Wednesday, October 01, 2014

In the Tower...

Chateau Le Mung, France

—Allegra Silberstein, Davis

In the tower I knew
in the hours of my reflection
the inflections of ardor
printed on the split pages
of my heart...

In the tower I knew
moonlight gracing the dark
dawn light piercing the night

in the tower I knew
a shower of stars,
the light of my knowing.

Across months and years
thoughts of return came
mending, resending
something lost but now
the chateau has been sold.

 Large Tower

—Marchell Dyon Jefferson, Chicago

You brush them aside like the words I love you
You are never serious
Sometimes sign language isn’t enough

No longer excited with burning orange
October lovers are bipolar in nature

We are store-brought mannequins
Masquerading as a couple
Stifled by our world quickly turning brown


—Marchell Dyon Jefferson

Because they are going bad, because there is nothing else,
We take them with salt like sugar
Till something tasty overflows the fronts of our throats.

Together on the fire escape you and I sitting on crates,
We hang our toes between the iron bars;
We enjoy ourselves as our butts waffled.

We snatch and share molding thumbprints,
We peel with our teeth a thin plush layer, a ribbon round
With seed juice frothing from the side of our lips.

Long as we stay crouched in love
Blindsided by bliss,
Really—who notices who’s poor.


—Marchell Dyon Jefferson

Down in the cellar collecting dust and moss
For a purpose saved

Left to congeal
Aspirations in reposed

Dream's coat hanger
Between the self and more tangible things

Jars you mounted
Knitting cobwebs growing fur

Sometimes a mystery tinkling moisture
Sometimes Polaroids of filtered sun

 Mantis on My Window Screen
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

—Marchell Dyon Jefferson

My body flows a red river
I have wings now, uneasy ones
That by accident buzz on and off

I am knee-deep in a religion
I did not ask for

Once I was splendid as a Caterpillar
Now I am unsure of my own jazzy skin

My body flows a red river
I am often bright with color
I am often dull with sun


—Marchell Dyon Jefferson

Mom always wore bright dazzling earrings,
The kind of gold that prisms in the sun
And silver ones that rivaled diamonds.

Although she admired their style
She never wore pierced, just clip-on earrings.

Mom was often meticulous
About choosing which earrings to wear.
To the movies we were often late.
Then I hated those stupid earrings.

When she died I loved them all.
On the kitchen table I laid them all out
And took my time
Choosing for mom just the right pair.

 Jenny Lake, Wyoming
—Photo by Christopher Moon

—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento

       the film of sunset’s smoky peach

       the air filtering between leaves

       a bird’s nest in my backyard tree
       squirrels rustling in the juniper

A neighbor’s gray arthritic cat laps
milk on the backyard porch.  I am
reminded of my old wooden school
house. Large dried leaves taped to
window glass; felt squirrel shapes;
paper snowflakes cut in the out-of-
season: “It never snows in Paso Robles
but maybe once or twice.” A small
robin’s nest is propped near a row of
picture books in the day room. In the
mornings we stood in line near the
kitchen door to receive the communion
cup—a “tiger-milk” concoction of orange
juice, milk and castor oil. Later in the
afternoon, we flopped our rag rugs on the
open floor to nap, maybe to dream…
a horseback ride through the smoky film
of our western skies, to a mountain so big,
and so fearsome…


—Carol Louis Moon

It is now.  We sense the muse, the warmth
on our skin, the light filtering into our
Dickinsonian studios, our desks only
slightly cluttered with enough room for
dictionaries, thesauruses, Atlases-of-Last-
Resorts. An array of exotic writing implements:
quill and ink, bone and blood, stick and ash
laid out before us, inviting the written word.
But make no mistake… to be sure… do not
use these.  Do not stay here, but step away
into the wide wonderful world, un-prepared,
vulnerable.  Begin your composition there.

(first pub. as "The Lunar Lyric", Poetry Now Online, 2012)

 Joshua Tree
—Photo by Christopher Moon

—Carol Louise Moon

A lean coyote chases a hare through
heat of desert winds. His swift doe
darts past my boots.  They’ve both
managed to escape; he’ll lead the chase
another day.

I pause to watch the side-winding viper
who considers a kangaroo rat before
moving on between two century plants
to a rock ledge nearby.   The tidy yellow
rat continues eating seeds, gleaning
moisture, never needing to sip drink
in this dry, yet vibrant, land.

The cactus wren with spotted breast
sits atop a prickly pear. The gilded
flickers’ rosy cheeks and banded wings
are a colorful reminder of the beauty
I find here.   Their long blue tails prop
them upright against a great saguaro—
a hole carved out for nest.

I crunch the tangy bulb of a white
desert lily whose green tendrils curl
upon the ground.   At night our silver
moon illuminates this wondrous
desert scene.


—Carol Louise Moon

Verdant vegetation spills into this
turquoise stream.  There is a bone-deep
longing known by fish who swim upstream.
Vireo sings this longing until evening
as he settles  in.

River rocks record their observations
in waves of surrender, smoothed and
polished.  Trees vibrate their incantations
as listeners-in absorb the subtleties of

The soil of this greening river bank
receives the feet of travelers, cooling
and leading them far along.

Life beneath the vault of heaven
prospers in vitality of sun by day,
vespers in the evening cool.

Ferns of the Forest
—Photo by Christopher Moon

Today's LittleNip:

—Carol Louise Moon

Far off we heard
     the twelfth noon bell
and thrilled at the sound
     that throbbed in our veins—
the gold grain swayed lightly
     as harvest birds carried
the blood and the breath
     of our lives in their wings.


Our thanks to today's gourmet chefs for their tasty contributions to our Kitchen! A big welcome back to Marchell Dyon Jefferson, who was featured in the Kitchen on May 1 of this year. Christopher Moon and Carol Louise Moon are brother and sister; she is known around here as the editor of DADs DESK and Poetry Now, and more of Chris's and Carol Louise's work can be seen at

Medusa's Facebook page has a new photo album today, this one of last Saturdays' Sacramento Voices 2014 reading from Michelle Kunert. Check it out, and thanks, Michelle (love your praying mantis!).

And recently frank andrick sent an email around, talking about how he had discovered that the chateau he lived in while he was in France was for sale and has now sold. frank writes: my old house ... Chateau Le Mung ...  big tower was finished in 1301, my tower finished in 1540. Former Knights Templar preceptorie, stables, chapel, pigeonaire, 16 bedrooms, 18 fireplaces, 26 acres riverside property, 4 massive salon rooms with some walls tapestries dating back to 1380 ...  and so many stories and histories. This is what almost 2 million dollars will get you for a house in France! It was a great place to live and dream, great place to write and be inspired to write. Allegra Silberstein was inspired by his story and sent the poem about the chateau that you see here today. Thanks, Allegra and frank!



frank's Tower