Friday, January 31, 2025

So Much Depends . . .

 —Poetry and Photos by Taylor Graham,
Placerville, CA
—And then scroll down for
Form Fiddlers’ Friday, with poetry by
Joe Nolan, Lynn White, Nolcha Fox,
Stephen Kingsnorth, Cristina Chin, 
Jerome Berglund, and Caschwa
 
 
THE RED FIREPLUG

After William Carlos Williams, in the style of and
response to “The Red Chair” by Katy Brown,
Medusa’s Kitchen, 1/20/25 (https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2025/01/those-wacky-winds-of-warning.html)


So much depends upon
a red fireplug beside an industrial
road lining itself

with large gray structures
for making goods and money
on what was

empty weedy fields

for making O2
and nurturing furtive homeless
camps

and feeding pesky varmints
as well as songbirds

and flowers like poppies
that in their season explode
in golden flame.
 
 
 


IT’S YEAR-ROUND NOW

We’re burning brush piles,
always clearing for wildfire
season that’s always.
 
 
 

 
SILENT FLIGHT MACHINES
from “Are all owls night owls?” 
Interesting Facts email (Jan. 24, 2025)

Centuries have looked to symbols
of spooky death, captivating their stares
on a poet, as popular myth suggests
adaptations allow heads to turn
without cutting off brains like rodents
scratching in leaf litter, riffing
on a poem that gathers birds
to define a dictionary.
 
 
 

 
WOODS AND FIELD

Those old bedtime walks
our dogs scouting dark corners—
midwinter moonlight.

Statue up ahead
the dogs circling uncertain—
midwinter moonlight
it’s the great buck standing ground—
dogs come to your call: bedtime.
 
 
 

 
FROST ON THE RAILROAD

The midwinter moon has left its silver
brushed across the weathered ties
keeping rails from dancing.
 
 
 


SHORT WALK ALONG RR TRACK

As we start the trail
a young lady walks her phone—
waiting for someone?

Four Sheriff’s cars
pull up at the closed diner
across the road.

Police car stops at ranch gate,
drives away, comes back &
then leaves again—why?

Two ladies with 2-way radio
in chest harness
pass us, walking the track.

I’m in orange SAR vest
& hardhat because
of my rambunctious dog.

Are we all part of a story
or nine separate stories
plus the dog’s tale?

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:


USE YOUR NOSE
—Taylor Graham

A skunk had passed this way before
and left his mark along the fence.
I’ve studied tracks and scat, but swore
a skunk had passed this way before
without the teaching of a score
of experts. It’s just common scents.
A skunk had passed this way before
and left his mark along the fence.

___________________

When Taylor Graham sent her poems to me this week, she wrote “I’ll soon be off to Denny's to hear a talk on what to do if I meet a cougar.” Those who walk the woods of the foothills need to be concerned about such things… Anyway, we’re grateful for TG’s fine poetry and photos, as always—but watch out for those pesky cougars!

Forms TG has used this week include a Haiku (“It's Year-Round Now”); a Response Poem (“The Red Fireplug”); a Hainka (“Woods and Field”); a Triversen (“Short Walk Along RR Track”); a Kimo (“Frost on the Railroad”); a Triolet in response to a recent Ekphrastic photo on MK (“Use Your Nose”); and a Found Poem (“Silent Flight Machines”). The Triolet and the Found Poem were last week’s Triple-F Challenges; a recent Tuesday Seed of the Week was “Midwinter Moonlight”; and, well, what can you say about skunks? Always charmers, they are…

Taylor’s response to Katy Brown’s “The Red Chair” has the two of them teamed up again after a long hiatus, and we’re so glad to see it! Time was when the two of them and D.R. Wagner formed The Meduskateers, three fine poets writing responses back and forth. Of course, D.R. is gone now, but there’s no reason the other two can’t reunite—and we’d be all the better for it. By the way, Katy and TG will facilitate another Capturing Wakamatsu workshop on Feb. 9, a week from this Sunday.  Check it out and reserve your spot at https://www.arconservancy.org/wakamatsu/.

