Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Medusa
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Medusa
JASMINE STARS
I’m weary with this blanket wrap
of fog or snow, ground war dead clogged,
but then remember under feet
those sacrifices, autumn spread,
the fallen as of golden youth,
with winter hopes yet stratified
’mongst mycorrhiza, worldwide web,
while greys and browns are all around.
Think aconite, hellebore,
those lightning stars of yellow strike
to break monotony of rime
that seals the prevalence of death.
How dare these petals risk the sharps,
some flimsy tissue crêpe in sun;
what permit issued, warmer time,
appearance counter winter prime?
At least the lauded snowdrop bells—
supposed as signs of season’s turn—
present a thick waxed hardened shell,
break crystals blanket, ready dressed.
Yet here against the honeyed blocks
these sparkles brighter than the stone;
this Roman candle shower, stark
amidst the loom of bitter pall.
A magic carpet, hanging wall,
the Persians thought a gift from God;
but where the flaw, one thread bare missed
as blossom tides us to the spring?
This contradiction to the norm
is what declares the globe a place
where unexpected signs of grace
invade the drab, and real can change.
I’m weary with this blanket wrap
of fog or snow, ground war dead clogged,
but then remember under feet
those sacrifices, autumn spread,
the fallen as of golden youth,
with winter hopes yet stratified
’mongst mycorrhiza, worldwide web,
while greys and browns are all around.
Think aconite, hellebore,
those lightning stars of yellow strike
to break monotony of rime
that seals the prevalence of death.
How dare these petals risk the sharps,
some flimsy tissue crêpe in sun;
what permit issued, warmer time,
appearance counter winter prime?
At least the lauded snowdrop bells—
supposed as signs of season’s turn—
present a thick waxed hardened shell,
break crystals blanket, ready dressed.
Yet here against the honeyed blocks
these sparkles brighter than the stone;
this Roman candle shower, stark
amidst the loom of bitter pall.
A magic carpet, hanging wall,
the Persians thought a gift from God;
but where the flaw, one thread bare missed
as blossom tides us to the spring?
This contradiction to the norm
is what declares the globe a place
where unexpected signs of grace
invade the drab, and real can change.
GOSSIP BLOOMS
No stigma here, the statement clear,
herbaceous in audacious dare,
summed up in long division clumps,
with rhizomes, half-soil, half-sun zones.
Bold flags stand clear, beside path wind
where crazy steps are slowed by thyme,
despite blue speedwell webbed among,
while each turn beckons change of view.
Alpines range, crack edelweiss,
flames, flamingos, forget-me-nots,
scree of grit in tumbledown,
montbretia abseils from above.
Aubretia plumps slake thirst with lime—
mounts purple head in Lilliput—
snow in summer scales crevasse sides;
ice plants, stonecrops, petal flakes.
Global lilies, Cuba, Peru,
by bottlebrush and baby’s breath,
bee balm, bellis and bergamot,
Columbine of dell’Arte fame.
From bell towers, campanula swing,
as Christmas, Lenten rose for faith,
Michaelmas, Star of Bethlehem,
while brooms sweep up their far-flung seeds.
Golden rod, red hot poker too,
shoot ember flames by feverfew,
the blacksmith, hammered by his brew,
wants solitude from bellowed voice.
Snapdragon where no nostril fire,
where love lies bleeding, in-a-mist,
lady’s mantle for monkshood wear,
goosefoot long, before steps parade.
Worldly stagecraft laid out as planned,
the pity, pleasure, profits made,
the Greenman watching as earth is played,
a commonwealth of health displayed.
For folklore, medicine, lovers doomed,
witches, wizards, wholesome wealth,
those stories gossiped, hovel gloom,
I take that crazy walk through blooms.
No stigma here, the statement clear,
herbaceous in audacious dare,
summed up in long division clumps,
with rhizomes, half-soil, half-sun zones.
Bold flags stand clear, beside path wind
where crazy steps are slowed by thyme,
despite blue speedwell webbed among,
while each turn beckons change of view.
Alpines range, crack edelweiss,
flames, flamingos, forget-me-nots,
scree of grit in tumbledown,
montbretia abseils from above.
Aubretia plumps slake thirst with lime—
mounts purple head in Lilliput—
snow in summer scales crevasse sides;
ice plants, stonecrops, petal flakes.
