Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth, and
Caschwa
SPRING FINERY
Dawn came early, pale gray over black
ridgelines, pale as possibility. No traffic but
super-commuters speeding away to the big
cities. Let them go. My dog and I were
on the trail before the sun. Chilly. May Day
by the calendar but I pick no flowers
for a neighbor’s door. Blooms too fragile,
too beautiful in situ. Fairy lanterns lit
in oak shade. Poppies waiting for sun to open
their petals, but golden as just-laid fresh egg
yolks. Breakfast calls from home, but first,
I’ll watch sunrays touch sky-lupine,
white clouds on blue. Maypole is a burned
skeleton of toyon, cloaked in lacy purple
twining vetch, nitrogen-fixer for soil. May
is planting time. So many possibilities.
Dawn came early, pale gray over black
ridgelines, pale as possibility. No traffic but
super-commuters speeding away to the big
cities. Let them go. My dog and I were
on the trail before the sun. Chilly. May Day
by the calendar but I pick no flowers
for a neighbor’s door. Blooms too fragile,
too beautiful in situ. Fairy lanterns lit
in oak shade. Poppies waiting for sun to open
their petals, but golden as just-laid fresh egg
yolks. Breakfast calls from home, but first,
I’ll watch sunrays touch sky-lupine,
white clouds on blue. Maypole is a burned
skeleton of toyon, cloaked in lacy purple
twining vetch, nitrogen-fixer for soil. May
is planting time. So many possibilities.
ON THE NATURE TRAIL
May
is bursting
with Fairy Lanterns
and starry Pretty Faces
and pesky golden Scotch Broom
and Monkeyflower
and Five-Spot...
now!
RITE OF SPRING
Rise and fall of breeze, interplay of light
and shadow reforming forms of oak limbs
on waves of grass grown almost too high
for mowing—temptation to put my weed-
whacker down just short of the fox’s rock—
heap den abandoned now—rise and fall
of breath, the pull of gravity recalling
the fox’s cry, her kit dead on centerline
of the two-lane traffic’s mowing. What
might I make of this late April morning?
WOODLANDS’ LOSS
The crew with chainsaws and truck
came thru, cutting down
oaks and pines,
decimating our hill’s woods.
We could see neighbors’
power lines.
And now the standing trees fall,
great trunks in green leaf.
Sun still shines
on trees in mourning,
fallen shrines.
The crew with chainsaws and truck
came thru, cutting down
oaks and pines,
decimating our hill’s woods.
We could see neighbors’
power lines.
And now the standing trees fall,
great trunks in green leaf.
Sun still shines
on trees in mourning,
fallen shrines.
DON'T ASK ME
What's up that tree
that I can't see,
but it must be—
my dog says so.
His hunter's stance,
the leaps and prance
a one-dog dance,
an awesome show.
Squirrel or bird?
Loud chitter heard
but not a word.
Dog's nose must know.
PARTNERING
The new dog and I, together for five weeks
now. He’s been thru three homes already in his
15 months on earth. We’re still learning each other.
I try to balance his natural instincts with
disciplines for our human world.
His nose is a miracle. What delights him,
I’m likely to call a stench. He gets frustrated
with my agenda and chews up futon cushions
when we’re apart. Today, his first lessons
in trailing a “lost” person. I start with the very first
tiny puppy steps. He rebels. Have I bruised
his ego? At the local school, our training leader
points to a chalk mark on sidewalk:
“See if he can follow where I walked—here’s
my scent article” (a crumpled scrap of paper).
And we’re off, from entrance gate to central quad,
a sunken amphitheater and back onto lawn,
a turn north along the Admin bulding, around
a corner—and there sits our quarry on a bench,
with treats in her pocket for a good dog.
He did it! In spite of me.
Is that what partners are all about?