In El Dorado County’s poetry events this week, there will be a Poet Laureate Trail reading by El Dorado County Poet Laureate Stephen Meadows in El Dorado Hills on Wednesday, 1/29, 5:30pm. Plus, 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!  
 
It’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 Joe Nolan, Lynn White, Nolcha Fox, and Stephen Kingsnorth:



ENIGMATIC SWIRLS
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

These enigmatic, emblematic swirls
Could be so many things—
We can see the shape of cellos
The binding of the Tango
The swirling of galaxies
The rising of a sun,
All so colorful,
So hopeful of life,
Maybe an archetype
Of the marriage of
Husband and wife?

* * *

SWIRLS AND CURLS
—Lynn White, Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales


Colours of psychedelia
transcending
summer sunshine
swirling and curling
like creamy ringlets
of tie dyed hair
unbraided and free.
Psychedelia in waiting
for the spikes and razors
of punk to come.

* * *

DANCER
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY


She is a dancer swirling,
twirling in her rainbow skirts.

She’s kaleidoscopic wind,
a blur of flowers and autumn leaves.

She’s a dark seducer
disguised as lust and drugs.

* * *

MAGNET TEST
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales


Imagine scroll of violin,
viola, cello, woodwind, strings,
it being knurl of wood I see,
a treble clef, chromatic scale;
light orchestra, Palm Court perhaps,
beneath stained glass at Tiffany’s.

Maybe a hint of Northern Lights,
denied—though spiral twists be scene—
no trip the light fantastic dance,
for whirl and twirl or spin are seen,
but still, flat, -footed as AI,
no shimmer, shimmy, mystery.

I like perspective, groovy curls,
as if spokeshaved in awkward space,
too soon to be split-ends I fear—
that final judgement, crafted art.
With meagre serifs, what the plot,
the programmed plan or strategy?

From a grey world, or black and white,
its colours, shapes bringing appeal,
but do we question of what depth,
as we would ask of stroking brush?
Does this pass fridge-door magnet test,
as would the children’s fibre pen?

Exhibit place not masterpiece,
but Voice, his Master, grandchild crèche;
like snowflake—of unique design,
a comfort blanket in the wastes—
for grandpas’ tastes, gallery space,
what’s priceless, bloom of family.

Forget the psychedelia,
that mourning rise of mushroom cloud,
but trust in thrusting morning ring,
the web established underground
of mycorrhiza, and the child—
out mouths of sucklings prophesied.

* * *

Jerome Berglund and Christina Chin have spent us a Split Sequence:
 
 
  Queen of the Night


QUEEN OF THE NIGHT
—Jerome Berglund, Minneapolis (plain text) 
and Christina Chin, Malaysia  (italics)


Tan Hua viewing

hosting party
the anticipation
at midnight


less screen time they get

dance of the
sugar plum fairy
posh spice

the better performance seems

lucky
first teen love
he's honey for my tea



(Christina and Jerome say: “The Queen of the Night flower symbolism is derived from its short flowering time [of one night]. The flower's meaning is to enjoy the small moments because they do not last. A person that views an open flower will have good luck.”)


* * *

And here is a Found poem by Carl Schwartz:
 
 


RULES BY WHICH TO LIVE
—Caschwa

After you drive and use machines
for shopping errands, you should
not donate sperm for 90 days

Watching TV will expose you to
drowsiness, confusion, and dizziness
this is most common from 1 month
to 6 months after your tax return has
been submitted

Check with your union to see if they
have an active program to fight against
discrimination using signs of protest so
you have a higher chance of getting
noticed

what is the most important information
you should know about your cellmate?
Tell your guard about unexpected bruising
or fainting when they come around to do
their cell counts

____________________

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.) Howzabout one of the Haiku variants, the Kimo:

•••Kimo: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/kimo-poetic-form AND/OR poetscollective.org/poetryforms/kimo

•••AND/OR a Response Poem using the “Queen of the Night” theme (see poem and definition above):

•••Response Poem: creativetalentsunleashed.com/2015/11/18/writing-tip-response-poems

•••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 “Down the Basement Stairs”.

