot have,
I who would challenge everything that binds.
Every restriction, every pitfall, finds me
back at some beginning, nothing to grab
but hands that slip away. A curse, a laugh,
escapes my mouth, for that far shining blinds
me still, and my persistence winds its
dull way forward—and its dull way back.
Oh, how I pity me—woe after woe—
longing, for what it’s worth, does not teach much.
I lick my wounds and wish it were not so,
for still the need continues to aspire
beyond reality’s elusive touch—
and at the end, there is only this desire.
* * *
Stephen Kingsnorth wrote an Ekphrastic poem to this delicate painting which was posted in MK last Monday:
REFLECTING, NOVEMBER 1918
—Stephen Kingsnorth
I muse, one piqued, how was it framed,
if granny’s bonnet, two-toned silk,
was held to hair, hat pin as this?
Envision, humming, mirror stare,
a milliner with hattrick craft,
as body-piercing through the brim.
There sweetest nectar overflows,
ambrosia of memory,
but what was felt now ribboned black.
Once svelte, elegant figurine,
by bevelled glass, her image frost.
Eleven ’leven, date too late.
* * *
And let’s close with another memory poem, an Ode from Claire Baker to welcome our new month, June:
JUNE HILLSIDE
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
Do we cling to memories tightly,
or maybe even loosely like a breeze
through hillside poppies?
When June sun opens
poppy petals widely, each
flower is now a Tiffany lamp,
revisited memories keeping
attuned viewers ready,
steady as we go.
___________________
Many thanks to today’s writers for their lively contributions! Wouldn’t you like to join them? All you have to do is send poetry—forms or not—and/or photos and artwork to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
___________________
TRIPLE-F CHALLENGES!
•••Bryant: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/bryant
•••AND/OR: You don’t have to go over to Joyce’s house to find Found poems; they’re all around you! Look under the bed, stuck to the stove, even that newspaper in the cat’s box… Find us a Found poem this week:
•••Found Poem: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/found-poetry-converting-or-stealing-the-words-of-others AND/OR poets.org/glossary/found-poem
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic photo.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Ornery”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Balance: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/the-balance
•••Blank Verse: literarydevices.net/blank-verse AND/OR www.masterclass.com/articles/poetry-101-what-is-the-difference-between-blank-verse-and-free-verse#quiz-0
•••Bryant: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/bryant
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Found Poem: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/found-poetry-converting-or-stealing-the-words-of-others AND/OR poets.org/glossary/found-poem
•••Kyrielle: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/kyrielle.html
•••Ode: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ode
•••Prime 53: https://www.press53.com/prime-53-poem-summer-challenge
•••Quadrille: 44 words (not counting the title) and includes one word the host provides to you
•••Rispetto: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-forms-rispetto
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Sonnet, Italian (Petrarchan): www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sonnet AND/OR poemanalysis.com/poetic-form/petrarchan-sonnet
•••TriCube by Phillip Larrea: Each stanza is three lines, three syllables per line, any subject
•••Villanelle (rhymed or unrhymed): www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/poetic-forms-villanelle
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them
___________________
—Medusa
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Public Domain Photo
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Public Domain Photo
A reminder that
Poets United presents
MVP’s of Poetry
Best of the Best Show
tonight in Old Sacramento, 8pm.
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!
Poets United presents
MVP’s of Poetry
Best of the Best Show
tonight in Old Sacramento, 8pm.
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!
