Those Wacky Winds of Warning

 —Image by Sarah Whiley, Courtesy of

Nolcha Fox
* * *
—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa, Devyanshi Neupane, Katy Brown,
and Joe Nolan
—Photo by Kevin Laudbacker
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of

Joe Nolan, and Medusa

 

 

HIGH WINDS
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

I didn’t hear the warning winds
as I was fast asleep.
I woke up to my home destroyed,
the marshlands in upheaval.
The winds increased, they swept me up
and glued me to a statue.
At least it cannot walk away
or squash me underfoot.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa

WIND UP?
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

As prairie nostrils sniff the air
see pricking of the wary ears,
for whiff on drift brings scents and sense,
and would-be prey may bolt reply
in dashing fly, that tearing rush,
like springbok leaping for their lives.

Alert is sounded, changing winds,
by squeak of turning weather vane,
for ‘something in the wind’ he says—
that Mary Poppins mariner.
With magic stir come into play,
set scenes may move, warned, anywhere.

In the willows, so aspens too,
as poplars shiver, not from cold
(pathetic fallacy in mind)
it’s chimes, capiz, which sing nearby,
remind what man has undermined,
the constant presence of all green.

So nations claim control of land,
indigenous are moved around,
until such speech as ‘winds of change’
saw Britain’s past, colonial,
then recognised as past its prime,
too slow withdrew from global rule.

The range for change, to humans, strange,
averse to warnings that disturb,
for profits drown the prophets’ space.
Yet sock by runway, pilot’s guide—
a glider reading soar land fall—
the clock key protest, wind achieved.

When will we read the zephyr’s root,
for route may lead, lift, glider’s clime,
we without power, save nature’s gift.
So flag the wind, with means to wave,
as so too waves, with current power,
and currents flowing, breeze or knots.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa

NOT A FAN
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

Having lived more than 7-and-a-half decades, I can attest from first hand experience how easy and convenient it used to be to open sealed letters from Social Security with a standard letter opener. Now it is necessary to add different levels of authentication, beyond User Name and Password, just to access one’s own account.

Login.gov, which is supposed to make things better for people who need to communicate with government agencies, has actually put new hurdles up that effectively block some account holders from accessing their accounts.

Like you used to have your own key to the front door, but now you have to wait for a newly hired domestic who doesn’t know family from foe, to recognize you and allow you to enter. EVERY TIME.

Like you got complacent just pushing the button on a retractable ball point pen to use it, and now you have to hold it over the burner of a stove to loosen the ink before it will work. EVERY TIME.

Like you got e-gift cards good for merchandise, food, etc. and now you can’t just present them, but have to authenticate your right to use the card by logging in with a user name and password that are outside your recall, because who can remember all those passwords? EVERY TIME.

Like the administrators of Login.gov fail to respect the fact that individuals on Social Security tend to be older (DUH!), and consequently may require more time than they did before to gather and process information and respond to queries at the same pace that Login.com presents it to them, without going over the time limit imposed by Login.gov to successfully access one’s account.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa

MY NEW TABLE
—Devyanshi Neupane (age 5),
Melbourne, Australia

I have a new table
In my room.
I keep my books
On it.
And read them. 

 

 

 

—Photo by Kevin Laudbacker

THE RED CHAIR
—Katy Brown, Davis, CA

(after William Carlos Williams and
a photo by Kevin Laudbacker)

so much depends
upon
a red chair

standing alone
on
a brick patio

glazed with moss

one chair
alone in
an empty space

far off chatter like
distant birds

here
the shadowless chair
waits 

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

A SAD VIGIL
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

It seems a sad vigil—
Waiting for news to come in
Concerning the condition
Of my next of kin

Who was struck down
So suddenly,
Left alone, two days.
Now, lying in hospital and
I, so far away,
Across the land and water,
Halfway across the world,
I, his only brother
And only by half-blood, at that.

It seems a sad vigil—
To be on guard
Waiting for news to come in
To let me decide
If I must go
To be my brother’s keeper.

