Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down to
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Nolcha Fox, Lynn White,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Joyce Odam,
and Caschwa
WITHOUT SHEEP, THE GRASS GOES CRAZY
What a tableau! Me in the pasture
with my mother’s meat cleaver, trying
to make hash (for dinner?)
of the sullen humps of orchard grass.
Beware the weapon’s sharpened bezel.
I bib-overall myself in case
of nausea. Of course I’m kidding.
I’ve had enough of this tidying
up a fallow field.
What’s next on the danger docket,
the weird of the day?
What a tableau! Me in the pasture
with my mother’s meat cleaver, trying
to make hash (for dinner?)
of the sullen humps of orchard grass.
Beware the weapon’s sharpened bezel.
I bib-overall myself in case
of nausea. Of course I’m kidding.
I’ve had enough of this tidying
up a fallow field.
What’s next on the danger docket,
the weird of the day?
QUESTIONS IN THE GRASS
Where does this trail go?
meandering through dead grass,
worn by unknown feet
animal or human or
both, in search of what?
Who deposited this dark
scat full of seeds? and
this, with bone fragments and fur?
What mysteries to be solved?
POND, NOVEMBER
In the bisque that is shoreline
of this pond after last week’s small rain,
I find a deer print. Out on still water
swim a dozen or more wild geese.
Where are the white swans I haven’t seen
since summer? They used to be year-round here.
In the pond’s outflow, a jam of deadfall
from winter storms. Where
are the wild turkeys who rule the trails
in nesting season? Everything’s so quiet.
No song of blackbirds in the tules.
If I were a scientist, I’d be analyzing wildlife
populations, the effect of a planned subdivision
around this pond, cutting it off
from game trails leading to greater expanses
of wild habitat.
Once I saw a girl sitting on a rock
above the pond—was she meditating,
painting a picture of this place in her mind?
A place to walk and observe and maybe
make a poem before it’s gone.
In the bisque that is shoreline
of this pond after last week’s small rain,
I find a deer print. Out on still water
swim a dozen or more wild geese.
Where are the white swans I haven’t seen
since summer? They used to be year-round here.
In the pond’s outflow, a jam of deadfall
from winter storms. Where
are the wild turkeys who rule the trails
in nesting season? Everything’s so quiet.
No song of blackbirds in the tules.
If I were a scientist, I’d be analyzing wildlife
populations, the effect of a planned subdivision
around this pond, cutting it off
from game trails leading to greater expanses
of wild habitat.
Once I saw a girl sitting on a rock
above the pond—was she meditating,
painting a picture of this place in her mind?
A place to walk and observe and maybe
make a poem before it’s gone.
HORSE BAROMETERS
Five bays, one white horse, one appaloosa
at breakfast hay in the corner field. In nearby
pasture, three dark horses grazing. Just across
the fence in a solitary paddock, black stallion
blazed with white, in meditation or boredom
as we pass, my dog and I, on a rough
dirt path skirting railroad track. Up ahead,
the path winds snakelike through blackberry
bramble under great over-leaning oaks.
We’ve already passed the old flyer
for a lost tabby, I wonder if cougar got her.
My dog, always on alert, and these
horses—so placidly at their morning—
I take as signals that for now, no predators
are padding through the peace and stillness.
Five bays, one white horse, one appaloosa
at breakfast hay in the corner field. In nearby
pasture, three dark horses grazing. Just across
the fence in a solitary paddock, black stallion
blazed with white, in meditation or boredom
as we pass, my dog and I, on a rough
dirt path skirting railroad track. Up ahead,
the path winds snakelike through blackberry
bramble under great over-leaning oaks.
We’ve already passed the old flyer
for a lost tabby, I wonder if cougar got her.
My dog, always on alert, and these
horses—so placidly at their morning—
I take as signals that for now, no predators
are padding through the peace and stillness.
HORSE POWER
from “Poem” by Billy Collins
A sign on the road announcing a bump.
