Brazen Poets

 —Public Domain Art Courtesy of Medusa

* * *

—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, Nolcha Fox,
Sayanı Mukherjee, Devyanshi Neupane, 

Caschwa, Joe Nolan, and
Victor Kennedy
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan and Medusa

 

 

SCARECROWS?
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

Brazen breaks through lazing zone,
wakes the snoozing, zipped up, blurred,
the muzzy mind, prone whining moan,
those unfazed, stirred by undeterred.
Faced with daring (you perceive),
confrontation in their stride,
their ‘in your face’ ( as you believe).
made dizzy, dazzle, plied with pride?

Brash, immodest, with no shame,
steely ’gainst prevailing code—
is that how bold as brass became?
Defiant in audacious mode.
Sight required beyond those eyes
hardened in effrontery,
full frontal guise so undisguised,
a conning tower to win the prix.

Daring crime, type breaking mould—
hemline slash high, flash-flesh bare—
so artists’ con, or gossips’ scold,
this brass, old gold—there’s envy’s snare?
Secret admirers of the brave—
who dares wins, the tidal flow
with waves that crave to be the knave,
once guilty pleasures, scared? Now crow. 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

SHE KNOWS HOW TO UNDRESS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

Look in her window. There you can see a very small patch of dark blue, framed by a little branch. Pinned up by a naughty star, her red rose tattoo glows on her hip. The tattoo plays peek-a-boo as she wiggles out of her pencil skirt. The dark blue silk slip caresses her body, as you wish you could. If only you weren’t so shy. You inhale the perfume of her. You want to see more, but she closes the curtains. You’ll have to imagine the rest.

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

THE EARTH IS BURNING
—Nolcha Fox

 

(In reference to the recent passing of Nolcha's dog)

Audrey is dead.
The earth and sky
are mainly orange flames
that sear the air,
incinerate our lungs.
These are the final dog days.
The world is collapsing.
Change is in the air.
Grief is thick with sorrow,
and I can’t breathe it in.
Audrey left a fork in my heart.
I’m bleeding red tears.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Art Courtesy of Joe Nolan

SPECTRAL SHADOWS
—Sayani Mukherjee, Chandannagar,
W. Bengal, India

A small child of buried past
Pocketed her memories
Over her little watch—
Ping out the unhinged wall
Over the bricks,
Little tulips here and there
Lying flat over
A cauldron
Of Holocaust shrieks
And template of dehumanized
Silence.

The sudden fall of
The writer
And institutions that zipped
Up his lips
Over testimonies
Later, he wrote a book
On linguistic silence.
His fall failed back
Between two worlds
Masked and silenced
Words of Jews and
Zeroes.

Dates of people
She remembered well
Her taped
Eyes that grew up
Upon seeing flashes
To spectres
In a whim
Of seated big men,
Eating away within
The ruptured channel.

On Monday,
She met a friend
Of her past school
Swaying by the river walk
Of little feet dangling above.
Rosebuds after the summer haul
And she made friends
From one to many
And chalked out their birthdays
Like her favourite puzzle—
Two of them strung out
She could remember too much
She touched the thumb
And cut the string
And sat down by the last bench
With her little flowery skirt
And loosened net shoes.

"I sat and counted
One two three
I can remember all of them—“
Her favourite way to dance in the hall
And how she made her first cut-out
I sat then and became invisible
A whole bunch of rosebuds
In the afternoon fall
The fallen petals, the trampled buds
And I sat at the end
Tallest and I counted
One petals two and three
With my bag of rosebuds after
The classroom went dingy
And I was alone
And it rained hard
Then I gave them my
Umbrella and my favourite petals
As I sat with my
Spectral shadows
With my pocketed watch. 

 

 

 

 Shiva and Devyanshi Neupane on a train

 

 

A RIDE ON A TRAIN

—Devyanshi Neupane, Melbourne, Australia

I love to ride

On a train

With my Daddy.

He takes me

To the city.

He reads a story

For me,

On a train.

 

 

 

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

NO TIME FOR LOGIC
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

(Response to a recent Seed of the Week,
“Imperative to Stash”)

inside my brain is a very dedicated
librarian who helps me keep facts
in order so that such information can
be retrieved as needed. However,
lately she has threatened to go on strike,
demanding higher compensation and
better working conditions.

We never actually agreed that I would
pay her anything, but I just thought that
it comes with the territory like the role
of angels at the gates of Heaven.

And now, with Intellectual Property
being such a big issue, and Patents,
Copyrights, Trademarks, etc. who
among us without photographic memory
can competently store and retrieve all
that information?

If I tell you, I’ll have to insult, demean,
or otherwise discredit you because there
is no other way to attach logic and
reason to what is basically a house of
mirrors. Yes, that is what is inside my
head, and I am terribly proud of all its
brazen distortions and vagueness.

Now somewhere in that labyrinth of
reflections is a well worn librarian who
is seeking a better existence. But it is not
I who holds the Patent on the creation of
human beings, with all their peculiarities
and habits and manners of storing data, so
I’ll just refer those concerns to a higher
authority.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

UNDERTURE TO THE BURIED
—Caschwa

we’re here for you to look into the sky
to fix a gaze at clouds and birds and planes
to answer that eternal question why
investments do not always realize gains

you live a life that’s long and hard and then
the bank sends out a squad to seize your stuff
one payment missed, big deal for mice and men
who count the beans and never have enough

a reel-to-reel projector lights the screen
as you are huddled in a seat that squeaks
you can’t sustain attention that is keen
while everyone around you moves and speaks

but you won’t have to worry any more
you’re in a place that’s permanent, they say
no pressure to upgrade or to restore
expired old computers plug and play

we’ll leave you now to ponder your whole life
some say it doesn’t end when people die
we understand you didn’t bring a knife
just disappointed we forgot the pie 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

JUST CHECKING
—Caschwa

browsing some ads and saw an
intriguing abbreviation: CFM
could that be Chocolate Fudge Mousse?