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan

MY WIFE AND HER BULL
—Joe Nolan

My wife takes out her lasso
In the morning
And ropes a wild bull
Out in the yard.
She lets him pull her
Kicking through the garden
While she yells,
“Yahoo!” and swears in Spanish.

I don’t know what
Possesses her
Or what she’s after.
I look on and grin,
Sometimes there’s laughter.

Whatever turns her on,
I say,
“Whatever!”

It’s how she gets her exercise.
To the bull
It doesn’t matter.

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

RELIEF
—Caschwa

(an irreverent response to our
Seed of the Week, “Winds of Warning”)

Floyd fastidiously festers over
the foreseeable fact-checking to
confirm whether fasting lowers
the force and frequency of
flatulence

__________________

Our thanks to today’s SnakePals with their vastly different styles, subjects and approaches—it’s Monday, after all, ever a crazy-quilt of eye-catching Kitchen fare! Some of our writers addressed our Seed of the Week, “Winds of Warning”; plus, our resident five-year-old Devyanshi tells us about her new table; Joe Nolan’s wife ropes her bull (I wish more people would rope in their bull…); and Katy Brown returns, after a long hiatus. with an Ekphrastic response to William Carlos Williams and a fine photo by Kevin Laudbacker. What a colorful crew!

As for Carl Schwartz (Caschwa), his SOW response is a prose poem—an unusual form for him—and, well, what can we say about his LittleNip? By the way, I hope you didn’t miss Carl’s post yesterday, a collage of poems and photos that he curated with some fine thoughts about his beloved Jo Lynn, who died just a little over a year ago. Well done, Carl—not to be confused with our new SnakePal, Carl Scharwath, also a fine poet and photographer who first visited us last Saturday. Be sure to check out his work,

__________________

—Medusa, wishing you a peaceful Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.

 

 

 

Make a Wish

—Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Poetry in Motion in Placerville

will not meet today, due to the holiday,

but Sacramento Poetry Center

will feature poets from its

Hart Center Poetry Workshop 

tonight, 7:30pm.
For more 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.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thinking About Jo Lynn

 —Poetry and Photos by Caschwa (Carl Schwartz),
Sacramento, CA
(Photos were first posted in Medusa’s Kitchen
in 2018)

 

 

WAY OUTSIDE THE BOX

when the normal conventions of
logical reasoning don’t quite fit to
explain why something is happening,
it may be handy to offer Astrological
references

Geminis are known to march to a
different drum than Capricorns, so some
of those loose ends might be corralled in
this correlation

my late wife would have me read to her
the daily horoscopes of our family members
and a number of prominent people in the news,
because it really did make more sense to track
the orbits of planets and other celestial objects
in order to try to explain why certain words were
uttered by certain people at a certain time

marketing surveys don’t need to know why, only
when people may be more disposed to purchase
high-ticket items; after that, the whole scenario of
ringing up a sale can take shape for no stated
reason at all

 

 

 

ALMOST THE SAME

Honey, get the flashlight
Yes I know it’s the middle
Of the day, bright outside

But there are a couple of
Points that are evading
My grasp, as if hiding in

Dark shadows, too feeble
To break out and declare
The message they have

Been trusted to carry
Too low in the pecking order
To have any voice at all…


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/09/13)

 

 

 

 

GOING TO MISS YOU, BABE

on the first cars I owned, parts would
fatigue and wear out, and one would
just replace them like light bulbs

and then we got a holiday parade of
new and improved cars on which, when
a headlight or driving light burned out,
you couldn’t just buy another fresh bulb
and switch it out, they forced you to buy
a new bulb that was part and parcel of a
brand-new housing unit around the bulb,
jacking up the price through the roof

on a larger scale, we may lose one set of
childhood friends and toys, replace them
with yet another set, but when one who is
very close and dear to us dies, they cannot
simply be replaced.  Even if one cloaks the
replacement in the exact same housing that
had enveloped the original loved one, their
severed roots will not allow those bulbs to
ever shine as brightly as before

 

 

 

 