____________________

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

•••Ekphrastic Poem: notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry
•••Found Poem: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/found-poetry-converting-or-stealing-the-words-of-others AND/OR poets.org/glossary/found-poem
•••Haiku: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku AND/OR www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/haiku/haiku.html
•••Hainka: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/hainka-haiku-tanka-new-genre-of-poetic-form
•••Kimo: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/kimo-poetic-form AND/OR poetscollective.org/poetryforms/kimo
•••Response Poem: creativetalentsunleashed.com/2015/11/18/writing-tip-response-poems
•••Split Sequence: http://www.hsa-haiku.org/frogpond/2022-issue45-1/essay.html
•••Triolet: www.writersdigest.com/personal-updates/triolet-an-easy-way-to-write-8-lines-of-poetry
•••Triversen: www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/triversen-poetic-form
   
__________________

—Medusa
 
 
 
Guardians of the Woods
  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!
 

 
















 







Thursday, January 30, 2025

Beneath the Devonian Sun

 —Poetry by Rob Plath, New York
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
 
 
devonian age

it’s raining out
saturday morning
& i gaze at the fern
in the terracotta pot
on the table
i once read that ferns
first appeared about
360 million years ago
during what is called
the “age of the fishes”
maybe earlier they say
& i just sit
glad to daydream
of this long ago time
the other day
i heard someone mention
the term FOMO
which is short for
“fear of missing out”
& laugh b/c i think have it
but it’s only for “the age of fishes”
& the first fronds of ferns
magnificent bright triangles
spreading out
in all their greenness
beneath the devonian sun
 
 
 
 

golden blood

i am proud father
of my younger self
the boy who places
bouquets of sunflowers
in my morgue drawer heart
how i adore this
little ghost-boy teacher
his small shy feet
skipping bare-soled
& golden
thru my bile & blood
 
 
 


i’ll be the one w/ a heart for a brain


w/ an unfrozen sea that rocks back & forth
w/ dripping spleen on sleeve
i’ll be the one w/ a roadkill aura
w/ an angel on one shoulder that does pirouettes
so slowly you can spot the devil
w/ a skull graffitied w/ wildflowers
i’ll be the one w/ ten middle fingers
w/ permanent warpaint made from bile smeared
beneath both eyes
i’ll be the one w/ spiderwebbed windows
of the soul
w/ tornado solar plexus   
w/ rivulets of tears straight down to busted soles 


___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.

―Cyril Connolly,
The New Statesman, February 25, 1933
 
____________________

—Medusa, welcoming back Rob Plath, with thanks for his fine poetry today!
 
 
 

 




 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 




A reminder that the
13th Annual MoSt Poetry Festival
will take place in Turlock, CA
this Saturday, starting at 10am,
with guest poet/facilitator
Michael Meyerhofer.
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.

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!










 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Wednesday, January 29, 2025

Champion

—Poetry by Taylor Dibbert,
Washington, D.C.
—Illustrations Courtesy of Public Domain
 
 
BARKING AT EVERYTHING


He and London are
In the yard
On the side of
The main house
London has always
Been quite interested
In this area,
He thinks
That’s because
There are cats
That spend
A lot of time
Over here
And so there are
Tons of smells
And interesting things
And then one
Of his landlords
Comes outside
She’s on her way out
To run an errand
And she says that
She has noticed
Him carrying London
Quite a bit
And so she asks
If London is okay
And he tells her
That he isn’t sure
And he tells her
That he’s having trouble
Managing London’s pain
And then she says
That she’s sorry
To hear that
And then a dog walks by
And London is barking
And growling so much
And then another dog walks by
And London is barking
And growling so much
She can’t ever leave it
His London
And then the woman
Says that London
Seems okay
That she still has
That fighting spirit,
Which is
Totally true
A little champion
His London is.
 