Nah, just Cubic Feet per Minute
referring to how much air a power
blower displaces

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Art Courtesy of Medusa

AT THE DINNER AFTER CHURCH
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

It was naughty diner’s day
Down at the
Greasy Spoon Café
Where everybody
Got to have his way
On Sunday,
After church,
With ice cream,
Sodas
And burgers on
Toasted buns—
You know the ones,
The ones that are to die for
Toasted on grease on the range.

Yes, indeed,
We all gathered,
Some even stood in line.
It was the place that was
A-happening,
For the best things—
The finest time.  

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Art Courtesy of Medusa

BUFFALO IN WINTER
—Joe Nolan

My, oh my!
It’s Buffalo in Winter.
Everything is covered
In snow.

We crawl out our
Second-story window
With cross-country skis,
Since our front door
Is plowed-in,
Down below.

Once we have landed
On snow-covered pavement
We can cut tracks
Down snow-covered roads.

It’s really rather magical
How our ways, our hacks,
Turn trials into jubilation
As we glide up and down
Through fluffy powder
That slips us on to
Where we want to go.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

ALIENATION FROM FREEDOM
—Joe Nolan

You brought yourself
Abruptly to the surface
To get away from
Things you couldn’t swallow.

Everything is hollow,
So, you believe,

And everyone
You say you love
Has something up his sleeve,
Ready to play
In the next game.

What if it’s
All the same,
When losers
Are the bettors
And the reason
You subscribed to
Was found to
Be insane?  

 

 

 

  —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

HARBINGERS OF FUTURE, SENSELESS WARS
—Joe Nolan

Oh-Oh!
Exactly how
The harbingers
You know,
Will doll out
Future fortunes,
Remains to
Be shown—

Like bullet-holes
Fired into
Concrete walls,
In the 1990's,
Remnants of the ruin
Of Sarajevo,
The birthplace
Of World War One,

Where the Austrian Empire’s Archduke
Was assassinated
And the two European Alliances
Fell into war
Against each other
In the Summer
Of 1914.

On maps we draw
Lines and diagrams
To try to explain
The convergence of forces,
Men sitting in trenches for four years,
Who, when they went over the tops
Of their trenches,
Mostly were mowed down
To fertilize
The corduroy landscapes
Of Belgium and France.

 

 

 

 Let wisdom protect us…
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

PROPORTION
—Joe Nolan

Let me see, now,
Let me see, now,
Everything that waxes
Also wanes.

Let me see, now,
Let me see, now,
Increase
Is followed
By decrease—
In shrinkage
We all feel our pain.

We think
We must
Grow and grow,
But if we did
We would be
Too crowded.

We must,
In future,
Be shrouded
By sense of proportion,
To know
When enough is enough—
Let wisdom protect us—
From homelessness
And living rough
Which follows when
Too many
Claim support
From too few.

 

 

 

 Medusa has a headache…
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

THE DEATH OF THE GORGON
—Victor Kennedy, Maribor, Slovenia

The Medusa myth never made any sense
until I read Barthes.
Why was she killed for turning men into stone
when rich and powerful men
pay big money to artists
to make statues of them?

But “The Death of the Author” explains it.
Perseus was a hitman.
Statues are worth a lot more
when the sculptor isn’t around
to make any more.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

UNNATURAL WEATHER TANTRUMS
—Joe Nolan

Oh, my!
Starlink was a lullaby
That let us whisper music
Into each others’ ears
When all the other ways
For far-away,
Had fallen down.

Let us thus
Be thankful
For mercy
On those
Distraught
By weather tantrums
Caused by who-knows-who?
For surely they were unnatural.

_____________________

Many thanks to today’s contributors, some of whom sent poems on our Seed of the Week, Brazen. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest SOW.

Sacramento Poetry Week is starting next Sunday! This year, Sac. Poetry Day (10/26) has been expanded to a whole week of events (10/20-10/26), including specials like contests for youth and adults. See all the info about what's happening every day at https://www.sacramentopoetryweek.com (click on Events).

The final day, Sat. (10/26), 7-10pm, will be the Sacramento Poetry Day Awards Gala at the Sacramento Public Library Tsakopoulos Galleria, 828 I St., Sacramento, CA. (Info: https://www.sacramentopoetryweek.com/.) Free, but get tickets at Eventbrite while they last: (https://www.eventbrite.com/e/sacramento-poetry-day-awards-gala-tickets1029546560477?aff=ebdssbdestsearch/).

And see Medusa's link, "Sacramento Poetry Day by Patrick Grizzell" (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/sacramento-poetry-day-by-patrick.html) for the whole story about the origins of Sacramento Poetry Day.

______________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

Sunny holds money for Pablo Escatbar
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that Poetic License
will meet in Placerville today, 10:30am;
and Sacramento Poetry Center’s
Youth Open Mic meets tonight, 7:30pm.
For info about these 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
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by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
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Would you like to be a SnakePal?
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send poetry and/or photos and artwork
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Just remember:
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Monday Mood 3