Last Walk
—Image by Nolcha Fox (with Microsoft Designer)
* * *
—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Devyanshi Neupane, Sayani Muhkerjee,
Michael H. Brownstein, Michael Ceraolo,
Joe Nolan, and Claire J. Baker
—Images by Nolcha Fox and Shiva Neupane
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan and Medusa
—Image by Nolcha Fox (with Microsoft Designer)
* * *
—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Devyanshi Neupane, Sayani Muhkerjee,
Michael H. Brownstein, Michael Ceraolo,
Joe Nolan, and Claire J. Baker
—Images by Nolcha Fox and Shiva Neupane
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan and Medusa
LAST WALK
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Today I walk in golden glow
of autumn in the woods.
The stream reflects the
darkening sky and trees
in reds and ambers, ready
to embrace the fading light.
Soon the winter snow
will cover all that I now see.
I won’t walk this way again
until the coming spring.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Today I walk in golden glow
of autumn in the woods.
The stream reflects the
darkening sky and trees
in reds and ambers, ready
to embrace the fading light.
Soon the winter snow
will cover all that I now see.
I won’t walk this way again
until the coming spring.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
TIMBER TIMBRE
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Despite the myths of fairy tales,
or terrors played across the screen,
in woods none can be alone, for
our species share such space with more.
From canopy to groundwork down,
profusion, swarming legion life,
abundance branch, twig, leaf await,
those each with veins, sap circulate.
As swum through xylem, phloem in flow,
soars lifeblood against gravity
from roots, a network weaving zone,
so iceberg like, unseen though known.
With taste, scent, touch and telling sounds
we sense this world alive with swell,
and yet we fear what we don’t know,
that symbiotic ally show.
Withstanding in surrounding crowd,
those trunks are witness through time’s range,
whose age rings out, ancestral heirs,
surrounded bark uniquely theirs.
A carpet laid of ancient pile,
seeds stratified in layered seam
as rotting grave turns golden lode,
for sapling spring ready explode.
As this creation communicates,
what language may we use ourselves?
Facility our being lacks,
to listen ’ere we lyric wax.
Yet may our ears attune to notes,
at minim scuffle, grounded drop
if not the auxin, wormhole, mole,
holistic echo, timbre, soul.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
VIBRATIONS
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
alone in the house I play
the piano fortissimo and
a decorative China tea cup
and saucer on the shelf have
no choice but to hum along
a military airfield nearby
dispatches a double rotor
helicopter which shakes
the rooftop
out on the street a truck
driver who is short on time
but big on air horn attempts
to awaken and dislodge that
sleepy flow of traffic ahead
of him
freight trains, idle so much
of the day, slam together cars
at all hours in preparation for
a haul
dogs in fenced yards on either
side of my house carry on the
tradition of barking for no
obvious reason, as my house-
hold’s dogs have done in the
past
meanwhile anonymous critters
tippy tap across my roof and
attic floor almost like they get
their mail here, too
THEY’RE ALL CORRUPT
—Caschwa
Snapshot of a pet peeve
the year was 1973,
it was my first car
a 1963 Dodge Dart
pulled over by a cop
for a safety inspection
I came to a complete
stop and fully complied
at the outset he asked
to see my driver’s license
which was in my wallet,
deep in my pants pocket,
so I unfastened my
seatbelt (they had no give
back then) retrieved it from
my pocket and produced it
he checked my lights, tires,
a few other things, then wrote
me up for not wearing a
seatbelt
in no longer than a brief
snapshot of time, this one
cop had smeared the fine
reputation of the whole force,
removed the shine from their
badges, tarnished all the honor
and respect of the title Officer,
and forever lowered my
expectation of being treated
fairly by a cop
from what I’ve seen since,
change from this posture is
the exception, not the rule
LAMINGTONS
—Devyanshi Neupane, age 5,
Melbourne, Australia
I enjoy Lamingtons
But the less sugary ones.
Just once
In a week.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
DREAM
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India
The avalanche of broken dreams
The choir of new-sought promise
Surprise me as I go on seeking the world
The telepathy of numerous things
All at once come undone under my periphery
The vision of hydrangeas and little faiths
What if all a dreamscape of muted epiphanies?
Truly dream then again and again under the
canopy
For faith of all things comes around
The sun basks in a miraculous height
The trampoline circus of humanity at a standstill
Still flickering and sowing the seeds of freedom.
Joe says: Just needs a lot of stark, black,
flying crows to look like a Van Gogh~
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
WHAT IF THE PALESTINIANS AND
ISRAELIS SAID, “NO”
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO
No to their governments, no to war, no to
genocide,
holocaust, torture, and yes to peace, collabor-
ation,
cooperation, friendship, all children should
thrive.
