Friday, April 13, 2012

Remember to Remember...

—Photo Enhancement of Weeds by Jane Blue, Sacramento

—Patricia Hickerson, Davis

she brought them from Ireland
to New York City
rolled up in her stocking cuff
so customs couldn’t see
the green face of Ireland
not allowed in New York City turn of the century
don’t bring your weeds into our fair city
the shamrocks
diminutive clover leaves
brought them from Ireland to touch her new home
Agnes of the Shamrocks
all her sisters came, too,
she was the only one with the shamrocks
rolled up, springy with root-earth clinging
clouds of grace from Ireland, clods to put in a pot
for a winter-summer windowsill
shamrocks bobbing steadily above 125th Street
the ruckus of Broadway beyond
clover stubbornly cleaving to life in the city
immigrant clover airily green
above the dirt and din of horse and carriage
the rant and rave of New York City
Agnes in the midst


—Michael Cluff, Corona, CA

It was Friday, the 26th
that plagued the Espy family
it was the only day
Uncle suffered horribly
from gout.
Cousin Beverly passed
several gallstones
and forever added
each one to the now-
heavy chain around
her pellagra-peppered neck
yes only on the 26th day
and a Friday all at the same time.

Nephew Austin failed his law exam
and Sister Kathleen perpetually caught
her successive husbands
cheating with spinster librarians
and bookies of either sex
on that day.

Only Oliver and Olivia prospered:
being twins
they just cut that day's Espian curse
in half
and black cats died automatically
when they crossed
either person's path.


—Michael Cluff

Little Marshall had a lisp,
always left "t" off the start
of words until he was five or so
one week he was visiting Grandpa Dale
who worked as a sociologist
on loan to the university,
and asked what type of coat
Grandpapa was putting on,
right before Dale headed to school
in his eco-right Mini Cooper;

Dale's precious, favorite garment:
the glen plaid one
with elbow patches
to be chic, not as
a way to recycle
the old into acceptable.

Grandpapa said
as Gretchen and Lawrence,
his older grandkids
slid into the foyer
to bid him good bye
as prompted by Aunt Janelle
and Mom.

"Oh, weed," replied Marshall
and went to hold court with the hermit crabs
for that day until eleven or so;
behind his back,
all the family called Dale
"Mr. Weed"
until the moment Marshall died.

His students would have done the same
if they only knew.


—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento

russet, the color of a hint
or a hunch, is sometimes used
when glazing a pear.

A hunch is sometimes used
when guessing what russet is.
Russet can’t always sustain the day.

When guessing what russet is
one imagines a mix of pink and rust,
like a kiss and an embrace.

One imagines the mix of pink and rust,
like two lovers on an ocean pier
at the end of a sunset.

Like two lovers on an ocean pier,
glazing a pear
at the end of a sunset,
russet has sustained their day—
and has held them in an embrance.


—Carol Louise Moon

Rudimentary, these fused
dark petals of rose dried in
white porcelain jars. We used

the proven process, again.
And again, the same release
of fragrance (bold), a token
of our devotion and ceaseless
love. Our turbulent years
mellowed with time. These

were joyous times marked with tears,
strong memory, and our fears—
unfounded. Hues we would choose
for passion: rosaceous and rouge.


—Carol Louise Moon

Now is the time to remember
to remember days with you—
with springtime in the water
flowing north past the mission.
Is it tan, or dirt I see between
the straps of your sandals
as we walk the short half-mile
winding by the river’s edge?
Will you think to think of me
when summer blossoms bloom?
Or when summer season’s over
will you call me to your side?
Will we walk here once again?
Now is the time to remember
to remember.

Ed. Note: The newest issue of DADs DESK, Sacramento's large-print poetry journal which is edited by Carol Louise Moon, is available at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento. Get yours while they last!


Today's Scary-Nips: 

If you have 13 letters in your name, you will have the devil's luck. Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Theodore Bundy and Albert De Salvo all have 13 letters in their names.

Did you know that the fear of Friday the 13th is called friggatriskaidekaphobia?

Many hospitals have no room 13, while some tall buildings skip the 13th floor and some airline terminals omit Gate 13.

Any month starting on a Sunday will have a Friday the 13th.



—Medusa (hey—it's Friday the 13th! Don't slip in the bathtub!)

Stout Rebellion (Band) Manager Bobby Walker
Tartan Day, Old Sacramento
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
[Don't forget to check out Michelle's 
photo album of last Monday's SPC Tule reading
on Medusa's Facebook page!]