—Visuals Courtesy of Public Domain
NOTES WRITTEN IN THE DARK
What do we read within each other
beyond what we project?
Are we gentle in probing personas,
guessing what’s behind a mask?
Are we sensitive in visiting shadows,
weakness, a less-than-noble story?
What might we need to withhold?
Whoops, dare we critique another’s
pages, before delving well into our own?
Dear people, how wondrous:
we are here on earth together,
our book’s pages turning
backward and forward
in their own time and place.
(prev. pub. in Benicia Herald)
What do we read within each other
beyond what we project?
Are we gentle in probing personas,
guessing what’s behind a mask?
Are we sensitive in visiting shadows,
weakness, a less-than-noble story?
What might we need to withhold?
Whoops, dare we critique another’s
pages, before delving well into our own?
Dear people, how wondrous:
we are here on earth together,
our book’s pages turning
backward and forward
in their own time and place.
(prev. pub. in Benicia Herald)
DOUBLE HELIX
Within the spirals of life’s rousing ride
we carry DNA and spirit prints,
plus dramatic foibles, freedoms, talents
through every primal and transcendent fire.
Attempting to master the more tricky loops
we lean to milder turns and fewer dips—
delighted when we pause and compromise,
cast sun on polar viewpoints, clear the fog,
refining stellar acts reflecting love.
When joy bear-hugs and we hug snugly back,
we sip the tasty tea of miracles,
believe that we will challenge life forever . . .
Yet, somewhere on our helix, planets which
had circled, marked our birthplace, tumble free:
the helix starts to memorize our passage.
When we can cling no longer, spirals
loan us wings for flexing, rising higher
into our own blue hammock in the sky.
AT CLARA’S KITCHEN TABLE
from the ’60’s
Restless after lunch,
Clara and I decide to each
draw a picture of our souls,
use paper napkins
or binder paper near.
Clara starts: draws a boomerang
beside a cloud, as if her soul
flies high through time and space . . .
My soul is a lopsided circle.
It looks and feels like my soul.
Then my bestie asks me,
is there anything inside?
Inside I scatter dots for emotions,
each with a tiny door for entrance.
We’re excited campers,
proud and visionary.
When Rod, a chemist, comes for coffee,
we ask if he will join us, draw his soul.
We wait expectantly, need company.
But Rodney tells us carefully
that he has never seen his soul.
from the ’60’s
Restless after lunch,
Clara and I decide to each
draw a picture of our souls,
use paper napkins
or binder paper near.
Clara starts: draws a boomerang
beside a cloud, as if her soul
flies high through time and space . . .
My soul is a lopsided circle.
It looks and feels like my soul.
Then my bestie asks me,
is there anything inside?
Inside I scatter dots for emotions,
each with a tiny door for entrance.
We’re excited campers,
proud and visionary.
When Rod, a chemist, comes for coffee,
we ask if he will join us, draw his soul.
We wait expectantly, need company.
But Rodney tells us carefully
that he has never seen his soul.
REHEARSAL FOR PARADISE
We elders have a right to twirl our canes,
nibble nasturtiums in raisin pudding;
break crutches into handy kindling,
sighing expectantly when peace doves
pick open heaven’s lock.
We overheard that straw
placed in a manger for baby Jesus
freshened into shades of grass.
And only a rare individual is born
into a stable environment.
Although at times we don’t remember
the year, month or day of week—
even the VP’s moniker,
we keep busy planning
fabulous adventures.
Letting scars and wrinkles lead the way,
we say it’s “oke” and quite okay
to seem quite nutty, knowing it’s no act.
Perusing Ulysses, we found the dude
useless: we’ll write our own memoirs.
When finally we kneel before
two roaring lions and they inhale
our essence, we breathe more slowly,
deeply than lungs have ever,
relaxing into paradise.
(Dancing Poetry Festival prizewinner)
HOWDY-DO, IMAGINATION
for Natica Angilly
This stage of alchemy and magic
pulls open its own curtain
to whispers of expectation.
Awareness quickens in the flair
of blending poetry and dance
into artful exaltation,
while words most carefully chosen
kindle a choreography of verve
for sweet collaboration.
Fantasy and reality inspire
symbiotically entwining veils
to perky revelations.
Separately and as a company
poetic dancers are willed
a chosen poem’s interpretation.
Infused performers are
a unified body embracing
expansiveness, elation.
HOWDY-DO, IMAGINATION!
HARP MUSIC
We, the people, so often
shocked clear through
and numbed by yet another rape,
war, robbery, lethal lie, child
abduction, new pandemic—
feel anxious, tainted,
even in our home of homes.
Hey, folks,
let’s be brave,
approach with curiosity
and even learn to play
the harp strings of hope—
using, if we must,
our teeth!
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
SHEET OF PAPER
—Claire J. Baker
It’s 5pm. On break from Mac
I bend to retrieve a page
fallen onto the rug—
only to realize the sheet
is sunlight slanting
through the western window.
Well at least
I do no longer try
to pick up moonlight
at midnight when I’m
forcefully drawn to (u know)
arise from my comfy sack.
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Claire Baker for some more of her fine poetry today!
For 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!