And the motorcycle crashed into
the back of your little car, scratching its hide
like a horsefly bite, & leaving the rider
thrown from his 2-wheel steed.
Don’t you wish you’d both been riding
horses? Horses have too much
sense to crash into each other at 25 mph.
FOOTHILLS FIRE
from “Impermanence” by Katherine Harar
Sniff the air.
No red-flag warnings
this morning. When I got up before dawn,
the hall thermometer said 57 deg,
time for a fire in the woodstove. Gather
tinder, kindling then cordwood;
match. Watch the flames rise. Outside,
piles of oak—rounds and split,
plenty for this winter, and the next.
This is November. Remember
how Paradise burned exactly six years
and one day ago. We’re surrounded
by flammable trees, both dead and alive.
We’re never safe from fire.
In winter we can’t live without it.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
AT THE FAIRGROUNDS ARENA
—Taylor Graham
Sequins and rhinestones? riders and
horses tacked up, trot and canter—
iridescence like hummingbirds
at a hanging feeder.
_____________________
I knew Taylor Graham would harness our “Horses” Seed of the Week into some fine poems, loving horses the way she does—and so she did. Our thanks for these iridescent poems and photos that she has sent this week. Forms she has used include a Choka (“Questions in the Grass”); two Word-Can Poems (“Without Sheep, the Grass Goes Crazy” and “Pond, November”); two Last Line First poems (“Foothills Fire” and “Horse Power”); and a Ryūka (“At the Fairgrounds Arena”). The Last Line First form was our Triple-F Challenge last week.
In El Dorado County’s poetry events this week, Poetry in Motion meets in Placerville on Monday morning, 11/18, 10:30am. El Dorado County’s regular workshops are listed on Medusa’s calendar if you scroll down on http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html/. And 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. (She recently posted some fine poetry and photos from the recent Wakamatsu workshop.) 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!
* * *
Last week’s photo inspired several poets, including Nolcha Fox, Lynn White, and Stephen Kingsnorth:
THEY MEET FOR COFFEE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
Every Wednesday, on the dot at 9 o’clock
(unless the weather’s bad) the old guys meet.
Same table at the diner, though there’s fewer
of them now than 30 years ago.
Same talk of fishing, hunting, home repairs,
who’s born,
who’s died. Two cups and a donut in, they talk
of who did what to whom and when.
Of course the facts get bent and worn
when told a dozen times or more.
They smile and wink
hello to other folks who sit to eat.
They are official greeters, warm the seaters
in this small town they were born in,
where they’ve lived, and where they plan to die.
(prev. pub. in Medium, March 2024)
* * *
INSPIRATION
—Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
Outside the window
the man stands,
his hunger abating
as he ingests
the emptiness
inside.
He breathes it in,
then he’s on his way,
fast as the food
being served behind the glass.
Soon the bar stools and tables
will be peopled,
the juke box will be playing
above the buzz
of conversation.
Brushes and magic,
that’s all it takes
to fill the space
with life.
Hopper stands back,
satisfied.
* * *
POLE POSITION
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
Here’s retro vintage, diner style,
awhile in stainless, cushioned gloss,
more often though unhappy doss,
a counter, those, no tabled home.
For there’s The Sting, like hostel ring,
the board room for the misplaced, lost,
as those unsettled, fortune tossed,
without a nest to call their own.
Row, propped up singles, in a line,
for fluid, food, without a face
save for the staff—a low wage case—
and maybe music, tinned I guess.
It’s not the pub for beer and grub,
nor yet the tea room, clotted cream,
or fast-food window, children’s dream;
more ice-cream parlour, en vacance.
Perhaps the pawn in chess game speaks,
and this but pessimistic view,
uncultured in that retro clue,
the pristine seen more lonely scene.
I want the photo of the now,
portfolio, not yesterday,
designer label on display—
but what’s the menu on the street?
I never knew, of diner heard,
except for dinner party guest
in dickie bow as penguin dressed,
his gracious lady dripping gems.
