Placerville
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Joyce Odam, and
Melissa Lemay
COLD CALLS
The mercury’s hit another benchmark
for July. So hot, hypothermia almost sounds
like an invitation. I’ll take the trail down
to the South Fork, maybe get my feet wet
in snowmelt off the mountain. Pick my way
over granite and dead weeds prickly as holly
leaves. At water’s edge, the swift current
shooshing by without a human word.
The mercury’s hit another benchmark
for July. So hot, hypothermia almost sounds
like an invitation. I’ll take the trail down
to the South Fork, maybe get my feet wet
in snowmelt off the mountain. Pick my way
over granite and dead weeds prickly as holly
leaves. At water’s edge, the swift current
shooshing by without a human word.
MORNING DRILL
How my hands manage to get the day going:
feed the cat three times because he makes
crumbs he won’t eat and says he’s starving;
pet the dog—nose, ears, chest & tail because
he slept outside all night under cool of stars;
grab a leash, walk that dog, counting oaks
from acorns, each blessing along the trail;
then I manage breakfast and the day goes on.
OTIS AMONG TALL TREES
He
leads out
as we walk
the wooded trail,
leaving his calling
card—lifting his leg as
high as it ever will go,
anointing rough bark—a good shot
aimed at announcing Otis Was Here!
He leads out as we walk the wooded trail.
He
leads out
as we walk
the wooded trail,
leaving his calling
card—lifting his leg as
high as it ever will go,
anointing rough bark—a good shot
aimed at announcing Otis Was Here!
He leads out as we walk the wooded trail.
TRAIL OF CAST-OFFS
What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?
—T.S. Eliot
An old singer, scruffy and lame—what
became of his song? Now along the creek is
a feral cat feeding station and a sign that
warns of Polluted Water. Caterwauling noise,
and my dog is on alert now.
My rescued dog wants to know what
wants to trash him—a hissing gray tabby is
what. A homeless howl like the
other dogs at the shelter, or the wind
blowing promises away for all our doing.
What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?
—T.S. Eliot
An old singer, scruffy and lame—what
became of his song? Now along the creek is
a feral cat feeding station and a sign that
warns of Polluted Water. Caterwauling noise,
and my dog is on alert now.
My rescued dog wants to know what
wants to trash him—a hissing gray tabby is
what. A homeless howl like the
other dogs at the shelter, or the wind
blowing promises away for all our doing.
ROADBLOCKS
to the old Gold Rush cemetery
No sign gives direction
or warning of a break-car road
to the ghost town graveyard.
Miles of hardpan dust
are gouged from forest thicket
past a falling-down barn.
We drive blinded by dust,
leave our rigs to mount another
driven by former strangers.
At last even the jeeps fail
and we walk under sun-strike
sharing water bottles.
We trail-mates discover,
hidden among conifer and oak,
a community of rock.
Citizens of a ghost township
lie buried under a hundred years
of leaf- and needle-fall.
TARGET PRACTICE
We were just taking morning air
and there the kinfolk stood—
a father, mother, and three kids
like clothespins made of wood.
Their knees were hinged to bend and fall
like leaves and leave no trace,
to be knocked down by rifle folk.
They didn’t have a face.
The forest ‘round was silent now,
no trees would tell us who
had shot the peace of mountainside
and splintered sky of blue.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
POETRY PLEIN AIR
—Taylor Graham
A summer fountain splashes
me with cooling drops, plashes
so I can’t hear the lady
reading her poems up-front.
I love improv poetry
of freely falling water.
______________________
Here we are in August already, with Taylor Graham and Otis in the foothills—still hotter’n hell—but still exploring the woods and writing to us about their life among the oaks. And many thanks to TG for all of it!
Forms Taylor Graham has used this week include a Dectina (“Otis Among Tall Trees”); a List Poem (“Morning Drill”); a Golden Shovel (“Trail of Cast-Offs”); a Word-Can Poem (“Cold Calls”); a Triversen (“Roadblocks”); a Ballad that is also a response to last week’s Ekphrastic Challenge (“Target Practice”); and some Normative Syllabics (“Poetry Plein Air”). The Dectina and the Golden Shovel were two of last week’s Triple F Challenges; “Roadblock” was a response to last Tuesday’s Seed of the Week (Roadblocks).