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
SINGALONG
—Taylor Graham
In a Big Country
Thank God I’m a Country Boy
Rocky Mountain High
____________________
Good morning to poets around the world, as we celebrate May and all the springtime bounty she brings us. And thanks to Taylor Graham for helping us celebrate the season! Forms she has sent us include a Song Titles Haiku (“Singalong”); a Playlist Poem (“Rite of Spring”); a Rhupunt (“Don't Ask Me”); a Prime 53 (“Woodlands' Loss”); and a Joseph's Star (“On the Nature Trail”). The Prime 53 and the Joseph’s Star were two of last week’s Triple-F Challenges.
TG has been exploring prompts on Poetry Super Highway (https://www.poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/category/napowrimo/poetry-writing-prompts-2024/). Her Song Titles Haiku (https://www.poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/april-17-2024-poetry-writing-prompt-from-gayle-bell/) and the Playlist Poem (https://www.poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/april-25-2024-poetry-writing-prompt-from-bruce-niedt/) are from Poetry Super Highway's April Poem-A-Days. (Or is that Poems-A-Day?) The Song Titles Haiku (prompt from Gayle Bell) rules are to make a Haiku with 3 songs that are stuck in your brain. Playlist Poem (prompt from Bruce Niedt) rules are to take one of your favorite sources for music playlists and shuffle or randomize the list, then take the titles of the next five songs on the list and write a poem on any subject that incorporates those titles into the text of the poem.
In El Dorado poetry this coming week, Poetic License read-around meets next Monday morning, 10:30am; on Wednesday, there will be a reading at Switchboard Gallery in Placerville of works generated at the recent Ekphrastic workshop led by Lara Gularte; and on Thursday, there will be a Poets and Writers Workshop at the Cameron Park Library, 5:30pm.
For more news about 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!
It’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers, in addition to those sent to us by Taylor Graham! Each Friday, there will be poems posted here from our readers using forms—either ones which were sent to Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some challenges— Whaddaya got to lose… ? If you send ‘em, I’ll post ‘em! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for resources and for links to poetry terms used in today’s post.)
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 and Stephen Kingsnorth:
IT’S TIME
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
The clouds are chipped and tattered.
The sky is frayed around the edges.
The grass is pale and worn.
Nothing is left to hold my interest.
Even my resentments yawn.
Everything important fits in
three cardboard boxes
that fit on the roof
of my battered old car.
My dogs jump in the back seat,
they know it’s time to move on.
We’ll follow some lost
highway til we find
a new home.
* * *
JOURNEYS ON
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
A foreign body on the road
as is the highway, narrow, long,
a vanish point, here rarer sight,
along with model, luggage slack.
It’s carrot, pumpkin, persimmon,
or maybe tiger, bodywork—
those orange ranges, the scarred trunk,
though vehicle seems driverless.
So would we follow on its trail,
a tailgate surely to avoid—
the bank of storm clouds building up?
And who knows what the parcels hold?
Though orange boxes fit the bill,
they’re not those crates, greengrocers’ shops;
tricolour hint, flagged rooftop white,
though this uncommon Irish track.
Without a sign of tying down,
was it abandoned, luggage shift?
What is this scenic set to prove?
But eroteme, that printer’s mark?
So poor prepared, this wanton act,
unless loose cartons, question stark,
a crime scene, isolated park,
metallic finish part of art?
And this is how I lose myself—
those pressing pains that impose selves.
I learn of palettes, usage words,
the far horizon, journeys on,
both memories and prepared, staged,
imaginations, what might be,
some fantasy, reality,
to keep the mind and spirit live.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
The clouds are chipped and tattered.
The sky is frayed around the edges.
The grass is pale and worn.
Nothing is left to hold my interest.
Even my resentments yawn.
Everything important fits in
three cardboard boxes
that fit on the roof
of my battered old car.
My dogs jump in the back seat,
they know it’s time to move on.
We’ll follow some lost
highway til we find
a new home.
* * *
JOURNEYS ON
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
A foreign body on the road
as is the highway, narrow, long,
a vanish point, here rarer sight,
along with model, luggage slack.