 
 
 

MARITAL REFLECTIONS

They had an
Ernest Hemingway
Old Man and the Sea
Kind of marriage,
A big catch
And a lot
To be
Excited about
But then they
Went through
A bunch
And once they
Returned home
Everything was gone.


(prev. pub. in
Synchronized Chaos Magazine,
May 2024)
 
 
 

 
THOSE LITTLE DOGS

Small dogs
With big personalities,
Guaranteed to bring
A smile
To his face.


(prev. pub. in Spillwords Press, October 2024)
 
 
 


SOMETIMES

London has
Been gone
For almost
Eighteen months
And sometimes
He still
Bursts into tears
When he thinks
About her.


(prev. pub. in Synchronized Chaos Magazine,
November 2024)


__________________
 
Today’s LittleNip:


HELP WANTED
—Taylor Dibbert


Get busy building art
Because art doesn’t build itself.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, April 2023)


__________________
 
Taylor Dibbert says he is “a writer of things”. Takoma, his sixth book, is due out in late January from Alien Buddha Press. Welcome back, Taylor, and congratulations on your new book!

__________________

—Medusa, wishing our Chinese friends Gung Hay Fat Choy for this Year of the Snake!
 
 
 
Taylor Dibbert's new book; 
click once to enlarge.
 














 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
A reminder that
Mahogany Urban Poetry features
 Shewrights & Marques Littles
tonight in Sacramento, 7pm; and
El Dorado County Poet Laureate
Stephen Meadows reads tonight in
El Dorado Hills, 5:30pm.
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.

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!
 

 


















 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Tuesday, January 28, 2025

Blue Shadows on White Snow

  Winter
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Visuals by Joyce Odam 


WITH THE SHADES DRAWN
—Joyce Odam

is it still gray out
shall I write the poem on
pink paper
shall I use a pencil or a pen

oh will the world not be sunny again
day is filled with
three moody crows
though I cannot see them

they peck at my trees with
well-fed hunger
no I shall not feed them
any more black words

soft whirls of winter are
sliding beneath the doors and over
the floors though I have
stuffed pillows here and there

I will write soft lumpy lines
with light at the edges
I will write winter till
it is sick of me and leaves my pages


(prev. pub. in View (2/3/73) WINTER;
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/18/11) 
 
 
 
The Calling


SILENCE TO ICE
—Robin Gale Odam

Come close,
let me speak of ice.
We answered
an old dream.
We slept
through it all.
It was long,
with flecks of contrast.
Our roots blended
like colors in water,
countless cycles,
water to mist,
rain to current,
depth to thought,
breath to heat,
vapor to love,
silence to ice.

    
(prev. pub. in
Brevities, June 2011;
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/4/23) 
 
 
 
 Moon’s Light


BENT WATER IN THE MOONLIGHT
—Joyce Odam

It is the bent water in the moonlight that gets lost
where the dream ends. The sleeper still can choose.  
The small boat rocks in the moonlight and the curve

of the river pulls. But the sleeper is comfortable
here,
dreaming an old dream, safe in the sturdy little boat
in the mesmerizing center of the water.  

Then the boat widens until it touches the banks,

and the dreamer steps out of it onto both shores

where two young women are walking away from
him—
both are familiar, but his heart can hold only one;
they have warned him of this. Now the boat shrinks;

it can bring him back to the scale of easy dreaming
but begins to drift off and will soon be out of
reach. He is beginning to waken. He must choose.


(prev. pub. in The Gathering, Ina Coolbrith Anthology,
Oct. 1999;
New River Poets Anthology,
Watermarks: One; and Medusa’s Kitchen, 01/10/17;
6/15/21; 9/27/22)
 
 
 
Treasured


LITANY
—Robin Gale Odam
After “Sea Captain’s Wife Praying”
      (Painting by Charles Wysocki)


In the great sea—the endless waves, the
long oars, the creak of wood, and my love.