From every direction thousands, then millions,
of Palestinians and Israelis arrive at the border
screaming for an end to all conflict—
it's time for peace, faith, hope and trust—
and then people of all religions, nationalities,
ethnicities and race begin arriving by plane,
train,
car, bus, boat, camel, foot, wheelchair
until the volume of protest grows so great,
the immense weight of their bodies so heavy,
both lands blossom into The One Great Garden
of Peace, Love, Eden, Psalm and Prayer.
(prev. pub. in Lone Stars 105)
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
THREE FREE SPEECH CANTOS
—Michael Ceraolo, South Euclid, OH
Free Speech Canto XCVII
Irving Feiner was a college student
when he decided to make a speech
on March 8, 1949,
addressing a crowd of seventy-five to eighty
When one person wanted him silenced,
the police,
instead of protecting him,
arrested Feiner instead of the threatened rioter
The majority of the Supremes said
"We are well aware
that the ordinary murmurings and objectives
of a hostile audience
cannot be allowed to silence a speaker"
But they did just that,
upholding Feiner's conviction
* * *
Free Speech Canto XCVIII
February 1940
The Board of Higher Education
in New York City
appoints Bertrand Russell to teach
at the City College of New York
Someone who didn't have standing
filed a lawsuit anyway,
and
the judge, John F. McGeehan,
ordered the board to revoke his appointment,
saying such an appointment
"adversely affects public health, safety, and morals"
The appointment revoked,
the paper of record piled on,
saying that Russell should
"have had the wisdom to retire from the appointment
as soon as its harmful effects became evident"
* * *
Free Speech Canto XCIX
Even before the Alien and Sedition Acts
there was widespread, widely-accepted
state censorship
(one of the many entities
not then covered by the First Amendment),
because
the governments there worshiped Blackstone
and, despite the Revolution,
adopted English law lock, stock, and barrel
A couple of examples:
in
Commonwealth vs. Freeman in 1791,
a Massachusetts court upheld the constitutionality
of criminal libel,
despite
the freedom-of-the-press guarantee,
saying
the amendment only prohibited prior restraint;
and
William Durrell, convicted of criminal libel
for merely re-printing the report of a trial
(the printer of the original report
apparently not prosecuted)
And, again. no one could explain why
the freedom of speech and freedom of the press
guarantees in state constitutions
were ignored
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
KITE IN FLIGHT
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
Aloof, aloft, alight,
A kite took flight,
Drifted in the wind.
What were we
To make
Of broken string
And flying free?
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
CROATIAN SEASIDE
—Joe Nolan
Red roofs
Punctuate
Light yellow walls
Of homes that align
The Adriatic Sea
Along Croatia,
Once part of
The Roman Empire,
In times gone by
And here we are—
After the death
Of Communism.
It used to be part
Of Yugoslavia—
Land of the Southern Slavs,
Under the iron hand
Of Josef Tito,
Who wasn’t all that bad,
Who kept evil Stalin
Well at bay
So they could develop
Independently,
An attempt at
Peoples’ Socialism
For a country
On its own.
DEMON GRASS
—Joe Nolan
Demon grass
Upon the lawn
Must be sprayed
Until it’s gone,
Lest it soon devour
All the finer grass
You’ve spent your hours
Nurturing and encouraging
With all your
Green-thumb powers
To dominate
And propagate
And bless you
With its flowers,
To decorate
Your little slice
Of paradise
You gaze out on
From your sliding window.
THE WORLD’S A STAGE
—Joe Nolan
Who was the designer of the set
That filled up the whole stage
And caused us to forget
Where we were from
And where we were going?
Has anybody caught his name?
Does anybody understand
What kind of magic crystals
He cast about
To cause us all amnesia
And sudden numbness?
Numbness is much worse
Than amnesia—
It siphons off the here and now
While amnesia
Buries memories
Under pillows,
Leaving you in here-and-now,
Maybe forever,
Without resort
To way-back-when,
Back before
Your head began to spin.
The stage is not your savior.
It’s only there
To make your
Call to appear,
To watch you suffer,
To watch you fall.
You might be better off
As an old man
Who grunts and scoffs
At all the world offers.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
TWO MORE POETS TAKE
THE WOODED PATH
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
for Mo Hurley & Sandra McPherson
Walking
and I haven’t
honored them with a tree.
These redwood roots linger in my
fingers.
______________________
Thanks to today’s contributors, some of whom wrote about our Seed of the Week, Alone in the Woods. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
Last Wednesday, I said that Janine Stevens’ new book is No Lunch for the Day Stars from Cold River Press. Actually, she has a more recent book coming out from Claire Songbirds Publishing House: Left Handed Hummingbird, coming soon from https://www.claresongbirdspub.com/.
And thanks to Claire Baker for her tribute to Sandra McPherson and Mo Hurley in today's LittleNip. Tune in next Sunday for more about Mo.
______________________
—Medusa
A reminder that tonight, 7:30pm,
Sacramento Poetry Center will host
A Tribute to José Montoya.
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!
Sacramento Poetry Center will host
A Tribute to José Montoya.
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!