Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers' Friday, with poetry by
Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox, Lynn White,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Melissa Lemay, Caschwa,
and Joyce Odam
Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox, Lynn White,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Melissa Lemay, Caschwa,
and Joyce Odam
COOLER WEATHER, SHORTER DAYS,
CHANGING LEAVES
the signs of Autumn. Shorter days, yes.
Cooler weather? still in the 90s.
Changing leaves? our oaks are looking
tarnished. They must be thirsty,
wishing for rain.
Two of our liveoaks have fallen
in the last weeks, trunks splintered off
head-high, unable to support their crowns.
Mid-October, where is the rain?
I wish it felt like Autumn and less like Fall.
DRIVING TO TOWN
It’s that time again. At a corner house
just before the road plunges into canyon, now
is the season for a broomstick-flying witch
in purple cape, a ghost sitting on a swing;
a monolithic figure cloaked and veiled
in total black. Is that a zombie walking a giant
spider? More ghouls than I can take in
without driving off the road.
Whoo could have created this Halloween
extravaganza? The cost! the energy
to order, assemble, and deploy
in a big front yard for maximum effect.
But I see I made a typo in my exuberance.
Whoo. Oh where is the hoot-owl
in all of this? And where are the bats?
FORE
-warning
sign on road to the old graveyard,
No Outlet. But I drive on
anyway, this pleasant morning
in October.
-see
without a guide, I can’t make out
the inscription on this stone except
OCT. (birth-month I assume)
and OCT. (death)
-shadowing
this sunny morning in October,
a flight of corvids, birds
shiny-black as my dog—
yes, they’re ravens.
-front
they are, calling in hoarse
raven-tongue for me and my dog
to follow them wingless up
through the stones.
-thought
and hindsight join in sun-
dance dark with shade of ancient
oaks rooted as if forever among
the resting bones.
SHE’S THE QUESTION
an unidentified photo, Poets Online, Oct. 2024
Her back’s to us as she considers,
or reflects on, or tries to count
blackbirds in a leafless tree.
Who could tell who she is,
what she might be thinking,
or what she means?
Her hair blown wild—so many twigs.
BETWEEN SUNSET AND SHORE
You told me how you’d canter bareback
at the ocean’s edge, your mare’s mane rippling
to her rolling stride like the waves washing,
washing away—your mounted partner
silhouetted against sunset sky, you knew
you too could fly. Tell me, whatever happened
to that mare? What happened to the you
all these years and yesterdays washed by?
You told me how you’d canter bareback
at the ocean’s edge, your mare’s mane rippling
to her rolling stride like the waves washing,
washing away—your mounted partner
silhouetted against sunset sky, you knew
you too could fly. Tell me, whatever happened
to that mare? What happened to the you
all these years and yesterdays washed by?
COMMUNITY CLEANUP DAY
Here in the loaded-vehicle line we wait
our turns to release ourselves from what we thought
we needed, wanted, couldn’t do without—now
broken, tattered, or found useless, out-of-date;
and taking up precious space in house and mind.
The line moves so slowly, like the wheels of fate,
as if reluctant to free us from our stuff.
Don’t ask about regrets. Will I hesitate
in dumping the lot? I’m doing what I ought
to clear the deck, to honor an ancient vow:
Simplify, and drive light-spirit out the gate.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WALKING IN THE RAIN
—Taylor Graham
It’s the time of year—
this rain could last all morning.
Fairgrounds are empty,
we have the place to ourselves
walking in this blessed rain.
___________________
Our recent Seed of the Week says “It’s That Time Again”, and Taylor Graham’s poetry today reminds us of that in several ways, including her poem about the rain we had up here week-before-last. Our thanks to her for fine poems and photos! (The photos are from downtown Placerville shop windows.)
Forms TG has used this week include Medusa's Eekphrastic Challenge from 10/11 (“Between Sunset and Shore”); a Sevenling/Ekphrastic (“She's the Question”); a Tanka (“Walking in the Rain”); an Abracadabra (“Community Cleanup Day”); and a Prefix Poem (“Fore”). The Prefix Poem and the Abracadabra were two of last week’s Triple-F Challenges.
To see the photo and challenge for “She's the Question”, go to https://poetsonline.org/prompt.html/.
In El Dorado County poetry this week, Poetry in the Sierra Foothills features William O’Daly and Bob Stanley plus open mic in Camino on Sunday, 10/27, 2pm. And El Dorado County’s regular workshops are listed on Medusa’s calendar if you scroll down on http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html).
For more news about EDC 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/. And you can always click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html). Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!
And now it’s time for…
FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!
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!
* * *
(Mousekin’s Golden House by Edna Miller)
Last week’s photo inspired several poets, including Joe Nolan, Nolcha Fox, Lynn White, Stephen Kingsnorth, Melissa Lemay, and Caschwa:
SMILING PUMPKIN
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
How happy I am
Is plain to see,
Smiling wide
As wide can be,
After my lobotomy.
Take a look
Atop my crown—
Notice the
Incision line
Through which all my
Seeds were dug out.
Now that I
Am free of them
I feel much better,
Thank-you, ma’am.
I’ll smile
Like this
Forever after.
* * *
ORANGE IS THE COLOR OF SELFISH
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
The pumpkin said he closed his holes
because the wind might
blow his flame out.
The truth is he stashed
all the candy in his head
and didn’t want to share it.
* * *
JACK
—Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
It was a turnip long before it became a pumpkin,
pumpkins weren’t grown here back then
and, after our little party together
I surely needed protection
to keep the devil at bay.
