—Quilt Photos by Stephen Kingsnorth
* * *
—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth,
Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
COMFORT BLANKET
Are dreams affected by our wrap
as it enfolds us, doze to sleep,
especially if be a quilt,
together sewn, unique design;
those patches, squares, a gallery
of import, story hinterland?
Does it awaken, as we dream
the theme we worked on during day,
kaleidoscope of oeuvre, work
in telling words, scenes, images;
here laid out round our body form
the warming tales that dominate?
That quilting takes us to the quill—
so here’s some writing on the wall
as if those pictures spread the word,
a night-time whisper, Morpheus;
thus fall asleep beneath our stars
those stellar highlights, life’s parade.
A string from mother’s apron scraps,
a pleat perhaps from favoured dress,
old drapes drawn where the window framed,
the fabric furnished, childhood Ted;
material can touch us too,
bring closer fragrance from our past.
When covid scare brought facemask ware,
so quilts unpicked to wear instead,
those geometric patterns, taped,
a measure for our safety set;
were our mouths draped, symbolic signs,
specific comfort blanket bound?
But when we’re wilting, ready bed,
a good read closing by our side,
as wrapt attention sliding fast,
red sun sinks farther to the shades;
then morphs our real to deeper reels,
fantastic dance, thought-buried ghosts.
Are dreams affected by our wrap
as it enfolds us, doze to sleep,
especially if be a quilt,
together sewn, unique design;
those patches, squares, a gallery
of import, story hinterland?
Does it awaken, as we dream
the theme we worked on during day,
kaleidoscope of oeuvre, work
in telling words, scenes, images;
here laid out round our body form
the warming tales that dominate?
That quilting takes us to the quill—
so here’s some writing on the wall
as if those pictures spread the word,
a night-time whisper, Morpheus;
thus fall asleep beneath our stars
those stellar highlights, life’s parade.
A string from mother’s apron scraps,
a pleat perhaps from favoured dress,
old drapes drawn where the window framed,
the fabric furnished, childhood Ted;
material can touch us too,
bring closer fragrance from our past.
When covid scare brought facemask ware,
so quilts unpicked to wear instead,
those geometric patterns, taped,
a measure for our safety set;
were our mouths draped, symbolic signs,
specific comfort blanket bound?
But when we’re wilting, ready bed,
a good read closing by our side,
as wrapt attention sliding fast,
red sun sinks farther to the shades;
then morphs our real to deeper reels,
fantastic dance, thought-buried ghosts.
After the Walk
by Lyn Aylward (England) 2023
LANGOROUS ?
Languorous, as vowel stretch,
each glyph laid out in sounding shift,
aligned with sleek unbothered reach,
with dreams of scents, encounters, rest,
now prone, exhausted, inked arms linked.
On crumpled pastel, crease and fold,
all pillows, hills of dimpled sheets,
in crevice, blues, pink, yellows, green,
seen stream and sky, buds, blossom, sward,
addressed on fabric, ruffled, flesh.
Carved capitol above slab slump;
a classic wage for time-paid age.
brawn muscles through to knuckle skin,
arch, zygomatic, prominent;
what causes stare in emptied air?
Poole pottery of former age,
a cluttered, indecisive space,
past glories, present to be faced,
what questions posed above the bed
to float around, pets unaware?
This is no more the languid tired,
nor lackadaisical in mind,
dynamic contrast laid to wrest—
so what ensues from contemplate?
What afterthought has walk aroused?
Green Terrain
by Kelly Austin-Rolo (USA) 2019
AERIAL OVERVIEWS
A candle spilling from wick pool,
or taper dripping while it’s lit,
to fabric of batik in kind,
or blocked ear treated as a child;
but ‘means’, ‘meant’ words, not open minds,
for blue sky thinkers, without box,
or else encaustic not found out,
uncovered, though, but what’s in store?
It takes me to topography,
to architects’ designer sheets,
though colour invests action, place,
a unity within this space.
What shapes this stretch, both up, about,
a drone to figure underground,
the overview for soundings, view
of plumb, dig deeper history?
Both wax and wane of movements, tides,
I dream allotments, footpaths, trails,
haphazard growth, as stories told,
the bold, as earthworks played their rôle.
On common land which time refined—
here shades are buried under land,
of forest lawn and myrtle green—
where pine, mint, pear, lime, sage, and fern.
This crusty slice itself sublime
as clime also in earthy spin,
and like ley lines there’s mystery,
in making mark, encaustic flow.
Knife cutter bars imagined, swirl,
or mapped contorted isobars,
for whether playing part or not
in how this scape is today’s plot.
Page from Grimoires Illuminees
by Pierre Richard (France) before 1879
PISTOL COCKED
Now you see it, now you don’t,
odd pages, scattered leaves, The Fall
a paradisal lost before,
cast spell-book here not lexicon,
or primer, abecedary,
but abracadabra as cabal.
Claiming benefit of age
this syncretistic patchwork quilt,
symbols, sign of codes at work,
for esoteric, in the know;
tried toxic mix in undertow,
a gnostic few tossed in the hue
and cry for burning, which at stake
but jottings, crowded, more provoked.
Glyphs join graphs in saturate,
asylum more in raw art script
than institute for lunatics.
Manic, more researchers’ work;
psalmody, glossolalia,
a solipsistic zealotry,
cross rooster perched with pistol cocked.
Vicissitudes of Lorraine space,
where Magic, Revolution, Church,
chanting prayers not understood,
ritornelles, homophonies,
compete to claim the paranoid,
wettersegen in the storm.
Illuminated manuscript
which it both is, ’ting is not.
Hamlet Shakespeariana, Serie Heroinas Literarias
by Fernando Vicente (Spain) 2022
BREECHES BUOY
Translate the complement, to be
in roundel gloss, fine fingers, frills,
bone china, zygomatic arch,
inked neck sans Adam’s apple lump.
Scene balcony, scape, nimbus cloud,
but jut of jaw, rouge, ginger flow
cannot distract from focus, skull,
or is it crown draws, overcomes?
To fore lies gothic Yorick script—
not centred so we see entire—
alas, our lass must nail the weight
of cranial, so teeth on edge.
The canon roars—survey the field—
with tragicomic histories,
in human makeup lie the flaws,
those doors through which the mighty fall.
In genderbending stagecraft art,
bright entry from the upper left,
from groundlings’ yard to heaven’s roof,
in tiring house, the globe, the world.
This player, smokescreen, Hamlet seen,
an acting man, proscenium,
but what has been for what to be,
war theatre, stage exeunt.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
We stitch together quilts of meaning to keep us warm and safe, with whatever patches of beauty and utility we have on hand.
―Anne Lamott
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Stephen Kingsnorth for today’s fine poetry which was based on the artwork he provided, and to Denise Kingsnorth for allowing us to show her and her quiltmastsership!
Denise Kingsnorth At Work
A reminder that
Five Nevada County Women Poets
read tonight in Nevada City, 6pm; and
Poetry Night Reading Series presents
Clarence Major & April Ossmann
in Davis tonight, 7pm.
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
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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!
Five Nevada County Women Poets
read tonight in Nevada City, 6pm; and
Poetry Night Reading Series presents
Clarence Major & April Ossmann
in Davis tonight, 7pm.
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!
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