In the gray and dark of winter—the gate,
the naked tree, the steeple rising above the
house, and my book—the black binding
and the parchment.

In the turning of a page—usher my beloved. 
 
 
 
 Of The Spheres
                                      

THE MOONLIGHT DANCERS
—Joyce Odam

Moonlight dancers—outside in the dark—
with the surf pounding. They are young and mad,
and I am envious, and I would join them
and be a moonlight dancer, too—I am that sad.

Pounding of the surf—light of the moon—
an old temptation; I begin to sway.
They see me, laugh and beckon, open their arms,
I go to join their dancing, but where—where are
they?

Just old moonlight dancing with shadows,
only the bright waves breaking on the shore,
and I—an old fool—dancing to no music,
caught in the veils of longing that those phantoms
wore.

    
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/20/22)
 
 
 
All’s Well


MY FOOLISH WAY OF PLEASING YOU
—Joyce Odam

Watch me dance upon the approving air,
holding me aloft
in my pose to charm you,

while you
watch secretly
from under your lashes.

The blue night is soft
with distant moonlight
and the songbirds

have remained—
singing
and out-singing each other,

Help me remember the truth of this
when time
has taken us away from each other.

Look how shadow-memories play
at the edge of our attention—
how quietly the moon goes past the horizon.

                                                  
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/02/13;
9/14/21; 5/17/22)
 
 
 
 The Influence of Blue
 

LICENSE TO LEAVE
—Joyce Odam

You have to become the door.
This house is not solid.
You may leave.

The walls will flutter down
like old rose petals.
The roof will lift off
like a hymn.

Your anxieties will no longer
matter to you . . .
open their cages . . .
let them fly from your possession.

Your house will dissolve
in your mind
like an old repetition
finally resisted.

The world is holding out
its carpet for you.
Time is a long blue shadow
that wavers ahead of you
in the brimming moonlight. 
 

(prev. pub. in
Mockingbird Number 7,
Spring 1999; and Medusa’s Kitchen, 
11/21/17; 10/22/19)

__________________

OBSESSIONS
—Joyce Odam

These are the longings I send you,
full of elaborate rages and dark pities
for myself.  I send you guilt for my

predicament—name you Savior,
letter after letter of me mailed to
your old address.  Why don’t you

answer?  I send these thoughts
so you will realize my sincerity.
I have never forgiven you

for my happiness.  I forgive you
now for my despair.  Love is
too sad for keeping; I wish to

return it to you—hardly the worse
for wear.  These love songs
are for your pillow.

You come back for me.
I am floating on a tangible shaft
of moonlight.  Slowly I turn

toward you, break into a shatter
of weeping, fall to the floor.  
You cannot repair me.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/31/15) 
 
 
 
 So Beautiful


SHIFTSONGS
—Robin Gale Odam

you cast the light of evening
under the night, into the shiftsongs
of birds—the pierce of shrill calls
through pale starlight and in the
dark of secrets


(prev. pub. in Brevities, August 2020; and
Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/29/23) 
 
 
 
 A Little Tenderness

 
SLOW WINTER
—Joyce Odam

This winter starts slowly—season of reluctance—
almost December. Too many days almost warm,
night almost cold in the countdown of the year.
       
A mockingbird has taken over the pear tree, watching
from the very tip. I watched him pecking at the last
stubborn pear a few days ago.
       
The leaves are mostly gone from the deciduous trees,
a pile of leaves is caught in a corner by the front door.
They rattle underfoot.
       
Two wind-storms have come through, knocking down
trees and fences. I listened to the old, familiar howling
corners of my house.

Each year’s end feels the same. A restlessness. Some
healing needed. The strange links of years—so many
different places. Where? forgotten. When? forgotten.

Stages of time like stepping stones in fog. Each year
turning into the next. The gray season will be next,  
days and days of it. Long enough to start the edges
breaking around me.

