—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Nolcha Fox
CHAIRS
1.
Sinkable, suck in,
butt in, think a
deck chair, ship down,
grab the foam
before it grabs you,
sucks you down.
2.
High life, high chair,
belly up to
chug it down,
up in air, air head,
head over heels,
crybaby, watch her leave.
3.
Cheers for the chairs,
legs that trip, that
fail to grip,
that leave
a skid mark
on the floor.
1.
Sinkable, suck in,
butt in, think a
deck chair, ship down,
grab the foam
before it grabs you,
sucks you down.
2.
High life, high chair,
belly up to
chug it down,
up in air, air head,
head over heels,
crybaby, watch her leave.
3.
Cheers for the chairs,
legs that trip, that
fail to grip,
that leave
a skid mark
on the floor.
ANOTHER DEAD LETTER
Not what’s lost
in some post office
room full of letters
undelivered,
no, it’s the letters
that fail to form
words dropping
from my lips,
dead weights,
dead letters,
an embarrassment
of failed
migrations.
Not what’s lost
in some post office
room full of letters
undelivered,
no, it’s the letters
that fail to form
words dropping
from my lips,
dead weights,
dead letters,
an embarrassment
of failed
migrations.
I’M THAT WEIRD GIRL
eating with my hands
under the trees in the park.
Grease drips down
my hands and face.
My lips are stained
from berry kisses.
Crumbs and clutter
flutter in the breeze
and fall around me.
Mothers pushing strollers
wrinkle noses
and rush by
without a wave.
Birds and squirrels
approach, applaud
and join me in the feast
under the trees.
eating with my hands
under the trees in the park.
Grease drips down
my hands and face.
My lips are stained
from berry kisses.
Crumbs and clutter
flutter in the breeze
and fall around me.
Mothers pushing strollers
wrinkle noses
and rush by
without a wave.
Birds and squirrels
approach, applaud
and join me in the feast
under the trees.
HOT MAMA
I am a radiator
set to high
on the hottest
day of the year.
Steam fizzes
out of my ears.
My face puts
a furnace to shame.
Let me stick my head
in the freezer,
breathe out
this hot flash
into refrigerated silence.
I am a radiator
set to high
on the hottest
day of the year.
Steam fizzes
out of my ears.
My face puts
a furnace to shame.
Let me stick my head
in the freezer,
breathe out
this hot flash
into refrigerated silence.
STUMPING THE BARISTA
He asks me what I want today.
It’s something he can’t give me.
No frappuccino can replace
the love I lost this morning.
He drums his fingers,
I hear mumbling
from the folks behind me.
One tall coffee, please, I say,
And please add cream and grief.
He asks me what I want today.
It’s something he can’t give me.
No frappuccino can replace
the love I lost this morning.
He drums his fingers,
I hear mumbling
from the folks behind me.
One tall coffee, please, I say,
And please add cream and grief.
BLAME IT ON THE RAIN
I blame the rain
that chased you
from your seat
across from me.
Did you regret
that you forgot
your raincoat
and your hat?
Did the wet
douse your desire?
Did you recall
another just like me?
You never said
your name or
left a number
I could call.
You were a
single drop in time
that vanished
into mist.
I blame the rain
that chased you
from your seat
across from me.
Did you regret
that you forgot
your raincoat
and your hat?
Did the wet
douse your desire?
Did you recall
another just like me?
You never said
your name or
left a number
I could call.
You were a
single drop in time
that vanished
into mist.
IN THE WORLD OF ALONE
If I brush my teeth and hair,
no one gives a hoot.
I rarely dress in shoes and socks.
I live with only me.
From my world of all alone,
the fashion police have scattered.
They can’t convince this bag of bones
that beauty really matters.
Online orders keep me safe
from idle talk and traffic.
I’m content to stay in bed
with holes in my pajamas.
Don’t worry, I am happy with
no need to clean my house.
So, if you smell ammonia,
it means that I am dead.
If I brush my teeth and hair,
no one gives a hoot.
I rarely dress in shoes and socks.
I live with only me.
From my world of all alone,
the fashion police have scattered.
They can’t convince this bag of bones
that beauty really matters.
Online orders keep me safe
from idle talk and traffic.
I’m content to stay in bed
with holes in my pajamas.
Don’t worry, I am happy with
no need to clean my house.
So, if you smell ammonia,
it means that I am dead.
FALL
I wonder if the trees might fear
the fall of falling leaves
as much as I fear falling
when wind blows fall
into white chill and ice
is on the sidewalk.
I wonder if the trees might fear
the fall of falling leaves
as much as I fear falling
when wind blows fall
into white chill and ice
is on the sidewalk.
DON’T GO YET
It’s too early to depart.
Defy the wind, don’t fall away.
Don’t leave me to the winter white.
Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.
Defy the wind, don’t fall away.
Enjoy the slanting sun with me.
Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.
Don’t tell me we all end.
Enjoy the slanting sun with me.
Don’t leave me to the winter white.
Don’t tell me we all end.
It’s too early to depart.
Today’s LittleNip:
Dinner never tastes as good
as the picture on the
frozen dinner box.
—Nolcha Fox
__________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Nolcha Fox for today’s fine poetry, and for finding the photos to go with it!
Dinner never tastes as good
as the picture on the
frozen dinner box.
—Nolcha Fox
__________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Nolcha Fox for today’s fine poetry, and for finding the photos to go with it!
—Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa
A reminder that
Sac Poets Society will hold
a workshop with Pat Grizzell
in Sacramento tonight, 7pm.
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!
Sac Poets Society will hold
a workshop with Pat Grizzell
in Sacramento tonight, 7pm.
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!
I killed it~