Medusa Head, Cistern, Istanbul
[Thanks to Katy Brown for finding us this photo!]
THE CONFUSION OF AUTUMN
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
I step out on the stoop,
stoop down to pick up a leaf
before leaving the house
to have tea with Kate.
I hesitate.
Patterns of autumn leaves
catch my eye—golden ones
like arrows pointing in so
many directions. Confusion
sets in again, another reason
not to drive this season.
Leaves pointing to Maple Street
where Mabel lived, or Live Oak
where Liz lives, or Sycamore
for more of Wendy—wind
moaning between branches
in biblical lamentations.
I have my limitations with her.
Today is not a good day
for driving, or arriving late.
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
I step out on the stoop,
stoop down to pick up a leaf
before leaving the house
to have tea with Kate.
I hesitate.
Patterns of autumn leaves
catch my eye—golden ones
like arrows pointing in so
many directions. Confusion
sets in again, another reason
not to drive this season.
Leaves pointing to Maple Street
where Mabel lived, or Live Oak
where Liz lives, or Sycamore
for more of Wendy—wind
moaning between branches
in biblical lamentations.
I have my limitations with her.
Today is not a good day
for driving, or arriving late.
_______________________
WHAT WE CALL REAL
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
The family he left behind claims nothing
of what we say is true. He was only sailing
in search of archetypes. Figments. Lions.
The sword of Orion. Vulcan’s hammer.
An island of mourning
doves and a beautiful woman of unreachable
smile. He was only filling his log-book
with the falling leaves of his mind, small
pages let loose on the wind as he hurried
back and forth across dawns and evenings,
sailing the mirrors of waves;
sharing figs and roasted lamb with his
friends, his crew.
Miles of coastline debouching rivers
and streams. Ruins of the tombs
of ancient kings, whose leg-bones became
statues carved in cliffs.
An inland sea is paradise, the golden fiction
of freedom.
But I say, this is the true
story. Now he is past, where fictions
sail the spirit-wind.
The family he left behind claims nothing
of what we say is true. He was only sailing
in search of archetypes. Figments. Lions.
The sword of Orion. Vulcan’s hammer.
An island of mourning
doves and a beautiful woman of unreachable
smile. He was only filling his log-book
with the falling leaves of his mind, small
pages let loose on the wind as he hurried
back and forth across dawns and evenings,
sailing the mirrors of waves;
sharing figs and roasted lamb with his
friends, his crew.
Miles of coastline debouching rivers
and streams. Ruins of the tombs
of ancient kings, whose leg-bones became
statues carved in cliffs.
An inland sea is paradise, the golden fiction
of freedom.
But I say, this is the true
story. Now he is past, where fictions
sail the spirit-wind.
—Photo by Evan Myquest, Sacramento
THE COMPLEAT CONSUMER
—Caschwa, Sacramento
I stand a full half-inch
above five feet and eight
there is too much to pinch
if you're watching my weight
gray hair topping brown eyes
that view from old sockets
government sending spies
to measure our pockets
when one carries loose change
praise to freedom can't sing
even homes on the range
all belong to the king
Revolutionary
War put us in deep debt
burdens we can't bury
and keep a safety net
Indian casinos
barely stave off starving
while Gas-X and Beano's
back up turkey carving
Halloween, trick or treat
money spent on candy
bankruptcy, now upbeat
Yankee Doodle Dandy!
________________________
FAME AND FORTUNE
(That is what I would name twins)
—Caschwa
Yesterday, somehow
a delightful coworker
passed along to me
two fortune cookies
from a local eatery
I ate the cookies
and read the fortunes
tucked neatly inside
but were those fortunes
really meant for me
or was I reading passages
that belonged to another?
one of the fortunes
oddly enough
said I would be changing
my line of work
the President says
change is good
who am I to dispute
such authority?
the other fortune
kissed my vanity ass
and said I had some
pretty nice qualities
good fodder for that
resumé I am composing
as gateway to
that next line of work
—Caschwa, Sacramento
I stand a full half-inch
above five feet and eight
there is too much to pinch
if you're watching my weight
gray hair topping brown eyes
that view from old sockets
government sending spies
to measure our pockets
when one carries loose change
praise to freedom can't sing
even homes on the range
all belong to the king
Revolutionary
War put us in deep debt
burdens we can't bury
and keep a safety net
Indian casinos
barely stave off starving
while Gas-X and Beano's
back up turkey carving
Halloween, trick or treat
money spent on candy
bankruptcy, now upbeat
Yankee Doodle Dandy!
________________________
FAME AND FORTUNE
(That is what I would name twins)
—Caschwa
Yesterday, somehow
a delightful coworker
passed along to me
two fortune cookies
from a local eatery
I ate the cookies
and read the fortunes
tucked neatly inside
but were those fortunes
really meant for me
or was I reading passages
that belonged to another?
one of the fortunes
oddly enough
said I would be changing
my line of work
the President says
change is good
who am I to dispute
such authority?
the other fortune
kissed my vanity ass
and said I had some
pretty nice qualities
good fodder for that
resumé I am composing
as gateway to
that next line of work
______________________
Today's LittleNip:
PATIO PERSONIFICATION
—Carol Louise Moon
broad adobe garden tiles
stoic in the moonlight:
one salutes the northern wind
two peer through the silver mist
three press hard against the east
ashened leaves of autumn
join ranks along the foot path
—Carol Louise Moon
broad adobe garden tiles
stoic in the moonlight:
one salutes the northern wind
two peer through the silver mist
three press hard against the east
ashened leaves of autumn
join ranks along the foot path
_____________________
—Medusa
—Photo by Evan Myquest