Such winters are best spent alone—in the self—
the silent,
crying self. The short days hurry. The long nights
sleep.
Either way is what you time—to follow the clock—
how it measures for you, as if you needed to know.
       
And now winter says be patient, let me work as I
work,
Summer dies into autumn; autumn slips into fall
and has no way out. Slow winter has hold.
Winter comes when it is ready.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/13/15; 11/24/20)
 
 
 
 The Children


UNTETHERED
—Robin Gale Odam

a strand of fragile string in my fingers,
the cold moon low in the sky—only a few
years have gone by


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/27/24)
 
 
 
 Quiet


THE WINTER SORROW
—Joyce Odam
                           
I take the sorrow slow, like a faded rose,
its petals dropped in a basket
for the room.

I taste the dark light
of another day  
too far away from myself now.

I watch the shadows pile high
before the window.
I am in here, tragic and alone.

I call no one. I am the lost muse.
I lay words about me like atonements.
There are so many.

I wait for roses to die.
I am metaphor to myself,
dark lyric, soon to be poem.

    
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/13/16)

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:


THE DARK BIRDS
—Joyce Odam
After
Dark Birds, Dark Sea, 1959, Milton Avery
American Art Review, December 1999

Midnight birds in a dark blue river,
held by a spreading path of moonlight,
their gold beaks shining
in the shimmer-silence of the hour.

They seem too shadowy
to be real—as if painted
by a midnight child
in love with midnight’s deep blue color.


(prev. pub. in Brevities, Summer 1969;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 1/24/12; 3/13/12;
1/24/16)

___________________

This week’s Seed of the Week, “Midwinter Moonlight”, shimmers under the deft hands of Joyce and Robin Gale Odam today (with Joyce’s graphics), and we thank them for that! Our new Seed of the Week is “Down the Back Staircase”. Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from. And see every Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry form challenges, including those of the Ekphrastic type.

Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.

___________________

—Medusa
 
 
 
 —Artwork 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 at 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!
 



 





















Monday, January 27, 2025

Midwinter Moonshine

—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Jeanine Stevens,
Stephen Kingsnorth,
Caschwa (Carl Schwartz), and Joe Nolan
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan
 
 
NIGHTLIGHT
—Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

Midwinter moonlight brings chills to my sleep.
The moon casts deep shadows of trees dancing windy.
The snow sparkles diamonds and deep-freeze harsh glare.
I close all the curtains and turn on my nightlight
so I can sleep safely in comforter downy.
 
 
 
Climbing the Frozen Waterfall


A NARROW MARGIN OF COLOR
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento, CA

1.
It’s autumn, time for the Kokanee to spawn. Walking up Taylor Creek from the lake, we follow the flash of carnelian in clear water. They struggle in shallows, the small heart spinning, the red gills heaving. The entire body is flushed with red, the head, reptilian and olive green. We learn the hooked jaw is useful in mating, a part of sexual selection for females. The stream is choked with color as they complete their life cycle in a blaze of fire. You take a photo that resembles a banner of velvet ribbons, and I remember the Celtic saying, “A woman who wears a salmon tattoo on her ankle can travel anywhere.”

2.
On December 31st, we stay up past midnight to see the “blue moon.” In white star-scented air, it is surrounded by a large ring: translucent, ocular fuzz, a barely-there-blue. A glacial spectrum, I think moongarten, and know night holds this landscape. Next day, we snowshoe in the meadow, the sun so bright; we make a quick stop to rest our eyes. There in deep shade, a neon blue that disappears in bright sun. You say, “It’s the water content that makes crystals seem electrified, a filament lit from within.” We stomp around trees, in and out of light, testing our perception, such a narrow margin of color absorbed. I’ve seen the sign above small taverns, a martini glass with an olive, just-that-blue, and on paint chips: Feather Falls, June Lake and Carthage, but the closest I come is Chagall’s pencil writing the sky over Vitebsk.   
                                                                                 —South Lake Tahoe, January 1, 2010                                    
                                                                        
 

 
MOONSHINE PHASE?
—Stephen Kingsnorth, Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

Gone, silver slivers, summer streak,
as spring from passing autumn clouds;
more shivers from clear frosting sky,
spread spangled starlight, galaxy.
It’s rare, but I, spread-eagled lawn,
have lain, awaiting meteors,
a shower predicted, peak that hour,
rewarded flash, some, tail to tell.