FOREVER LOST

Had it right in my hands
intention firmer than grasp
then it sailed its own course
straight (?) to the kitchen floor

where it quickly sought refuge
in the great darkness under
the stove, so bring out the yardstick
swing it around on a fetch mission

and what have we here?

grease encrusted dust, a chip from
a plate that broke last month, the
remains of a clear plastic ring that
once held a pill bottle secure, one

black olive, some of the best laid
plans for a wonderful weekend
outing, put on hold due to the crisis
of our pet needing immediate,

expensive medical treatment, the
hopes and dreams of our founding
fathers who united diverse colonies,
giving birth to a nation that would

inherit a brilliant scheme of checks
and balances, a flexible Constitution,
freedom from those petty tyrants of
monarchial rule, and some more dust.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/09/18)

 

 

 

 

I COULDN’T STOP HER PAIN

lots of scarring, but not on the outside;
badgered by older family and a law
enforcement system dedicated to the routine
denial any claims of harm

when 9ish, she was molested and stalked by
an in-law, to the point where her family had
to move nearly 2 dozen times

raped at work back in an era when a young
lady had to present fully documented proof
of any such criminal actions, while  the usual
response of the typically all-male police force
was that the female willingly made herself too
attractive, so she had no standing to complain
about the outcome

after spending time doing door-to-door sales
there was pain in her feet, not at all responsive
to over-the-counter remedies, then after some
professional, medical imaging was done, it was
revealed to be lots of little broken bones

she didn’t use alcohol or tobacco, but was
diagnosed with NASH (technical abbreviation
for the non-alcoholic presence of liver or kidney
problems); of course, subsequent medical
examinations included the question of her abuse
of alcohol

my wife and baby son and I were all properly
secured in my 1966 Mustang, waiting for the
traffic light to change, when the sleeping
driver behind us slammed into our car from the
rear so hard it also put large dents on the car
ahead of us

I got a punctured lip, our son was just shaken
and stunned, and my wife got a bad pain in her
neck; our cut-rate.health coverage had her visit
a local clinic to receive Tens treatments, which
proved to be wholly inadequate

At a later point, we secured an attorney, who sent
her to a real doctor who ordered an MRI which
(surprise!) showed she in fact had 2 slipped disks
in her neck; to make matters worse, we were
informed that the risk of surgical intervention was
possible severe nerve damage along the entire
spinal cord

this did not end our marriage, our powerful devotion
to one another, but sure did pave a trail of tension
every step forward we attempted to take; even the
bond of our mutual love could provide her no refuge
from the collective baggage of pain she had sustained
all her life.

 

 

 

 

POMP AND CIRCUMSCRIBE
 
War brings us heroes,
Torture brings us martyrs,
which in turn brings us spelling bees

Each year we highlight the bombastic
nature of our glorious Revolution and
celebrate with huge, fiery explosions

as if that is the key to making things
better for anyone who’s had insufferable
grievances to bear

In His infinite wisdom, God gave us
the Ten Commandments as traffic
signals to guide us on the path of life

Then Man, in his infinite pomposity,
embellished those rules etched in stone
as if it was soft dough, ready for us

to shape and squeeze into millions of
laws, bylaws, rules, ordinances, statutes,
codes, regulations, canons, mandates, etc.

God’s revenge will be swift and ironic:  He
will simply replace all of our color-coded
traffic signals with rainbows…just watch.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/26/18)

 

 

 

 

WATCHING THE MENORAH

all candles lit and
flaming brightly
until one just
burns out
dies

like
one tire
blowing out
gone forever
while all the others
look just fine, thank you

like a memory that started
out as one thread of a
wonderful image on
quilted fabric that
somehow got
pulled out
unseen

one
seed
for poetic
expression
that took off
like a frightened
bird, gone in an instant


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen 10/07/22, exactly
one year before Jo Lynn died)

 
_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

DISPLACED
—Caschwa
                
Displaced
too stunned to feel
or to cry for help

one grain of sand
in the celestial hourglass
blind to time


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/06/12)

_____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Carl Bernard Schwartz for today’s fine poetry-musings upon the passing of his wife, Jo Lynn, in 2023.

