Friday, March 09, 2012

Midnights And Full Moon Madness

One of Eliot's Cats at Sac Comic-Con, March 2012
—Photo by Michelle Kunert

For me every full moon night reminds me that
many people still think we actually landed there,
that it wasn't just filmed on created fake television sets
with actors in spacesuits jumping around with stage wires
I guess it was to convince our Russian rivals
that we surpassed them in just orbiting around the earth
and escaped gravity and the Van Allen Belt
Ironically "moon landings" aren't repeated with modern space shuttles
Now considering this, can you imagine
in 2002 a NASA intern named Thad Roberts
was sentenced to prison for trying to steal space mission "moon rocks"
after he saw huge offers for such supposed rocks all over the Internet
Yet no one demands that NASA prove that their rocks are also real
and not just created hype they charge for, to be seen on display
Could it be, too, that NASA lies about wasting millions of tax dollars
just like our government did with the war in Vietnam?
Perhaps (as the R.E.M. song reminds us)
"If you believe they put a man on the moon—
If you believe there's nothing up their sleeve
Then nothing is cool..."

—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento


—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove

Because I spoke French,
The Peace Corps
Wanted to send me
To Morocco.
I prepared by watching
Numerous times (Still do),
And by listening to
Crosby, Stills & Nash’s
“Marrakesh Express”
Three hundred fifty-five
Times (327 is about
Enough). Because
I thought I’d be
Dealing with camels,
Asked my father,
Who knew lots
Of odd stuff:
“A camel will fall
Three times,” He said.
“Third fall and it
Will never rise again.
Buy new. Never make
Your camel mad,”
He said. “Camels spit
When mad. It’s
Nasty, poisonous
Green goo,” he said.
“Don’t get hit.”

Then, because
I spoke French, the
Peace Corps wanted
To send me to
Uganda. Because I
Thought I’d be
Dealing with
Crocodiles, I asked
My father. “They
Bite,” He said,
“Don’t go.”



The year 1962 was truly
Midnight for the Oasis Ballroom
The top venue for big bands
Was to be torn down

While that same year
The Beatles performed live
At the Oasis Club in

Brass sections, reed sections,
Percussion sections, would
Wander off like camels in the
Desert, looking for new waterholes

While power amps became the cactus
That would point us in the
Right direction, so we could
Rock and roll in the sand.



It’s a quiet society
As busy as a protest
March at the Capitol
Sans the megaphones

Communities of worms
Crawl underneath
Quite purposefully to
Uncharted destinations

They know exactly what
They want and believe
Their random approach
Will get them there

Apparently it works
And so here they go again
Tilling the under-soil
Helping the garden prosper

Who is their leader?
Not one worm seems to be
Decorated as the chief
Respected as in charge

They don’t hold elections
For that high office
Nor provide a generous
Compensation package

We’ve yet to find that special
Tunnel 1 with a red phone
Attended by loyal aides
Serving the Lord of the Worms

Though we play in the sun
We remain in the dark about
Why worms act so enlightened
Just doing what they always do



The very word Mature
Is gender specific
Starting with the
Oh so feminine Ma

It must be an abbreviated
Form of Mother Nature
Why isn’t there a pature?
Or a Fature?

It is no problem for Mature to
Vascillate between transitive and
Intransitive all the time,
Changing the subject at whim

Imagine how hard it is
For guys to even pretend
To do that, again and again!
Mature is no role model for guys.



Last Summer was a bummer
Our tomatoes bloomed
But bore no fruit
Or vegetable
For salads

Now we’ve just had Winter
That was more Spring
Not enough freeze
For newly

Spring is on its way again
We’ll fill the garden in
Everything just
By the book
Afraid to


Today's LittleNip: 


Her answer always
“Whatever,” good days
Or mediocre midnights
Lousy, fabulous
Smug incredulous
Balancing her butt in tights


—Medusa, with thanks to today's contributors for today's delicious wonkiness!

—Photo by Michelle Kunert