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.

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