In addition to El Dorado County’s regular workshops (go to http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html and scroll down to Workshops), Lara Gularte will facilitate an Ekphrastic workshop this Monday, 8/5, 5:30pm, based on the exhibit, ForestSong, at the Switchboard Gallery in Placerville. If you’d like to sign up, contact Lara at laralg@aol.com/. Then there will be a reading at the Switchboard Gallery on Thursday, 8/11, 5:30pm, of the poems generated at the workshop. No need to sign up for that—just come and enjoy the fine exhibit and poetry.
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.)
Check out our recently-refurbed 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 and other ways of poetry. 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 photo brought several responses from Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth, and two from Caschwa (Carl Schwartz)—a first one and its sequel:
WHO’S THE STUPID ONE NOW?
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
I’m a blockhead,
a pinhead,
a woodenhead.
I thought I knew
better than you,
but you hung me
out to dry.
* * *
UNSETTLED
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Clothespins to some but pegs to me,
from doorstep sales to naïve boy,
Kleeneze man from leather case,
or this, white heather, gypsy girl.
She’d tell your fortune for a bob,
so not be making one herself;
those moorland sprigs without a grouse,
free pickings for the pheasant stock.
These Romani know exonyms—
nomadic peoples always do—
their homes pitched, pegged out on the grass,
wherever space for caravan.
It brings unsettled life to fore,
a taxing issue, rooted plots,
while night, mares traded, spit and palm
or driveways laid with wasted tar.
We wonder at the wandered style,
recall those wise who followed star,
or irreligious shepherd’s call
as reconcile old mysteries.
Our dirty linen hidden well,
though pegged when pristine on the line,
in billowed wind that blows as will,
the spirit’s breath, Laputa’s isle.
And here she stands with ball and chain,
her crystal, bold gold earring links,
tucked black of ringlets hemming hair
beneath bright scarlet headpiece scarf.
But I have stare of middle class,
a wee lad waiting time for school,
nil tanner, less a bob to spare—
and wishing ’twere Kleeneze man.
* * *
OLD SCHOOL
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
my mother’s parents were
from the old country
old traditions
old ways
that was their normal
when offered, she declined
getting a modern clothes dryer
or a modern dishwasher
she would stand outside and
hang wet clothes on a clothesline
with wooden clothespins
and spend time at the kitchen sink
hand-washing dishes most every day
till she died at age 95
meanwhile I and her 2 other offspring
jumped at the chance to use the tools or
appliances that offered the most
convenience
she accepted that our results were faster,
but steadfastly held to superior freshness
of line-dried clothes, and the closer-to-God
rewards of hand-washed dishes
* * *
OLD SCHOOL II
—Caschwa
my Dad
loved my Dad
but he was not perfect
he was convinced that
women were not meant
to drive automobiles
when my Mom wanted
to learn to drive, my Dad
gave her only the most
rudimentary practice
sessions
being careful to steer her
clear of ever getting a
driver’s license
so she did a lot of walking
while Dad had 2 cars to
choose from to drive
3 boys, no girls
Dad got his way
* * *
Something else from Carl—a Baccresiezé. I was going to describe the form, but I lost it here…
—Illustration Courtesy of Public Domain
ELUSIVE MEMORIES
—Caschwa
there is this recurring notion
like tides and waves in the ocean
my brain is teasing me to think
I lost it here
constant reminder in the ear
I’m missing something important
there is this recurring notion
I lost it here
hard to reconstruct memories
that one did not even start with
history lessons never heard
I lost it here
* * *
Speaking of Carl… he sent a poem last week, but neither of us could remember its form. Taylor Graham identified it as Ballad stanzas; according to Poetry Foundation (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ballad/), Ballads “usually follow a form of rhymed (abab) quatrains alternating four-stress and three-stress lines.” Thanks, TG! Here then, one last time, is Carl’s Ballad:
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
ONE LAST TIME
—Caschwa
we don’t need no president
and surely not a king
just let chaos rule us all
not worry ‘bout a thing
there’s crazies on the ballot
from top to the bottom
Napoleon Bonaparte
singing Early Autumn
miracle in Wisconsin
teenagers out with guns
can’t believe it wasn’t staged
like intentional puns
candidates like sausages
both are getting older
place your bet for faster horse
not the smell that’s bolder
I’ll place my bet in secret
really not tell a soul
except social media
because that is the goal
* * *
Joyce Odam has sent us a Haibun today:
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
THE IMPORTANCE OF SOLITUDE
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
Two strangers meet on a bridge, increase their
distance from each other, try to remain alone. But
they have been invaded by each other’s presence,
each with his own reason for being there, lingering
at the edge of private thought. The view can belong
to one only : the roiling sky, the shimmering detail
of disturbed weather, the changing motion of the
waters beneath the bridge. They stand far enough
apart to have no need to speak. They stare into the
building moodiness of the morning that is too early
for direction, or decision. If only the other were not
there . . . what might be different . . . ?