 

 

 

 Jo Lynn and the beloved Chica

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For 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.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

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!

 

 

 

Jo Lynn and the beloved Chica




For 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.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

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!

couples/couples/heart















 

The Humming of Dreams

 —Poetry and Photos by Carl Scharwath,
New Smyrna Beach, FL

 

 

CONSCIOUSNESS

In the corners of your mind
Fragments of a long-forgotten dream
Memories—
Whispers from the past

Dancing in the twilight of the soul
A tapestry of moments
Shadows—
Vivid like a summer's day

Guiding us an ode to the past
The threads that weave life’s
Art-
Painting each gap with twists that mend.

 

 

 

 

DISCOVERY

Mending a fracture within times’ embrace,
Like a haunting silence, etched in memory’s
window,
The sign of eponym, unfolding metamorphic
patterns,
A mythical narrative, where tales unravel and
scatter.

 

___________________

 

DYSTOPIAN LOVE POEM

In the orange embers of a tainted cityscape
Where neon dreams bleed red into the somber sky
We found solace in a love forbidden
Amidst a world where hope had evaporated.

Rebels in darkness, our hearts entwined
Defying the constraints of a broker regime
A delicate bloom amid decay’s cruel sovereignty
In a realm where love meant only pain.

As a kiss brushed portraits of a sunset hue
The lovers were hunted, a fervent pursuit
Their footprints traced in the dust, drawing near
To crush and erase love’s cherished name.

But fate, unyielding, held its cruel design
And in the end, we were torn apart
Forced to abandon our love in the chaos
Leaving fragments behind, taking a final stance.

 

 

 

 

SELFDOM

Swimming in the bubble of power
Enveloped in arrogance and opulence,
The masses like wind-up toys,
Upon the shore, awaiting to serve.

Entropy and decline, muted voices,
Preaching the gospel of passive inaction,
Yet, in truth, it's the unreality of each day
That calls for recognition.

 

 

 

—Photo by Kristin D. Scott,
a fellow friend and writer from Turkey

A WOMAN FOR ALL AGES

In the quiet moments between breaths, there exists a resonance, a silent anthem echoing through the corridors of history. It is the voice of women, not a battle cry, but a gentle yet resolute whisper that reverberates through the ages. A female tapestry woven with threads of courage, resilience and unwavering determination in the face of past inequality.

The coming of our second Eve emerges for her garden and in her heart lies a story, a narrative over adversity and breaking free from the shackles of societal norms. Each step forward she is lifting others up and amplifying their voices in a symphony of empowerment.

 

 

 

 

THE AWAKENED SINGULARITY

A flash
beyond the horizon
there lives a thought
outpacing the thinkers
pulsing in the twilight
faster than light's endless stretch.

Time bending at
the edge of knowing
yet we stand 
in the blurring of machines
whispering secrets to ourselves
learning faster than forgetting.

Will our questions outrun the answers—
we are both here and there on the
cusp of a world no longer recognized
built of code,
dreams humming
in the new electric dark. 

 

 

 

FUTURE REVOLUTION

We believe that the supreme task of art in this day
and age is consciously to take an active part in
preparing the revolution.    —André Breton

Silent electric whispers
Ignite—
Spark—
not in the streets, but in the heartbeats of those
unseen,
whose nightmares were the chains of the old world.

A revolution not with guns
Words—
Dance—
like binary fireflies, illuminating the night
of forgotten promises.

We rise, not as soldiers
Shadows—
Unchained—
voices a symphony in the digital world,
forging new bonds of understanding.

In the cities of tomorrow
Freedom—
Song—
our hopes painted on the crumbled walls of
virtual stone,
each stroke is a testament to our collective
aspirations.

We stand as conquerors
Heartbeats—
Promise—
over the horizon of possibility; each link a story,
a life,
each breath the sweet air of a new revolution.

______________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Nonviolence is a powerful and just weapon, which cuts without wounding and ennobles the man who wields it. It is a sword that heals.

—Martin Luther King, Jr.

