—Public Domain Visuals Courtesy of Medusa
FORGOTTEN LANDSCAPE
I am driving down a hill without name
on an unnumbered highway.
This road transforms into a snake
winding around hair pin turns.
See how it hisses though this long night.
Why am I alone?
At the bottom of the incline
lies a dark village. Strangely hushed
with secrets. How black it is. How difficult
to find what I must discover.
My fingers are tingling.
Smoke combs the air, static fills night.
Continuing to cross gas-lit streets
encountering dim intersections.
Another maze. One line leads to another.
Continuing to cross gas-lit streets
encountering dim intersections.
Another maze. One line leads to another.
Dead ends become beginnings.
Listening to lisp of the road.
My slur of thoughts sink as snake rasps grow
louder. See how the road slithers.
What can be explored? Where can it be?
Listening to lisp of the road.
My slur of thoughts sink as snake rasps grow
louder. See how the road slithers.
What can be explored? Where can it be?
All is in question.
LUCK
Wearing designer clothes
and sleek jewelry,
she traipses along willy-nilly
throwing golden kismet
wherever whimsy calls.
Some think luck chooses their
goodness or hard work. Perhaps
they were blessed at birth?
The wise know luck wears a
visor tripping over herself
favoring both mean and lazy.
Luck has a toxic twin called
misfortune covered with
gloom. Dressed in dusty
rags, stupor-like he selects
unsuspecting victims.
Stomping helter skelter
clutching the throats of
both meek and mighty.
Everybody who gets in his way
will be pushed down, their
muffled cries barely heard.
Wearing designer clothes
and sleek jewelry,
she traipses along willy-nilly
throwing golden kismet
wherever whimsy calls.
Some think luck chooses their
goodness or hard work. Perhaps
they were blessed at birth?
The wise know luck wears a
visor tripping over herself
favoring both mean and lazy.
Luck has a toxic twin called
misfortune covered with
gloom. Dressed in dusty
rags, stupor-like he selects
unsuspecting victims.
Stomping helter skelter
clutching the throats of
both meek and mighty.
Everybody who gets in his way
will be pushed down, their
muffled cries barely heard.
SEE TROUBLE GROW
Trouble is patient
hiding around corners,
creeping through shadows
entering without a sound.
It starts as a seed blown
It starts as a seed blown
by careless winds and
covers your garden with
foul brackish weeds.
Or sparks from a match
Or sparks from a match
spread over fertile ground
becoming flames speeding
through the long night.
Trouble knows where you live.
Trouble knows where you live.
You cannot hide from it.
Gaining a foothold, growing
fat feeding on your flesh.
Watch how trouble grows
Watch how trouble grows
inch by inch, molecule
by molecule coursing
through your veins.
Trouble begins as a whisper
Trouble begins as a whisper
day by day growing louder.
Stronger than your heartbeat
becoming a thumping drum.
Soon you will forget
Soon you will forget
there was a time
when trouble was not
living by your side.
LAST CHANCE
You must come before 9 p.m.
(miracles can be quirky)
to the highway drug store
where pristine pharmacists
feed scripts into forked
tongues of computers.
Neat rows of sterile packs
and crutches wait attentively.
Herbal medicines, vitamins
pose with gleaming lotions.
One squat wobbly table
marked “Last Chance”
offers up my cure. I must
salvage a phenomenon now.
Here is a miracle I can believe in.
A tinted jar of aroma therapy
filled with flowers grown in California.
To be cuddled safely under my coat
taken home far from fists of winds.
My glass bottle of jasmine mist...
pink, yellow, white petals.
Night-blooming jasmine
whispering perfumed nothings
at the 11th hour.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
BEWARE
—Joan McNerney
If you touch Medusa
her serpents will wrap
themselves around you.
She soars through water
with giant wings, gold fins.
Hundreds of snakes
You must come before 9 p.m.
(miracles can be quirky)
to the highway drug store
where pristine pharmacists
feed scripts into forked
tongues of computers.
Neat rows of sterile packs
and crutches wait attentively.
Herbal medicines, vitamins
pose with gleaming lotions.
One squat wobbly table
marked “Last Chance”
offers up my cure. I must
salvage a phenomenon now.
Here is a miracle I can believe in.
A tinted jar of aroma therapy
filled with flowers grown in California.
To be cuddled safely under my coat
taken home far from fists of winds.
My glass bottle of jasmine mist...
pink, yellow, white petals.
Night-blooming jasmine
whispering perfumed nothings
at the 11th hour.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
BEWARE
—Joan McNerney
If you touch Medusa
her serpents will wrap
themselves around you.
She soars through water
with giant wings, gold fins.
Hundreds of snakes
crawling from her head.
Some long to be near
Medusa to hear her hissing
lisping songs forgetful.
She can suck blood from
throats coiling minds
past infinity before
they breathe again.
_____________________
—Medusa, welcoming Joan McNerney back to the Kitchen, with thanks for today’s fine, fun poetry!
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!
LittleSnake and Crew