It had seemed a good idea
to invite him for a drink
and a good opportunity
to part him from his cash.
I thought robbing the devil
would keep me in drinks all my life!
But I was a fool, a mean and stingy fool
now forbidden from both heaven and hell.
And hell would have been kinder to me
than this eternal wandering,
my way lit only with a devilish lantern
glowing grotesquely with my fool’s fire.
So spare a kind thought for me on Halloween
and let me close my eyes
and sleep.
* * *
COVER STORY
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Here’s bedtime book casting a spell—
misspelling author, internet,
for she assumed to be a he,
so fret—slip Freudian, I bet.
Assumed familial, correct?
Is Enda name within your tree?
Your Pinterest has got it wrong—
for Edna is her name I see.
Both Mousekin and its golden house,
enchanting world for sleepy read—
but is this kin, mouse, he or she—
while pumpkin secret with its seed?
You see the pictures—too true seeds
that feed vocab from hieroglyphs,
with snuggle warmth between the sheets
Nan, Dad, Mum read, words turned from glyphs.
This ancient lore that mourned all saints
now celebrated, Halloween,
though Jack o’lantern, root veg, like
peat bogs, will-o’-the-wisps on scene.
Do mangelwurzels thrill, excite
when given bright shine light within?
So tell the story, night-time gleam
with cover tucked up under chin.
Those pictures, words and voice conspire
to dampen, douse the lively mind—
familiar, recurring sounds,
repeats of reassuring kind.
So voice with illustrated text
leave imprint on the dozy child;
it may be setting scenes for dreams,
as landscape, half of life is styled.
’Tis irony, as Greenman knows,
there’s little leap, human to plant,
so veg that speaks, knows feeling cold,
is comfy, child’s drift dream supplant.
But preprepared, such rationale,
that man’s the master of the world,
less steward as type in control?
So sleepy dreams more grim unfurled.
Our thanks to Stephen for tracking down the author of this wee jack-o-lantern tale by Edna (not Enda!)...
* * *
JACK
—Melissa Lemay, Lancaster, PA
Jack-o’-lantern sat on the porch
Longing for sweet repose
He fired up a blow torch
Now his eyes are closed
* * *
READY TO RECEIVE
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
with the light glowing gently within
she closed her eyes, closed her mouth
closed up shop on sending messages
because now it had become the time to
open up to all the other communications
reaching us every moment in every day
she had shouted for the war to end all wars
and for this and that negative happening to
never happen again, but it reached deaf ears
because all the crap we said we just would not
tolerate is still there, and we’re still reciting
the same, useless, pathetic little expressions
acknowledging the logic of halting this insanity,
but nevertheless feeding it fondly like a dear pet
with which we are reluctant to part, don’t go yet
no longer will we bother to tell you right from
wrong, because you just use that as bait on
your fishing line to catch more than the limit
mouth closed tightly holding the truth inside
as if daylight would kill it, eyelids shut like
elevator doors, reminding you to stand still
and patiently wait to get on a mechanical
device with a permit that expired ages ago
but it is ready to receive you now, step in
* * *
Joyce Odam has sent us an Onegin Sonnet today (Iambic Pentameter, a b a b | c c d d | e f f e | g g), and it also happens to be an Ars Poetica. Thanks, Joyce!
USELESS SONNET
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
I too can write a sonnet—love and loss
balanced between the lines for you to read
and see—and try to understand the cost,
perhaps less subtle than what you can heed
at first, but buried like a word, and how
to struggle with it—as I’m doing now—
you, so pompous—sitting there, so smug,
the way you turn me off with just a shrug.
No more will my word-failure be assuaged,
baiting me to scorn my tireless need,
challenging my heart till it is freed,
unfeeling when I’ve wept, and when I’ve raged.
I’ll finish this somehow and back away—
admired or not—with nothing more to say.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/25/17)
____________________
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.) How about an MLou Quintet?
•••MLou Quintet (devised by Mary Lou Healy): http://popularpoetryforms.blogspot.com/2013/02/mlou-quintet.html
•••AND/OR try one of Joyce Odam’s Onegin Sonnets:
•••Sonnet, Onegin: Iambic Pentameter, a b a b | c c d d | e f f e | g g
•••AND/OR here’s one for mad poets—the Mad Calf:
•••Mad Calf: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/mad-calf
•••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 “Danger!”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Abracadabra (devised by Joyce Odam): eleven lines, eleven syllables, single stanza; rhymed: a b c a x a x a b c a
•••Ars Poetica: www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/ars-poetica
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Mad Calf: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/mad-calf
•••MLou Quintet (devised by Mary Lou Healy): http://popularpoetryforms.blogspot.com/2013/02/mlou-quintet.html
•••Prefix Poem: https://poetrypop.com/2022/02/13/prefix-poem-dis-dandelion-wishes
•••Sevenling: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/sevenling
•••Sonnet, Onegin: Iambic Pentameter, a b a b | c c d d | e f f e | g g
•••Tanka: poets.org/glossary/tanka
___________________
—Medusa
Today's Ekphrastic Challenge!
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
Make what you can of today's
picture, and send your poetic results to
kathykieth@hotmail.com/. (No deadline.)
* * *
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
A reminder that
El Gigante features
Nzadi Keita on Zoom tonight;
and don’t forget
to check each day’s happenings for
Sacramento Poetry Week at
https://www.sacramentopoetryweek.com/.
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
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!