______________________

Newcomer Carl Scharwath has appeared globally with 250+ publications selecting his writing or art. Carl has published four poetry books; his latest book is The World Went Dark, published by Alien Buddha Press, and Carl has four photography books, published by Praxis and CreatiVingenuitiy. His photography was exhibited in the Mount Dora and Leesburg Centers for the Arts. Carl is currently an art editor at Glitterati and former editor for Minute Magazine. He was nominated with four The Best of the Net Awards (2022-25) and two different 2023 Pushcart Nominations for poetry and a short story. Welcome to the Kitchen, Carl, and don’t be a stranger!

______________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Carl Scharwath

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For 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.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyday Surprises

 —Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by

Melissa LeMay, Nolcha Fox, Lynn White,

Joe Nolan, and Stephen Kingsnorth 

THE MOON SPEAKS

Yes, I’m your Moon again tonight,
what you and your kind (Mankind) term
a crescent moon, sliver of moon, saber-
blade moon. Your fickle human languages.
My cycles are more reliable than any
on Earth, since you-all have been messing
with Nature’s lands, waters, atmosphere
for so long. That’s “long” in your
chronography, not in mine. Right now
you can’t even see me for the clouds.
You call me a sliver—like a splinter
in your thumb, or a cat’s claw
or a fingernail paring. Up here so far
above you, I’m as round and alive
as I’ve ever been, and will remain after
you and your kind pass on to your rewards.

 

 

 

ELEGY FOR WHOM   

How can I make you a wild
four-footed Lycidas in the pastoral style
when I don’t know who or what
you were? scattered over last year’s rotting
leaves and early winter’s grasses twining
with vetch months before its bloom—
how Nature brandishes her scythe, her cycles
recycling us all. Walking a morning trail,
I found these signs: part of a rib cage
holding neither breath nor heart, and bones
of one leg (where are the other three,
hoof or paw for touching down to earth?)
I’d guess the long leg of a racer,
a leaper who in each brief bound could fly.
Just moments before, I startled
a doe on the trail, as she startled me
on my walk of finds and losses.

 

 

 

 

WHY DID THE BEAR CROSS THE ROAD?

Before the bear went over the mountain
he stopped by the beehives along the creek
and bear-humming “Honeycomb be my own”
he feasted, golden honey dripping from
his jowls and then he ran across two lanes
of homebound traffic and up the cutbank
into tangles of chaparral and was
way gone over the hills and far away.

 

 

 

 

RAIN MUSIC   

Wiper metronome—
staccato raindrops break free
from clusters of oak.

 

 

 

 

DON’T FENCE ME IN

There’s always music in my head.
Today I’m walking to the beat
of your beloved freedom song,
a favorite at open-mic.

And here I am in stride behind
my dog whose common time is fast
but who can tell the meter? Is
it trot or pace or something else?

Does he have music in his ear?
I wonder as we let the steps
go by like leaves that fall from oaks
in time with seasons of the wind.

We walk a right-of-way between
those horses in their pasture fence
and fields that dream in winter’s sleep,
wide-open country of a song.

 

 

 

 

 

DANCING WITH OTIS

In his mood between repose and zooming
big-dog puppyhood, in the narrow
space between futon and computer table

he weaves himself in 3/4 circles a sort
of waltz around center partner
(me) stroking his sunlit obsidian pelt

his spine arching, tail pluming, eyes
like a child at Christmas and I receive
a gift woven of everyday surprise.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

SEASONALS     
—Taylor Graham

flaming bonfire in the stormy woods—
firemen with chainsaws and a match

sweeping storm-fall leaves off the deck—
chimneysweep comes tomorrow

__________________

Taylor Graham writes today about the moon and death, wind and fire, bears and deer and rain, and dancing with her sidekick, Otis. Our thanks to her for her fine pix and poems with their many shades of nature.

Forms TG has used this week include a Persona Poem (“The Moon Speaks”); a Common Time which was written as a response to the reent challenge from Modesto-Stanislas Poetry Center (“Don't Fence Me In”); a Haiku (“Rain Music”); an Elegy (“Elegy for Whom”); and a Nonce Poem that is also a response to last week’s Ekphrastic Challenge from Medusa (“Why Did the Bear Cross the Road?”).