It’s carrot, pumpkin, persimmon,
or maybe tiger, bodywork—
those orange ranges, the scarred trunk,
though vehicle seems driverless.
So would we follow on its trail,
a tailgate surely to avoid—
the bank of storm clouds building up?
And who knows what the parcels hold?
Though orange boxes fit the bill,
they’re not those crates, greengrocers’ shops;
tricolour hint, flagged rooftop white,
though this uncommon Irish track.
Without a sign of tying down,
was it abandoned, luggage shift?
What is this scenic set to prove?
But eroteme, that printer’s mark?
So poor prepared, this wanton act,
unless loose cartons, question stark,
a crime scene, isolated park,
metallic finish part of art?
And this is how I lose myself—
those pressing pains that impose selves.
I learn of palettes, usage words,
the far horizon, journeys on,
both memories and prepared, staged,
imaginations, what might be,
some fantasy, reality,
to keep the mind and spirit live.
* * *
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) has sent a Haiku Chain, based on our recent Tuesday Seed of the Week, Yolks:
NICE BUT NOT FITTING
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
ideas, straight out of
my head and onto paper
can leave a trail of
nice but not fitting
verbal descriptions of things
that aren’t connected
in any real way
to the stated intention
one expects to see
use a sledge hammer
to break open an egg shell
and reveal the yolk
cross a babbling brook
with a long suspension bridge
or the vice versa
install a lovely
foot bridge to cross a major
interstate highway
my writing improves
the more I catch and kill these
wily imposters
which are nice answers
to other questions, but not
the right fit right now
* * *
Carl also sent a Nursery Rhyme Poem in honor of this week’s Seed of the Week, Mothering:
HICKORY DICKORY
—Caschwa
Hickory dickory frog. I fell, leaping over a log.
What caused me most pain was the absence of gain.
Hickory dickory frog.
Hickory dickory bass. I fell once again on my ass.
Not a clue what I hit, now I can’t even sit.
Hickory dickory bass.
Hickory dickory blue. My feet got stuck in some
glue.
It’s a bucket made of oak, that I put my feet in to
soak.
Hickory dickory blue.
Hickory dickory crock. The fine pot where I make
the beef stock.
Must have left out one thing, ‘cause the flavors
don’t sing.
Hickory dickory crock.
Hickory dickory swim. Political waters look grim.
People dive and stay down, except for one special
clown.
Hickory dickory swim.
Hickory dickory wait. The Internet went down,
which I hate.
They say re-sheathe your sword, and unplug the
cord.
Hickory dickory wait.
* * *
—Caschwa
Hickory dickory frog. I fell, leaping over a log.
What caused me most pain was the absence of gain.
Hickory dickory frog.
Hickory dickory bass. I fell once again on my ass.
Not a clue what I hit, now I can’t even sit.
Hickory dickory bass.
Hickory dickory blue. My feet got stuck in some
glue.
It’s a bucket made of oak, that I put my feet in to
soak.
Hickory dickory blue.
Hickory dickory crock. The fine pot where I make
the beef stock.
Must have left out one thing, ‘cause the flavors
don’t sing.
Hickory dickory crock.
Hickory dickory swim. Political waters look grim.
People dive and stay down, except for one special
clown.
Hickory dickory swim.
Hickory dickory wait. The Internet went down,
which I hate.
They say re-sheathe your sword, and unplug the
cord.
Hickory dickory wait.
* * *
Here is a First-Word Acrostic from Carl:
BLESS YOU, CHILD
—Caschwa
Said I, looking
In the mirror at
A ghostly apparition, in the
Way one would approach
That which
Is unapproachable.
Meant to condescend and
To be awful in every regard,
Be the nadir of compassion,
Disrespectfully yours,
Snarky
—Caschwa
Said I, looking
In the mirror at
A ghostly apparition, in the
Way one would approach
That which
Is unapproachable.