Global lilies, Cuba, Peru,
by bottlebrush and baby’s breath,
bee balm, bellis and bergamot,
Columbine of dell’Arte fame.
From bell towers, campanula swing,
as Christmas, Lenten rose for faith,
Michaelmas, Star of Bethlehem,
while brooms sweep up their far-flung seeds.
Golden rod, red hot poker too,
shoot ember flames by feverfew,
the blacksmith, hammered by his brew,
wants solitude from bellowed voice.
Snapdragon where no nostril fire,
where love lies bleeding, in-a-mist,
lady’s mantle for monkshood wear,
goosefoot long, before steps parade.
Worldly stagecraft laid out as planned,
the pity, pleasure, profits made,
the Greenman watching as earth is played,
a commonwealth of health displayed.
For folklore, medicine, lovers doomed,
witches, wizards, wholesome wealth,
those stories gossiped, hovel gloom,
I take that crazy walk through blooms.
PRIM ROSE
Hyperbole, diva, prima,
was never trait for peeping glow,
declining formal, sparkling low.
Like cowslips, settled, nestled grass,
blade shade, in banks thrive, drop pearl dew,
amongst hard graveside marble lines,
sneak out in bunches, butter-milk.
Prim pastel, shy in place, breakthrough,
short-stalked packed floppers, shower spread.
Ready bunched, satisfied to stay
half-hid, flourishing, without need
to be, with flourish, presented
on knee; better, leg bent, the sight
in site to gain, blush cream the bloom,
pale brave-face rose, the primrose hue.
DANCE HAUL
The flags are out, see iris peer,
as wallflowers lean from corner doors,
surround décor—pretend not there.
Of course flame gorse protects itself,
that golden butter, buffered hedge,
with piercing needles, jagged edge,
too late for those, attracted stare,
who dared to mount that well of stair.
With ling and heather, feather bed,
the moor protective round the lark,
but flung above in descant flight,
that nesting ground sees high-rise site,
its bass abandoned, soprano,
a solo fight, Italianate,
where smothered love alienates.
The hills wear purple, headed mount,
where all things bright and beautiful,
until the mourn of morning time,
thin petal love no more than crêpe.
The flags are out, see iris peer,
as wallflowers lean from corner doors,
surround décor—pretend not there.
Of course flame gorse protects itself,
that golden butter, buffered hedge,
with piercing needles, jagged edge,
too late for those, attracted stare,
who dared to mount that well of stair.
With ling and heather, feather bed,
the moor protective round the lark,
but flung above in descant flight,
that nesting ground sees high-rise site,
its bass abandoned, soprano,
a solo fight, Italianate,
where smothered love alienates.
The hills wear purple, headed mount,
where all things bright and beautiful,
until the mourn of morning time,
thin petal love no more than crêpe.
GROUNDWORK
The muzzled flower from stunted stem,
ground heavy clay, no well-rot core,
a damper on the risk deployed
when tap lies poor, clogged fibrous truth.
Secrets kept three—if two are dead,
though we must keep them from ourselves,
for we not what we think, but hide,
secret at home, rock under tide.
Their worth depends on those denied,
the wise don’t seek, honest reveal,
if so, the fault with who confides,
though better still if none aside.
The frost tells, middle dancing ring,
while we suppose, the centre knows;
our enemies would be disarmed,
if we sad histories aware.
By time disclosed, all witnessed, heard,
as when forced other promise lock—
for we could not ourselves prevent,
as,
universal, sun, moon, truth.
To hold is wisdom—folly, share
for only empty brings the power,
avoids the loneliness control,
associated, practised art.
A secret, rooted fear or shame
shared only when the dare is small,
the compost soil of love assured,
then growth released, best bloom, reward.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
TRAVELLING MERCIES
—Stephen Kingsnorth
Plants, nature’s nurture of the soul,
both body, mind, as healing food,
delightful walks through heaven’s hoard,
essential pantry for our sense.
Venturing deeper, some explore;
more pace content, where others trod.
Brief steps or longer stretch laid out,
endurance test, or travel best,
the journeyman, apprentice rests—
carry fleas around the world.
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Stephen Kingsnorth for today’s fine poetry as he surveys the flora of this season!
A reminder that
Poetry Night in Davis
will feature a
Wide Open Mic 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!
Poetry Night in Davis
will feature a
Wide Open Mic 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!