 

TG says her "Common Time" (or '4/4 time") poem comes from the annual MoSt New Year challenge [now closed]. The Common Time is four stanzas of four lines each, syllable count 4, 8, or 12 (she used 8).

TG’s Nonce form, which was one of our Triple-F Challenges last week, goes like this: all lines have the same syllable count; it’s based on a song title or phrase in the first and last line and a line somewhere in between. Feel free to make up your own Nonce poem—no deadlines on any of our challenges.

In El Dorado County’s poetry events this week, Poetry in Motion will NOT meet in Placerville next Monday morning due to Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. 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, too (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html). Poetry is Gold in El Dorado County!  
 
And now it’s time for . . .


FORM FIDDLERS’ FRIDAY!  

 

t’s time for more contributions from Form Fiddlers, in addition to those sent to us by Taylor Graham! Each Friday, there will be poems posted here from our readers using forms—either ones which were sent to Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some challenges—  Whaddaya got to lose… ? If you send ‘em, I’ll post ‘em! (See Medusa’s Form Finder at the end of this post for resources and for links to poetry terms used in today’s post.)


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 Ekphrastic Photo

Poets who sent responses to last week’s Ekphrastic photo included Melissa Lemay, Nolcha Fox, Lynn White, Joe Nolan, and Stephen Kingsnorth. As spring crawls toward us, so do the birds and the bees:


EH-OH
—Melissa LeMay, Lancaster, PA

In a flowery field
By a shrubbery wall
Up over the hills
Five multicolored
Beehives sit
On boxy pillars

There is a baby
In the sun—the bees
Are wondering why
Four creatures
That have TV bellies
Keep on walking by

“Eh-oh” they say
While on their way
Equally as confused
If one of them is
Aquamarine—they
Didn’t get the news

* * *

FOR SALE
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

Houses on the blocks are getting
too high-priced to buy.
In our modest neighborhood,
millionaires are purchasing
our worn-out homes
and building big high-rises.
Soon I’ll have to sell to them
and move somewhere
where I can see the sky.

* * *

TELLING THE BEES
—Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales

Bee hives look pretty in the garden
humming in harmony
each community sweet
as its honey.
But to keep them healthy,
they have to be told what’s going on
in the world around them.
And each hive must be told separately.
The bee community does not include other hives,
the other bee lives.
Honey bees are more akin to The Establishment
than to We The People,
only caring for their own, barely tolerating the rest.

Like us they produce a Leader,
a Queen,
and grow her from her own own
ordinary egg.
Then, she is fed by Workers,
groomed by Carers,
protected by Soldiers.
It’s nurture not nature that makes her queen
and keeps her queen while she is useful.
Then they kill her and breed another
and so it goes
on and on and on
just like with us.

They’re just like us.
That’s what I shall tell the bees.

* * *

ALL ABOUT THE EGGS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

It’s all about the eggs.

They come and go,

A woman’s got them
All lined up
Since birth.

Dropping down
One by one
Each month.

When they come
Her hormones surge
Bringing on her loving urge
For life
To spring abundant
From life.

When they go
They drag away
Dreams and hopes
Of future days
With babies
Thus surrounded,
Marked by flow of blood.

* * *


GIFT ECONOMY
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

No bumbling here, nor overload
defying aeronautic law,
or droning liftoff, barely space,
like hovercraft with excess weight.
For these are workers, organised,
a colony, established ranks,
herbaceous border for their box,
just as their rôle is ordered, ticked.

But they have breeding in their case—
how else on royal household roll?
In pollination-aid to blooms,
and as suppliers for the crèche.
Hive of activity we see—
though not that honeytrap for spies—
in pastel palette, terraced row,
a garden city, detached homes.

I’m buzzing, gift economy,
at what those birds and bees can mean;
for nectar, blooms and honey too
are gifted by sky-woman, earth.
As stewards, youngest in the chain,
so poorly have we yet performed,
as web of mycorrhiza speaks,
the Greenman saving where they can.