instead of a dream
I am throwing away my cross—
I am on the bridge
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/5/19)
* * *
Here is an Ekphrastic poem from Stephen Kingsnorth, based on this photo which appeared on Medusa’s Kitchen on Monday, July 22 (the Day of Infamy when the Kitchen got chastised because we had too many cuss words… 😋 ). Love the way Stephen rhymes canoe and phew:
at the edge of private thought. The view can belong
to one only : the roiling sky, the shimmering detail
of disturbed weather, the changing motion of the
waters beneath the bridge. They stand far enough
apart to have no need to speak. They stare into the
building moodiness of the morning that is too early
for direction, or decision. If only the other were not
there . . . what might be different . . . ?
instead of a dream
I am throwing away my cross—
I am on the bridge
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/5/19)
* * *
Here is an Ekphrastic poem from Stephen Kingsnorth, based on this photo which appeared on Medusa’s Kitchen on Monday, July 22 (the Day of Infamy when the Kitchen got chastised because we had too many cuss words… 😋 ). Love the way Stephen rhymes canoe and phew:
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
WREST FOR AN OLD CROCK
—Stephen Kingsnorth
An earnest of importance, stare,
a handbag, yes, left luggage, more,
but who would think in terms of chair,
or leaning back into the jaw?
Some shiny scales accessory—
though maybe now the climate’s changed—
that fashion, snap shut clasp we see
be better left, clamp teeth arranged?
I saw them in the everglades
half drugged as wrestled to the floor,
tail-dragged in game play of charades
by cowboy showmen, crowds unsure.
What is the roll call, hunting game,
whose rôle to fill the death roll spin,
convince, spectator sport to maim
for carpet, baggers made of skin?
The noble savage Caliban—
a comment, white supremacy—
yet holds the glass to western man,
more kills for thrills, chivalrously.
So rest awhile, lean back, take nap,
dream Orinoco, in canoe,
and see the glide path, shore to snap,
your head in corkscrew, death, wake, phew!
* * *
And we’ll close with a wee Ballad from Melissa Lemay:
—Illustration by Melissa Lemay (with DaVinci AI)
MEDUSA’S KITCHEN
—Melissa Lemay, Lancaster, PA
Medusa was a Gorgon,
Whose snakes were long and thin
She longed to have a dinner guest
But no one could come in
For when one crossed her threshold
They’d quickly turn to stone
This was not conducive
To dining in her home
___________________
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!
She longed to have a dinner guest
But no one could come in
For when one crossed her threshold
They’d quickly turn to stone
This was not conducive
To dining in her home
___________________
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!
See what you can make of these challenges, and send your results to kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.) Let’s mess with the Cinquain, either the Didactic Cinquain and/or the Word Cinquain:
•••Didactic Cinquain: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/didactic-cinquain
•••Word Cinquain: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/didactic-cinquain
•••AND/OR the Dibi, which is an extended Ballad, of which we have spoken of late:
•••Dibi: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/dibi
•••AND/OR revisit the Baccresiezé with Carl:
•••Baccresiezé: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
•••See also the bottom of this post for another challenge, this one an Ekphrastic one.
•••And don’t forget each Tuesday’s Seed of the Week! This week it’s “Perseverance”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Baccresiezé: www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/1882-syllabic-forms-found-in-pathways-for-the-poet/#veltanelle
•••Ballad: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ballad AND/OR www.baymoon.com/~ariadne/form/ballade.htm
•••Cinquain, Didactic: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/didactic-cinquain
•••Cinquain, Word: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/didactic-cinquain
•••Dectina Refrain: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/dectina-refrain
•••Dibi: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/dibi
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Golden Shovel: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/golden-shovel-poetic-form
•••Haibun: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/haibun-poems-poetic-form
•••List Poem: clpe.org.uk/poetryline/poeticforms/list-poem
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse AND/OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
•••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
Courtesy of Joe Nolan
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Public Domain Photo
Courtesy of Joe Nolan
For info about
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!
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!