Meant to condescend and
To be awful in every regard,
Be the nadir of compassion,
Disrespectfully yours,
Snarky
* * *
And here is an Ekphrastic poem from Stephen Kingsnorth, based on this illustration:
And here is an Ekphrastic poem from Stephen Kingsnorth, based on this illustration:
Tamara De Lempika
ANGLE POISE
—Stephen Kingsnorth
With hair of curling coffee swirls,
gloved finger hold, milliner’s scroll,
bold curves of green folds, loose tie twirls,
yet scarlet lips have centred rôle.
What’s in her soul, this warrior,
this statuesque, determined face,
some Boudicca, but current her,
a figure carved, yet moulded grace?
Not chocolate box, for more austere,
some statement piece for mural wall—
a steer to lead, without veneer,
astir, that staring, command call?
Non Angli sed angeli knocks,
Pre-Raphaelite comes into mix,
with Michelangelo in blocs—
such varied bricks I see in pic’s.
What echoes in this artist’s flow?
I do not know, that age afar—
art deco or, more so nouveau,
this shapely woman, angular?
She’s not obtuse, acute I think—
that’s not a cutie pie, take note—
with steady eye—no shrink or blink,
her cutthroat neck would get my vote.
___________________
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!
—Stephen Kingsnorth
With hair of curling coffee swirls,
gloved finger hold, milliner’s scroll,
bold curves of green folds, loose tie twirls,
yet scarlet lips have centred rôle.
What’s in her soul, this warrior,
this statuesque, determined face,
some Boudicca, but current her,
a figure carved, yet moulded grace?
Not chocolate box, for more austere,
some statement piece for mural wall—
a steer to lead, without veneer,
astir, that staring, command call?
Non Angli sed angeli knocks,
Pre-Raphaelite comes into mix,
with Michelangelo in blocs—
such varied bricks I see in pic’s.
What echoes in this artist’s flow?
I do not know, that age afar—
art deco or, more so nouveau,
this shapely woman, angular?
She’s not obtuse, acute I think—
that’s not a cutie pie, take note—
with steady eye—no shrink or blink,
her cutthroat neck would get my vote.
___________________
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!
•••Compression: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/compression
•••AND/OR forage around in Poetry Super Highway’s Poem-a-Day for a form that grabs you, and use it for a challenge. Taylor Graham has used two recent ones; see above.
•••Poetry Super Highway: https://www.poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/category/napowrimo/poetry-writing-prompts-2024
•••AND/OR join Caschwa in writing a Nursery Rhyme Poem or a Lullaby Poem, something designed to help a youngster (or you!) sleep better:
•••Nursery Rhyme Poem: https://poemanalysis.com/genre/nursery-rhyme
•••Lullaby Poem: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lullaby (no melody required)
•••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 “Mothering”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••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 “Mothering”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Acrostic Poem types: https://studybay.com/blog/how-to-write-an-acrostic-poem
•••Compression: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/compression
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Compression: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/compression
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Haiku: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Joseph’s Star: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/josephsstar.html
•••Lullaby Poem: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lullaby
•••Joseph’s Star: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/josephsstar.html
•••Lullaby Poem: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lullaby
•••Nursery Rhyme Poem: https://poemanalysis.com/genre/nursery-rhyme
•••Playlist Poem: https://www.poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/april-25-2024-poetry-writing-prompt-from-bruce-niedt
•••Prime 53: https://www.press53.com/prime-53-poem-summer-challenge
•••Rhupunt: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/rhupunt-poetic-form
•••Song Titles Haiku: https://www.poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/april-17-2024-poetry-writing-prompt-from-gayle-bell
___________________
—Medusa
•••Playlist Poem: https://www.poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/april-25-2024-poetry-writing-prompt-from-bruce-niedt
•••Prime 53: https://www.press53.com/prime-53-poem-summer-challenge
•••Rhupunt: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/rhupunt-poetic-form
•••Song Titles Haiku: https://www.poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/april-17-2024-poetry-writing-prompt-from-gayle-bell
___________________
—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
For info 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!
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!