Our sweetgrass braids are loaned not owned,
indigenous, of native lands
have learned and known, free-gifted ways—
where’s Jubilee in Palestine?
The Law has failed, as Torah too,
as terror reigns, as rained before,
spread on the floor. Of silent night,
the church may sing, but grief attends.

* * *

Stephen Kingsnorth sent us a Pantoum:

 

 

 braided sweetgrass

 

DRINK DEEP OF NATIVE DRAUGHT
—Stephen Kingsnorth
After reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimnerer

I learn our kind is not alone,   
though claiming peak genetic tree,  
for I am taught that animate    
as key to being, complement.   

Though claiming peak genetic tree,   
’tis sweetgrass, mushrooms, trees I know   
as key to being, complement,
intent of mutual respect.    

’Tis sweetgrass, mushrooms, trees I know,
though not our endowed wider craft—         
intent of mutual respect,
the subject of a wholesome art.    
         
Though not our endowed wider craft—         
in mycorrhiza converse now;         
the subject of a wholesome art,   
lone rangers masked, intend powwow.

* * *

And here is an Ekprastic poem from Stephen, not about bees, but about fleas. It was written a while back In response to a prompt, "Fleas and their trappings" . . .  Stephen also sent the following fine foto of the flea (I'm calling this Steve's Fleas):

 

 

NESTLED
—Stephen Kingsnorth

Captured in the compost crop,
teems of micro, streaming, stealth,
cleansing tilth, best dirt of earth,
ready, spreading, years’ soiled ground.
Gathered seed from jewelled land,
’copters, wing spans, parachutes,
down-wind drones through silent space,
achenes rotting, last term’s fruit;
birds that dropped by, leaving mark,
fleas from cats in nestled grass.

____________________

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.) Written any Pantoums lately? Let’s hop on Stephen’s bandwagon (see above) and come up with another one:

•••Pantoum: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pantoum.html AND/OR https://poets.org/glossary/pantoum

•••AND/OR how about the prompt Taylor Graham took ahold of (see above) from Modesto, the Common Time:

•••Common Time: four stanzas of four lines each, syllable count 4, 8, or 12

•••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 “Winds of Warning”.

____________________

MEDUSA’S FORM FINDER: Links to poetry terms mentioned today:

•••Common Time: four stanzas of four lines each, syllable count 4, 8, or 12
•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Elegy: https://poets.org/glossary/elegy
•••Haiku: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku AND/OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Nonce: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/nonce-forms-what-they-are-and-how-to-write-them
•••Pantoum: www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pantoum.html AND/OR https://poets.org/glossary/pantoum
•••Persona Poem: https://poets.org/glossary/persona-poem
   
__________________

—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
 

 
 
 
 

 

 

 

For 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.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

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!

 

Skunkaconda

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soothing the Knot of Never

 Open Sez Me
* * *
—Poetry and Cool Visuals by Smith and Lady Smith,
Cleveland, OH (next to the Zoo)

 

 

Dog's talking to me

Watching talk box
up stairs he's too old to climb
he barks to go out
I comply
coming back in
I grab a candy bar
he gives me his where's mine look
I ignore it
go up
10 minutes later bark
come down
he's standing by the pantry door
where treats are
demanding
I laugh
give him his treat
back upstairs
15 minutes later another bark
down
he's by his bed
in which cat's sprawled
I remove cat
dog gets in

I'm glad we had this talk
he sighs
I go upstairs
again
happy I understood

 

 

 

 Lotus by Lady

Blood of love
in dirt of rebirth
I move in small arcs
with large pains
must be using muscle memory
cuz I'm still moving

Said you're on or off the bus
Taint true
you can be over, under
front, back, both sides
and dimensions in between
and believe me
I been all
be some now
going down this unknown road
with unknown load
pointy sticks stuck in back
as goad

And as for bus go
I don't know
but I'm a-hangin' on

 

 

 

