(with Microsoft Image Creator)
* * *
—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Michael Ceraolo, Devyanshi Neupane,
Charles Mariano, Caschwa, Joe Nolan,
and Shiva Neupane
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Charles Mariano, Joe Nolan, and Medusa
—Original Artwork by Nolcha Fox
and E. H. Shepard
STUBBORNNESS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
A single leaf declines to leave,
though chill winds offer bargain flights.
It will not cry for autumn’s end,
nor shrink when blizzards layer snow.
It wants to watch the sun melt ice,
and fling itself on greenery.
An iris or rose would do
as perfumed landing from the sky.
Much better, it might find its tree
and perch on branches,
singing to its brothers rustling,
welcoming another spring.
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
A single leaf declines to leave,
though chill winds offer bargain flights.
It will not cry for autumn’s end,
nor shrink when blizzards layer snow.
It wants to watch the sun melt ice,
and fling itself on greenery.
An iris or rose would do
as perfumed landing from the sky.
Much better, it might find its tree
and perch on branches,
singing to its brothers rustling,
welcoming another spring.
—Public Domain Illustration by E.H. Shepard
BLUSTER WAYS
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
I grew with Pooh, his windy days—
less fiction now, strewn sticks surround
the roads where elms once proudly stood.
The poplars sway, long avenues,
but brittle breakage took its toll
on branch and twig of ancient oak
as brutal battle followed calm.
There is no rhythm, sympathy,
when stills give way to sudden blows;
though mother’s pegs still hold the line—
delighted, shirt sleeves full blown sail,
like bellows filling, billowed scare,
that tacking, spinning rotary,
a swinging compass of the air.
They say it’s bluster, not for real—
for sometimes that’s how father is—
but I have seen the damage caused,
that need to swerve from course ahead,
avoid the littered, swirling scene,
await that moment, still returned
but knowing blows’ result again.
I see her turning, riding winds,
adjusting course to temper stings,
the quaking aspen, trembling face,
a weeping willow oftentimes,
then bowing poplar, coming terms.
Some days after the storm has passed,
we search, find conker, yet encased.
Beneath her mirror, bedside stand,
‘amor vincit omnia’ plaque
belies reflection, blue-eyed black,
her made-up cover well rehearsed.
Her one report, authorities,
pooh-poohed by husband, Sergeant Strong,
so I expect more bluster ways.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
FOUR CLEVELAND HAIKU
—Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
Cleveland Haiku #670
Four houses in a row—
address numbers painted on
wooden snowmen
Cleveland Haiku #671
October—
showers of leaves
fall from the trees
Cleveland Haiku #672
November—
the port-o-potties have been
removed from the park
Cleveland Haiku #673
Decorations—
Halloween skeleton
now wears a Santa suit
—Public Domain Graphic Courtesy of Medusa
MY BED
—Devyanshi Neupane, age 4,
Melbourne, Australia
My bed is purple
It is my favourite colour
So, I like my bed.
Mama at the Back House Holding Virgin Mary Pic
—Photo Courtesy of Charles Mariano
—Photo Courtesy of Charles Mariano
FAMILY
—Charles Mariano, Sacramento, CA
(2009)
i keep seeing
faces
fleeting glances
of familiar,
at street corners,
store windows
and i get closer
anxious
to embrace,
and it’s not you
at the last second
arms half out
face, mid-smile
i pull back
embarrassed
“Sorry, thought you were…”
in the glimpse of my current
days
mortality, tragic loss
my rooms seem empty
everyone leaves
i find myself
slightly longing,
faintly hoping,
missing
“I know you’re gone
and yet,
I see you everywhere”
(prev. pub. in The Whole Enchilada
by Charles Mariano)
—Public Domain Graphic Courtesy of Medusa
ONLY ME
—Charles Mariano
(1987)
You have to write it,
he said,
Only you can,
only you
our lives,
our time on earth
is lost,
unless you put it down
we’ll vanish
and the only way to preserve
even the slightest thread,
is to write it
women, money, family
it all disappears,
if you write it
our spirit lives on
stories, poems
to leave
as a legacy
to learn from
you have the means
at your fingertips
I’ve done it all,
he says,
everything
and it’s meaningless
this is the time
of our lives
write it
let the pages grow
come to life
breathe
no,
don’t take these words
lightly
this furious, confusing
pounding rage,
takes on
a higher importance
gotta do it
even if i won’t be here
leave it for others
the incredibly mindless
deliriously passionate
embarrassing,
painful tales,
of a bunch of nobodies
who did nothing
except,
live the hell out of life
like he said,
if i don’t write it,
we disappear
(prev. pub. in The Whole Enchilada
by Charles Mariano)
—Public Domain Graphic Courtesy of Medusa
I DON’T REMEMBER…
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
…if it was a blustery day
when my motorcycle and me
were both totaled by a car
surgery to reattach my right thumb
bone grafts on both hips
extensive surgery on my left leg and ankle
placement of a surgical pin in my left leg
examinations of my head
being in a coma
responding “I’ll never get out of here alive!”