But candelabra, pass the port,
so far removed, as must be clear,
from such slick shine encountered here—
Americana comes I fear.
* * *
Joyce Odam has sent us a Rimas Dissolutas based on our recent Tuesday Seed of the Week, Horses:
THE BEAUTIFUL HORSE
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
There is a sway in life—there is a sway
that moves in itself and never knows it moves,
whatever sets itself against some force,
whatever we desire and think to hold,
something in the mind that won’t obey
its own resistance, some old rule that proves :
seductive choice becomes its own remorse
—like follies of the young are to the old.
There’s always something that you can’t make stay
when the mind imprisons what it loves :
In moonlight I beheld a beautiful horse
that would not come to me, though I cajoled
and thought to possess with love. It stared at me :
whatever haunts us knows just where to be
—something that the mind will not set free.
(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, Spring 2004;
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/14/18)
* * *
Here is an EIO from Caschwa (Carl Schwartz):
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
There is a sway in life—there is a sway
that moves in itself and never knows it moves,
whatever sets itself against some force,
whatever we desire and think to hold,
something in the mind that won’t obey
its own resistance, some old rule that proves :
seductive choice becomes its own remorse
—like follies of the young are to the old.
There’s always something that you can’t make stay
when the mind imprisons what it loves :
In moonlight I beheld a beautiful horse
that would not come to me, though I cajoled
and thought to possess with love. It stared at me :
whatever haunts us knows just where to be
—something that the mind will not set free.
(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, Spring 2004;
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/14/18)
* * *
Here is an EIO from Caschwa (Carl Schwartz):
SHARPLY ASKEW
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
Elmer Fudd’s wife was poignant with child
It was due in a poignant pause
Everything got pretty wild
In the poignant Land of Oz
Of course, just because
* * *
This is a First-Letter/First Word Acrostic from Carl:
PUNGENT
—Caschwa
Poetic
Underwear
Needs
Gritty
Exuberance,
Naughty
Tricks
* * *
And a sorta-Haiku:
—Caschwa
Poetic
Underwear
Needs
Gritty
Exuberance,
Naughty
Tricks
* * *
And a sorta-Haiku:
DOESN’T MATTER
—Caschwa
if you have a good
memory, then your spelling
is irrelephant
____________________
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!
•••Verselle: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/varselle
•••AND/OR stand a Haiku on its head and get a Ukiah:
•••Ukiah: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/ukiah
•••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 “Coquette”.
____________________
MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:
•••Acrostic Poem types: https://studybay.com/blog/how-to-write-an-acrostic-poem
•••Choka: poetscollective.org/poetryforms/choka
•••EIO (or EIEIO) (devised by Carol Louise Moon): a five-line poem where the ends of lines rhyme in the scheme of A,B,A,B,B. The beginning words of each line begin with E,I,E,I,O.
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Haiku: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku AND/OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Last Line First: start with the last line of someone else’s poem
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse AND/OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Rimas Dissolutas: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/rimas-dissolutas-poetic-form
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Ukiah: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/ukiah
•••Verselle: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/varselle
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them
___________________
—Medusa
•••EIO (or EIEIO) (devised by Carol Louise Moon): a five-line poem where the ends of lines rhyme in the scheme of A,B,A,B,B. The beginning words of each line begin with E,I,E,I,O.
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Haiku: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku AND/OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Last Line First: start with the last line of someone else’s poem
•••Normative Syllabics: hellopoetry.com/collection/108/normative-syllabic-free-verse AND/OR lewisturco.typepad.com/poetics/normative-syllabic-verse
•••Rimas Dissolutas: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/rimas-dissolutas-poetic-form
•••Ryūka: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryūka
•••Ukiah: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/ukiah
•••Verselle: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/varselle
•••Word-Can Poem: putting random words on slips of paper into a can, then drawing out a few and making a poem out of them
___________________
—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
For info about
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!
