Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Stephen Kingsnorth
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Stephen Kingsnorth
MISPERS
We think we’ve seen scene laid before—
for promenaded esplanade
recall when sea and sky seemed one,
lie hex, indistinguishable.
Horizon melt, waned ochre hue,
embracing both sky, briny blue,
for sunset haze but tepid glow—
but we assume staged sight, a norm.
The vanish point, feint watermark,
a silhouette, pair folding seats,
stark lines we too have lounged about
speak memories of sand on strand.
No paddle, sure, turn-ups knee-rolled,
green canvas deck chairs stacked in pile
by ticket man of UDC,
but empty frames yet unresolved.
Some make up stories, what’s at stake,
search Thermos flask, or bucket, spade,
a landfill site for that Celeste,
and dawning, wonder, early hour?
I hear no shrieks of grandkids, beach,
and question, have these crossed the bar—
a desolation from afar;
perhaps two mispers, files somewhere?
[“Mispers” is short for missing persons.]
______________________
WHITE LIGHT
After "Adlestrop" by Edward Thomas
Imagining a singing bird
too far for inner sight or ear—
too bleak for calling, colly wing,
the starkest change from Adlestrop.
Willow herb least growing, live,
and buddleias with wont survive,
to pull from air, their butterflies.
Fluorescent unknown name strip broke
by bottle thrown or stone from slab.
But who would want to recall tag?
The most lonely space I ever saw,
incomplete, for people-void,
white-light site with vacant stare,
without a shadow, perspective,
or gradation in the bright.
Abandoned cell, no prisoners,
insomnia, awake through force,
unstaffed pale face, station at night.
The pause was brief, the journey grief,
a vacüum, too far from home.
How distant Clapham Junction or
We think we’ve seen scene laid before—
for promenaded esplanade
recall when sea and sky seemed one,
lie hex, indistinguishable.
Horizon melt, waned ochre hue,
embracing both sky, briny blue,
for sunset haze but tepid glow—
but we assume staged sight, a norm.
The vanish point, feint watermark,
a silhouette, pair folding seats,
stark lines we too have lounged about
speak memories of sand on strand.
No paddle, sure, turn-ups knee-rolled,
green canvas deck chairs stacked in pile
by ticket man of UDC,
but empty frames yet unresolved.
Some make up stories, what’s at stake,
search Thermos flask, or bucket, spade,
a landfill site for that Celeste,
and dawning, wonder, early hour?
I hear no shrieks of grandkids, beach,
and question, have these crossed the bar—
a desolation from afar;
perhaps two mispers, files somewhere?
[“Mispers” is short for missing persons.]
______________________
WHITE LIGHT
After "Adlestrop" by Edward Thomas
Imagining a singing bird
too far for inner sight or ear—
too bleak for calling, colly wing,
the starkest change from Adlestrop.
Willow herb least growing, live,
and buddleias with wont survive,
to pull from air, their butterflies.
Fluorescent unknown name strip broke
by bottle thrown or stone from slab.
But who would want to recall tag?
The most lonely space I ever saw,
incomplete, for people-void,
white-light site with vacant stare,
without a shadow, perspective,
or gradation in the bright.
Abandoned cell, no prisoners,
insomnia, awake through force,
unstaffed pale face, station at night.
The pause was brief, the journey grief,
a vacüum, too far from home.
How distant Clapham Junction or
the omnibus, daily full,
populace, porters turn deaf ear
to luggage plea, livery, soot,
the pencil boy with spotter pad,
juggernaut brewing smoke signals,
bogies hidden, wind-up copied,
Dublo model, hobby track.
DOLMEN
Moors roll, slow-tectonic screwed,
next just like one before
except for megalith here pitched.
No stone circle, henge, ditch,
but dolmen for passing rich
in wisdom, leadership and wind.
It stands, rock resting nest,
granite witness for the land.
ROBIN HOOD’S BAY HEADLAND CEMETERY
They are packed in, a sardine tin,
salt-caked, stacked, domino effect,
too close for bodies, just the head
stones, neither bones nor flesh interred.
No coffers, lead, or rotting, would-
be leatherjacket larvae food,
but Verdigris, copperplate script,
brief only lines engraved to see.
So hearts of oak float, bloated, lost,
the cost of mariners, impressed,
from gangplank or the fishing nets,
who trawled, then lay them down to bed.
Gifts for the poor, their slates wiped green,
now buried treasure out at sea,
beyond the bar, strand, golden sand,
the riches of the wealthy drowned.
___________________
TERMINAL
A thousand terms that box the sand,
both terminal—as note above-
more open word, compounded here;
sandbank just beyond the bar,
sandstone cliffs that edge the beach,
while sandwiched in between those two
sandpipers shrill where sandals worn,
once beatniks, joss sticks, sandalwood.
It’s said the sandman eyes the rheum-
old men dreaming, as hourglass streams;
can sandbags hold back passing time?
Today’s LittleNip:
THE WELL
—Stephen Kingsnorth
When others seen touched, moved,
the stinging brim, brimming sting
uninvite, consequential comes.
Why does kindness strangers overcome?
When loneliness, soul-mate required,
waves driving, breaching lidded eyes,
crest lash, invade the cheek;
source, springs, well that flows?
_______________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Stephen Kingsnorth for today’s fine poetry, as we usher in the month of August!
Click to enlarge...
—Public Domain Poster Courtesy of Medusa
A reminder that
Poetry Night Reading Series
will feature readers from
VOICES 2024
tonight in Davis, 7pm.
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!
Poetry Night Reading Series
will feature readers from
VOICES 2024
tonight in Davis, 7pm.
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!