when hospital staff told me where I was
my boss’s daughter, a Candy Striper, attending
to me in the hospital
but if we open that big door marked “HEARSAY”
I could wear your ears out with the details
(Inspired by “Sunrise” by Charles Mariano,
https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/search?q=charles+mariano/)
—Public Domain Graphic Courtesy of Medusa
NOT SO BROADBAND
—Caschwa
Friday, I had access to the Internet
on my desktop computer, all was well
Saturday, the scenario was pure Hell
the light went out on my modem
I checked all connections were secure
then I called the carrier to be sure
sure enough, they had an “active outage”
and a response plan that was to be feared
routine maintenance until outage cleared
impossible to ask what caused the outage
or if they were able to send a full crew
or if the crew’s leader knew just what to do
their Customer Service enlarged on impossible
said when outage was cleared they’d send a text
that’s their final word, there is no what’s next
so here I am on my offline computer
waiting more than a day to access the Net
the longer I must wait, the unhappier I get
—Public Domain Graphic Courtesy of Medusa
LET IT BURN DOWN
—Caschwa
seems like the new normal is to
require people to change their
user names and passwords at
whatever point AI decides to
insist that you do that or else!
the new password must be much
stronger, and have more weird or
odd characters in it, etc.
imagine if they imposed those
standards to use a fire alarm…
first you’d have to show at least
2 forms of identity to confirm
that you are indeed someone who
belongs in that building, before the
device will let you trigger an alarm
maybe it is just me, but I would
be predisposed to run outside and
let the building burn to the ground,
since that would undoubtedly be the
best messaging tool I would have at
the time
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
REVISIONISTS HISTORY
—Caschwa
We the Peons of the United States,
in Order to bow in perfect submission,
respect the King, insure domestic
autocracy, provide for the wealth of
the Crown, promote the welfare of the
Sheriff of Nottingham, and secure the
shackles of detention for ourselves and
our Posterity, do ordain and establish
these scribblings on wet bar napkins as
the Rules of our Lord for the United
States of the Colonies.
When the top rule-makers own all the
Land and everything developed upon
it, we become part of that property as
well, subject to the whims of the Crown.
We part with more than we can afford
to pay our taxes to the Kings of Industry
who live the high life at our expense, but
it is written that thus is the law, and any
form of disapproval is dealt with harshly
Hail to the Tax Collectors, who must
distance themselves from family and
friends to make the rounds and grab all
our money; We the Peons have no voice
in the daily operations of government,
even ones that affect us dearly, but we
bow and obey and accept our fate
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
PALESTINIAN CHILDHOOD
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
“Is it safe
To go outside
And play, yet?
Or will bombs
Go off
In the streets?
How long
Do we have to
Stay inside?
When will
The war be over?’
My best friends
Died last week.
Some snipers
Gunned them down.
They were playing,
‘War,’ I heard
‘Bang-bang!
You’re dead!’
Were their last words.”
—Public Domain Graphic Courtesy of Joe Nolan
MODERN FAMILY
—Joe Nolan
Into furrowed ground
To place a seed,
Into a yearning place
That feels the need
To produce life
From life,
Tree from seed,
That pulls up all its roots
And runs away
Off to distant city
To work and play.
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
FISHES IN A WELL
—Joe Nolan
Deep inside
The bottom of a well
Are secrets dark
No one will tell—
Just little
Slipping fishes
That touch their fins
And tales of vast,
Open oceans
And whales
Larger than their
Minds can comprehend
In which they’ll swim
When comes their end.
Slimy, little fishes
In a dark, dark well
Living out
Their little lives
With secrets,
Oh so dark
That none of them
Will tell.
—Public Domain Graphic Courtesy of Medusa
ASSISTANCE LEAGUE AD
—Joe Nolan
Because you are not special
You have a common
Kind of comfort
You can offer,
Asking no reward,
Save for your own sustenance,
To be of service to others.
Surely, there are many
Who need assistance.
Time will wash us
All away,
But in our brief time,
You can be available,
If you are willing.
