Friday, June 14, 2013

Under the Sun

—Photo by Charles Mariano

           (Bright’s in LeGrand)
—charles mariano, sacramento

driving down Plainsburg road
just off the 99,
on an overcast, early eve
miles and miles
of orchards, fields

from a distance,
could make out shapes
long lines of something,
ghostly silhouettes,
in the middle of nowhere

i stopped, for a better view
and stared
at rows and rows
of old tractors, lined up
tires flat, treads broken, rusted

a once mighty army
chugging, clanking loudly,
brought to a standstill

no more ground to cultivate,
a final resting place

just before the sun sank
into an ominous
dusky haze,

i thought about all the old farmers
gone now,
on these great machines
who bled, sacrificed, worked the land
under that brutal, central valley sun,
side by side,

with my father


—Caschwa, Sacramento

It was a street about 3.5 miles long
With 2 starting points
Always heavily trafficked
There was no end

Like a sentence with an
Initial capital
And no period
There was no end

Words and vehicles
Collide at all angles
Fenders distorted
Grammar tortured

someone is goinG
the wrong waY
look ouT!!
there was no enD

Flower with Green Bee
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento

Bee Balm: nature's fireworks.
Blossoms of crimson surprise
bursting on midsummer days.
Brilliant-red seen buzzing with
bumble bees.  Search along stream
banks to find these flowers;  leaves
brewed become Oswego Tea.


—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento

Summer's lake is clear, and once again we
open up the cabin near the hedge.
Two snails slide along a flowered ledge
untouched by any sense of urgency.
In morning light we're moving silently
to drag our family's boat to water's edge
past nestled geese along a sandy wedge.
Our cat has found a curiosity;
he chases waggling goslings he has found
while romping in the heat of early June.
A hawk seeks taller trees amid the sounds
of oars and geese.  Our summer lake so soon
engulfed in muted sunlight all around—
a wondrous view beneath a fading moon.


—Carol Louise Moon

Pick a day, a summer day
to watch a pika making hay.
He dries the grass on rocks nearby;
he'll sniff the air, he'll watch the sky.

He pulls his hay-store underground,
and when he does then I have found
it's going to rain! It's going to pour.
Meantime, watch him dry his store.

Watch him closely.  You'll see
he knows his meteorology.
Pick a day, a sunny day
and watch a pika making hay.


—Carol Louise Moon

The party's over, and now for the cleanup.
I survey my backyard of what-its-nots.
There beneath the grief-stricken willow
I see the stub-my-toe stone, the laughing
gnome, and the dead-as-a-garden-snake
hose I forgot to coil in a threatening

the cremains of the chicken barbeque and
Great Aunt Edie's brilliant birthday pastry
with a million and eighty-one tiny burnt-out
torches; an over-flowing twice-recycled
brown bag full of frosty paper plates filed
helter-skelter A to Z;  six flammable
Japanese lanterns

exploding into shades of red and greenish-
yellow with a hint of hot blue flame;
wadded tissues whispering the phrases
lations, Hap, Birthd and con in silver.

Much ado about nothing, I say, as I fall
headlong into a fully-clothed pool—
stark naked.


Today's LittleNip:

another rejection
they can’t all
have their heads
up their asses

—charles mariano

Charles has a wonderful story about bootlegging on the San Joaquin County Historical Society and Museum blog; see



Phillip Larrea, Gene Avery, Keith Ball, Stan Zumbiel,
Annie Menebroker, Mikey West (w/Eva behind him)
at the recent Poetry With Legs reading at
the Shine Cafe in Sacramento
Photo by Michelle Kunert
[For more photos from the reading, see
Medusa's Facebook page]