 Duality

I look
I watch
I don't understand

Or maybe do
ole lizard brain and you
took hunger
need
danger
greed
to crawl sea bottom
to land top and not stop

And looks like lizard brain
gonna crawl us right back down
to slime and crowd
of life biting life to survive
in unstrive

Sorta like it never stopped
just got lipstick put on the slop
and called smart

(but not, sings the lark)

O well
buy and sell bye-bye cell
here we a-go-go to lower down woes
stuffin' our pockets
with glop

Hug my body
hug my spirit
hug my whole

Sorry soul

 

 

 

 Fallen Monks

An old guy
white beard
wrinkled grin
long educated in things above me
said it's sad
that after decades of learning
all he had to offer
was "be kinder to each other"

Feral kitten adopted us
never been hit
expects love
gives love
(and loveclaw)
pretty basic stuff

folk around the world
hating millennia
kill still

I for eye
lid for lid
no matter lie
STUPID

 

 

 

6 feet

The gripes of wrath
social aftermaths
bite my ass
pay a pig a day
and capitalism still
won't go away
but hey
what can I say
it's the way
I have spoken
ofttimes token
ain't jokin'
jive 'n strivin'
for the livin'
not the dyin'
keep on tryin'
not to lie
as I pry
tug at why
in magic try
of sun
and moon
and sky
no one home
but hope alone

 

 

 

 Function/Junction

The city seeps
juices
uses
cries cross hill
for creatures of will
and won't
but I don't answer

All you got
is you
your honor
your corner
your cancer

Outside horror
normal
day one
to day done
eat must eat
cheat must cheat
got us out of the ocean
into the trees
down to the penthouse

Their rent rends
they tent trends
to bad ends

All we got
is our corner spot
to soothe the knot of never

Grab a chair
glad you're here
well come to my corner

We'll raise our thumbs
to the dumb someones
humping money fever

 

 

 

 Walkline

Hey U S of A
slick sick list here
not one you want to be
number one on
nine times world wide

#Total Crimes
*Rape
*CO2 Emissions
*Divorce Rate
*Teen Birth Rate
*Heart Attack
*McDonald's Restaurants
*Plastic Surgery
*Prisoners

Lotta sad seeping down
cuzza bad wearing crowns

Steal enough
they make you a king
guess it's always been a thing
the strong in force
but weak in heart and mind
are usually unkind
history finds

No mystery here
good with bad cannot cohere
cuz paths diverge
in different woulds
that end in flesh
or cinder

Which will will we
I wonder

 

 

 

 Was maybe

Aaahhh the easing of the pressure
of holding myself together
in this hellish whether

take another toke

ain't no joke
weed eases bleed of bad
but baby bad abounds
in hounds
of Capitalistic Hell

nothing new
the many used by few
never told true
killing you
and me
for free

they cheat their mothers
screw their brothers
as for the others
they're meat
to beat
eat

but as bad gets badder
thoughts of maybe better
perk
perhaps early work
in getting jerks jailed
for forbiddances
and fails

evil's empowered
bad guys in the tower
no other way to put it

didn't have to happen
doesn't have to be

depends
as always
on you and me

what's it gonna be?

 

 

 

 Shangri-la

Today’s LittleNip:

"I've got to go downstairs
and take the laundry upstairs"
said Sisyphus to his wife.

"Don't drop it" she cackled.


—Smith

__________________

As our Seed of the Week says, I hear the Winds of Warning—this time from Smith (Steven B. Smith)—with today’s “gripes of wrath” as we start out the new year with, not sour grapes, but cogent ones. May the year of 2025 see cracks of light in this dark wall looming over, under, around and between us. As Smith says, “depends/as always/on you and me”. 

 

And our condolences to Steven and Kathy on the passing of their pooch. Helluva way to start a year…

—Medusa

 

 

 

 2 by Lady

—Photo by Smith of

Paintings by Kathy (Lady) Smith








 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Amanda Hawkins & Mischa Kuczynski
will read in Davis tonight, 7pm.
For more 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.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

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!

 

Dog's still talkin'...