Ed. Note: Tomorrow is GivingTuesday; you can help by donating to your favorite non-profits at https://www.givingtuesday.org/participate/?gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQiAo5u6BhDJARIsAAVoDWvP-o1xi_eY2EctYPvZs333-Qe62d2nVtamaqIxYHxakCmFhfV2-mUaAtJsEALw_wcB/.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THE FALSE REALISM
—Shiva Neupane, Melbourne, Australia
The epistemological complexity
baffled me,
I couldn’t decipher the truth
because my philosophical erudition
went south
Everything I claimed to know
may not be knowable,
because it is the projection
of my sensory mantras
If you will.
___________________
The Kitchen is action-packed today, with lots of fine poetry from lots of fine poets of all styles, geographies, and ages! Many thanks to today’s contributors, some of whom gave us a weather report on our Seed of the Week, “Blustery Day”. And some of today’s poems were blustery, too—SnakePals are never shy in that department.
The December issue of Sacramento Poetry Center's Poet News is now available at https://www.sacpoetrycenter.org/poetnews/. Check it out for area poetry events (including the Bay Area), poetry, submissions, workshops and more!
Watch out for your “its’s”! A couple of weeks ago on Form Fiddlers’ Friday, I strongly suggested that the poor little pronoun, “it”, often gets its apostrophe misused because this is the only pronoun that doesn’t use the apostrophe for the possessive. (Otherwise, there could be no “it is” contraction.) This week, I received poems from three different poets with misplaced apostrophes, resulting in...
If this was you, I’m sorry—but who else is going to defend the wee “is”? Heads up, and watch what you do with your its-s!
Nolcha Fox has a new book out with artist Mike Armstrong: End of Earth. Check it out at https://www.amazon.com/End-Earth-Collaboration-Poetry-Painting-ebook/dp/B0DMBG9B9S/. Congratulations, Nolcha and Mike!
Melissa Lemay is going to be editing a new journal next year, Collaborature, which celebrates collaborative writing. It will be released Jan. 3, and it’s (there’s that little word again!) currently seeking submissions at collaborature@gmail.com/. Guidelines are at collaborature.blogspot.com/p/submit.html/. Congratulations, Melissa, on your new project!
Got a project in the works? Let me know at kaathykieth@hotmail.com and I’ll publicize the information for you.
Congratulations and thanks to Danyen Powell for facilitating Sacramento Poetry Center’s Tuesday Night Workshop for 30 years! I first met Joyce Odam at the SPC workshop back in the late ‘90s. I remember my first time there; I was early, and so were Joyce and Carol Frith. They were kind, and turned out to be two of my most beloved friends—and mentors, too. At that point I had no clue about what I was doing, and Joyce and Carol and Danyen and the people at the workshop were a tremendous help to me. In fact, I started Rattlesnake Review for the workshop people. So many of them were such fine poets, and I just wanted to publicize them. Then I started the chapbook series, and Danyen was the first poet published by the Snake. (Thank you, Danyen, for your faith in me!)
I’ll never understand poets who think workshops will ruin them somehow, take away their voice, destroy their originality. I couldn’t possibly list all the ways that the Tuesday Night Workshop (and others I attended along the way) fostered my growth and helped me find my voice. Not to mention that Rattlesnake Press (and Medusa!) probably wouldn’t have ever happened without those Tuesday Nights.
Anyway, thank you, Danyen—a fine poet in his own right!—and congratulations on a job well done for the NorCal poetry community.
I’ll never understand poets who think workshops will ruin them somehow, take away their voice, destroy their originality. I couldn’t possibly list all the ways that the Tuesday Night Workshop (and others I attended along the way) fostered my growth and helped me find my voice. Not to mention that Rattlesnake Press (and Medusa!) probably wouldn’t have ever happened without those Tuesday Nights.
Anyway, thank you, Danyen—a fine poet in his own right!—and congratulations on a job well done for the NorCal poetry community.
So buckle up: December is upon us, and it’s always bumpy. (“Load more products!” my Internet says.) So shop early, rest up for the end-of-the-year shenanigans, and do your contemplation about what’s going on in the world and what your role is in it. 2025 doesn’t have to be as confused as 2024 was…yes?
Kourage Cat
Bon Courage, Mes Enfants!
Bon Courage, Mes Enfants!
______________________
—Medusa
Watch out for us blustery females!
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan
A reminder that
Nancy Miller Gomez & Laura Rosenthal
will read tonight at
Sacramento Poetry Center, 7:30pm.
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!
Nancy Miller Gomez & Laura Rosenthal
will read tonight at
Sacramento Poetry Center, 7:30pm.
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!
