—Photo by Ann Privateer
PEA GREEN
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
It doesn't have to be May for me
to find the color Pea Green.
In the dead of winter I brave the
outer edge of open door, venture
into icy blue, walk on white and
frosty brown, breathe in steel gray,
close my eyes...
and there on the inside of
eyelids is Pea Green, and where
I saw her earlier this morning
in warm kitchen in a mug of soup.
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
It doesn't have to be May for me
to find the color Pea Green.
In the dead of winter I brave the
outer edge of open door, venture
into icy blue, walk on white and
frosty brown, breathe in steel gray,
close my eyes...
and there on the inside of
eyelids is Pea Green, and where
I saw her earlier this morning
in warm kitchen in a mug of soup.
___________________
THE BLUE OF SKY
—Carol Louise Moon
When looking up past trees
you wonder how the painted sky
remains so see-through blue.
You wonder how the painted sky
was painted, whether by brush
or splash of periwinkle tear.
Painted, whether by brush
of angel wings or stroke of
luck, or luck-of-Welsh blue.
Angel wings or stroke of
hand on the Eternal Clock
all play a part in how
the sky remains so see-through blue
with splash of periwinkle,
teardrop paint, and luck-of-Welsh.
Blue plays all the parts.
___________________
RED
—Carol Louise Moon
"Think how I am lost
in the tiniest violet..."
... blue hue
overtaking me.
Take leave, Ruby,
and come to me quickly.
Leave behind your jealousy.
Rust, if you must come,
help me, 'though your
ground brown dilutes me.
The Poinsettia knows
of those foes—
those mutters and intruders.
She alone
must come to me
in my flowering hour.
She alone
must come to me
in my flowering hour.
—Photo by Ann Privateer
SUN DOWN
skirts the land
swallows it whole
surfs bumpy roads
shines where darkness lives
streams past rush hour
saddles up the boundless sea
swigs mouthfuls of homes to
savor this last moment before
sprays of night star blanket us.
skirts the land
swallows it whole
surfs bumpy roads
shines where darkness lives
streams past rush hour
saddles up the boundless sea
swigs mouthfuls of homes to
savor this last moment before
sprays of night star blanket us.
—Ann Privateer, Davis
____________________
I MADE IT
—Ann Privateer
my last confession
eliminated all body fluids
polished my aura
and reclined to die
until I heard a voice—
was it Patti Page singing
Cross Over the Bridge?
Oh no, not today!
Today's LittleNip:
onerous—Carol Louise Moon
obliged to coo
nicely, I’m
eager to dance, to
reach for the sky
obliterating death
unaware, under the
stars with you.
___________________
—Medusa
—Photo by Ann Privateer