As eyes adjust to blacker depth
I sense mine insignificance
and wonder that more frequent act
replaced by comfort of my bed;
but nomads’ wander, desert dunes
and shepherds keeping watch at night,
as mariners, crow’s nest and deck,
or country folk, far city brights.

Yet winter wonder, land behold,
insisting Green from northern light,
while snowflakes fall in Florida;
as if the climate uncontrolled,
accord to share global concern
no longer offered with the world.
No longer ‘who’—but what will last—
from over pond, phase, icy blast? 
 
 
 
 Cooling Off


COMPETITION
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

middle of winter
middle of town
middle of the night
middle of my route

patient moon overlooks
two all-night coffee shops
all three compete for eyes
I stop for pie and coffee

black, no cream, no sugar
hot, steamy, ceramic mug
waitress pours herself a cup
and we chat, small talk

middle of her shift
middle of a relationship
middle of two choices
apple, or berry?
 
 
 
 Roof Leak—Frozen


LIKE BABYSITTING GERMS
—Caschwa

(in response to recent Seeds of the Week
in Medusa’s Kitchen: “Out of Control”  
and “Winds of Warning”)


trying to regulate one’s sugar level
when usually guessing how high or
low it is, is a task like babysitting germs

so many variables! careful to avoid
excess sugar, then receive a high reading;
equally careful to avoid low sugar, then
that doesn’t work either

food, drink, sleep, exercise, pills, insulin,
abstinence, checking with a meter, consulting
with a doctor online, asking ghosts for their
wisdom, it is all hit and miss, nothing for
sure

too low and you die, too high and you live
to hear endless lectures on maintaining a
proper sugar level
 
 
 
 
 
THIS N’ THAT
—Caschwa
 
(in response to a recent Seed of the Week,
"In nature there is darkness as well as light, 
and all shades in between")

sticks and stones
may break my bones
but I’ll take big bites
out of cheese sticks

*****

Boxer briefs
(name any dog breed briefs)
Dog wood
(any and all timber)
Chimney sweep
(getting all the presents left by Santa)
DOGE
(Dept. of Genital Exuberance)

*****

I’m not prejudiced.
(foreign food is a regular on my menu)

 
 

 
A MENSCH AMONG MANY
—Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

There was a little window
With a window-pane
Covered with a curtain
Through which the
Breeze would blow.

How the curtain was moving
Would let me know
If I should stay or go
Out for my morning-daily,
A paper from a stand,
A coffee from a kiosk,
Be among
My fellow man—
Just a mensch
Among many,
Walking down the street.

Maybe I might find someone
I would like to meet?

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:


Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness.

—Allen Ginsberg

____________________

Our thanks to today’s mensch-poets for fine fare in the Kitchen! Our Seed of the Week, which some of them played with, was Midwinter Moonlight. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.

Congrats to Jeanine Stevens for her new book,
Left Handed Hummingbird, from claresongbirdspub.com/! Another Sacramento poet with a new book is Shawn Pittard and his Witness, which Shawn will be celebrating tonight at Sacramento Poetry Center. Both Jeanine and Shawn are SnakePals who had books published by Medusa's Rattlesnake Press back in the day.

Would you like to be a SnakePal? Sending in some poetry—aye, there's the ticket! Guidelines are at the top of this page at the Placating the Gorgon link. The snakes of Medusa are always... well, you know...
 
 
 
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
 
















 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
A reminder that
Sacramento Poetry Center features
Shawn Pittard tonight, 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.

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!