—Poetry by Lynn White,
Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
—Visuals Courtesy of Public Domain
—Visuals Courtesy of Public Domain
CAGED
It’s pleasant enough
wandering these pathways
flanked by the tall rectangular cages,
each protected by a steel door
with a security code.
Even pleasanter later,
when the cages become
walled enclosures of decorative brick,
surrounding green spaces.
Intricate metal gates protect them
with a security code.
Occasionally a creature may emerge,
sometimes with barred teeth
and raised claws.
But mostly looking sad
and out of condition.
Lost inside themselves.
Poor things.
Lost souls
searching.
Mostly though, I encounter them outside.
Moving purposefully to a destination,
not free to take random pathways, like me.
Or desperately heading back to their cages,
hoping there is no diversion
which may leave them lost.
Leave them to encounter the
terror of the unforeseen
circumstances
that might arise
from freedom.
Freedom
to be lost.
Poor things.
Lost souls
in or out
of their
zoo.
It’s pleasant enough
wandering these pathways
flanked by the tall rectangular cages,
each protected by a steel door
with a security code.
Even pleasanter later,
when the cages become
walled enclosures of decorative brick,
surrounding green spaces.
Intricate metal gates protect them
with a security code.
Occasionally a creature may emerge,
sometimes with barred teeth
and raised claws.
But mostly looking sad
and out of condition.
Lost inside themselves.
Poor things.
Lost souls
searching.
Mostly though, I encounter them outside.
Moving purposefully to a destination,
not free to take random pathways, like me.
Or desperately heading back to their cages,
hoping there is no diversion
which may leave them lost.
Leave them to encounter the
terror of the unforeseen
circumstances
that might arise
from freedom.
Freedom
to be lost.
Poor things.
Lost souls
in or out
of their
zoo.
(First published in Apogee Journal, Spring 2016)
COVER THE MIRRORS
All the mirrors were covered
every night
in my grandmother’s house
draped with coloured cloths
like the budgie’s cage.
She was worried
that a soul might wander
and be sucked into the reflective glass
and she thought
the souls of dreamers were very vulnerable.
I thought that the budgie must be covered
because at night
even with the door closed,
his soul might fly the cage
and
disappear into the mirror.
Sometimes she forgot to cover the cage,
though never the mirrors
and then
I would examine the mirrors carefully
to check that it was me in there
and not his feathered soul.
Then
I would check his cage to make sure
that he was still inside
with his soul intact
She told me not to worry
that his cage was only covered
to make it dark
so he would sleep.
But I didn’t believe her.
It made no sense
if it was dark anyway.
So I always checked
the mirrors.
(First published in Praxis, November 2019)
FAÇADE
They were always sepia,
the old photographs
and slightly misty,
the technique
not fully developed.
But though sepia,
they seemed dark
and posed and staged,
subjects unsmiling
even the animals
sad and still.
All were caged
in the strictness of the set
and the strictness of the age
when an upright facade hid the darkness behind
where the sepia darkened
and turned brown as primeval mud
in a frightful ancient swamp.
So much has changed.
Now we have colours.
Now we smile for the camera,
it’s allowed.
Even the animals look animated
naturalistic
free
but it’s still a facade
still hiding darkness
in the background.
(First published in Visual Verse, June 2020)
CAGED IN GAZA
She asked me why caged birds sang.
I couldn’t tell her,
not for sure.
No mate will arrive this year,
and no freedom will come.
I wonder if they remember freedom,
perhaps they still
live in hope
like us.
She asked me if they felt fear as we do
when they heard the bombs falling.
I couldn’t tell her,
not for sure.
I wonder if they remember peace,
Perhaps it will arrive this year,
unlike last year.
perhaps they still
live in hope
like us.
She asked me if they knew
they brought us comfort.
“I think that’s why
they still sing,
like us,”
I said.
(First published in Cardinal Justice Anthology,
Vol. 3, May 2024)
PARROTS
It was a large structure, metal and conical shaped
perhaps an arbour awaiting its climbing plants
or a cage for a very large bird.
It seemed empty
unless something was hiding in the undergrowth.
I asked the woman sitting reading in the garden,
“Do you have a parrot?”
“I’ve got two”, she answered.
I peered into the structure
and looked at her questioningly.
“Oh, they’re not there now, they’ve gone out.
One’s round next door,
don’t know where the other one is!
When it’s a nice day they go for a wander.”
Well, it really was a beautiful day!
(First published in Blognostics, April/May 2020)
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The wild, cruel beast is not behind the bars of the cage. He is in front of it.
—Axel Munthe
______________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Lynn White for today’s fine poetry!
Don’t forget
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For info about these and other
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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!
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!
