—Ann Privateer, Davis, CA
AN ISSUE OF EYEBROWS
—Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
Then there’s the issue of eyebrows.
When I think of eyebrows,
and I often do,
I think of the Persians,
the beautiful Persian women
of history book art.
There are other women,
Asian—gorgeous—
brows painted over each eye.
And, of course, the natural look
of Polynesians.
At this point, let’s not mention
Frida K, whether or not
her visage totally blended
into one large unibrow.
This is topic for another day.
Please, not today,
as if you think I need clarification
on some aspect of my personality.
I would not allow a unibrow
on these, my facial features.
I used to pluck my brows until
what remained was a thin arch,
an arc penciled darker
to appear thinner.
There’s a thin line between love and hate.
I hated those anorexic brows.
Is that so wrong of me?
____________________
HEN HOUSE CONSIDERATIONS
—Carol Louise Mooon
In hen house light there shines a single beam.
I sleepwalk—not so sure this is a dream.
I hear the soft, low clucking that is
sound of meditating chickens in this
den of peaceful souls. They themselves
produce a product counted by the twelves,
with each egg laid in hay with gentle ease.
I steal within the dawn light to appease
my appetite for scrambled eggs, a scone,
at breakfast table gazing at the field.
I’m grateful for the hens, their daily yield.
When thinking of the hens I think I should
provide symphonic music for their good.
—Anonymous Photo
SONNETELLA FOR A FLY
—Carol Louise Moon
I’d rather it was summer than in fall.
I’d rather it was June, instead of May.
What interests me is following his scrawl.
Of course, I want to see if he will stay
or, two o’clock, get up and take his leave.
To me, it doesn’t matter, either way.
I notice when he lights upon my sleeve,
he quickly moves to cookies on the tray.
When he flits he dives into the hall.
I follow where he trails across the wall.
_________________
SONNETELLA FOR A GOAT
—Carol Louise Moon
The day seemed rather quiet, not a sound.
I stepped outside to watch a goat pass by,
the focus of his vision toward the ground.
I sensed that he was lonely, even shy,
for as he trod his head hung really low.
I asked him if he’d join me for some tea;
it seemed he had to other place to go.
If chamomile was to his taste, ‘twas free.
I insisted he wash up and wear a blouse—
indignant, he got up and left the house.
Rear View Mirror
—Photo by Ann Privateer
BOUND
—Ann Privateer
Followed into the parking lot
he hurls insults at me
I try to disengage
praise his virtues
recall our companionship
with wine.
I lock the car
focus on a lottery
ticket while he
continues to yell.
The engine hums.
I back up, wave
try to save
the poorly parked
day, too much
allegro!
—Photo by Ann Privateer
WHAT DEGREE
—Ann Privateer
Love, love, love—
a bushel and a peck
not enough to stop
storms of hate
of things that go bang
jealous, lost.
Love upgrades
trios of snobs
lost accolades
finish last
nurtured youth
lost, lost, lost—
wanting to win!
_______________
THE PROTÉGÉ
—Ann Privateer
the way the kitchen chair
slid across the floor
trying to be silent
worried I might jar
some ones nerves
wanting a pat
getting a sneer
years ago in my youth
parceling success
with intrepidness
while undercurrents
of excitement sounded war.
Now I worry the pen
will run dry.
Arizona Sunset
—Photo by Sue Crisp, Shingle Springs, CA
PASSION’S PATIENTS
—Sue Crisp
This was my passion:
to come to Arizona,
to explore its culture
and heritage. To view
the Sunset's Splendor.
This was my passion.
Days of sunshine,
a warming trend.
Then a changing
weather sent clouds,
grey skies and mist.
No longer did my eves
of Sunsets exist. I need
days of sunshine.
I wait patiently
for new weather to
appear. Bring back
rays of sunny days.
Only then will the Sunsets return, as
I wait patiently.
______________________
EMPTY SPACES
—Sue Crisp
There's a lot of different types of empty spaces.
Empty spaces where forests used to flourish.
Empty nests that wildlife used to call home.
Ghost town filled with abandoned buildings, now
decaying, empty of the prosperity they once knew.
Closer to home, empty spaces in a closet, drawers.
Desk, now that the once-upon-a-time occupant lived,
abandoned, for college and life on the freedom trail.
An empty space in the old doghouse, where your favorite
German Shepard once lived.
Your husband's side of the bed, now an empty space, and
the quiet of his now-gone presence, an empty space in
your heart.
—Anonymous Photo of Artist Wendy White at Work
PLEASE SIT STILL
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
(Response to Joyce Odam’s
Kitchen feast of 1/23/18)
The artist poses
Like a sniper
Her easel positioned
To allow the best angle
To capture the picture
She politely asks the
Subject to sit still
And in this case
The sun cannot move either
For she is painting a shadow
Any tiny change in
The angle that light
Boldly approaches and
Misses the subject
Will ruin this session
Exhaust tireless dancers
Make the Tango a nogo
Lose a slipper at midnight
Impound the royal carriage
Make motherhood less understood
No!! The world must freeze
In place while the brush
Picks up oil and the eyes
Envision a masterpiece
There is no shutter speed
Only shudder speed
If the subject squirms
Or the wrist gets sore
Or the next artist arrives
And pulls down the shades
—Anonymous Photo
I’M VERY SMART, BELIEVE ME
—Caschwa
The very, very proud
Been-there-done-that
Foresail of a ketch
Could read the wind
Like a newspaper
And navigate to
Anywhere in the world
Suddenly it was elevated
Mast and all
Like a bare-root tree
And transplanted to
A 610-foot, 15,000-ton
United States Navy
Destroyer
No problem, said the sail,
I can handle this
And its first act on
The behemoth destroyer
Was to recruit the other
Sails from the ketch
Forming an unbeatable team
Now the very smart sail
Answers challenges with
Rare pearls of wisdom, like
“It’s very complicated, who knew?”
While insisting all hands
Salute this wind-blown fabric
As the best in the world
_______________
A FOGGY MEMORY
—Caschwa
High school senior
Some 50 years ago
Setting out on a day
That would be the first day
Of many more first days
Motorcycle, helmet, gloves
Boots, heavy coat, glasses
The usual coastal morning fog
Destination: college entrance exam
The trip was uneventful at first
Until the fog put the glasses
Entirely under water, essentially
re-writing the prescription to
Continue with glasses off
Arrived just fine
Tested just fine
Passed
High school graduate
Awakening from coma
Experts said the mind
Blocks memories that traumatic
Started college on crutches
New glasses, old friends
Arrived and tested just fine
Passed
Below and Above
—Photo by Sue Crisp
Today’s LittleNip:
BELOW AND ABOVE
—Sue Crisp
Sea foam spreads the shore,
overhead
raucous seagulls swirl.
_________________
Many thanks to today’s fine contributors: Foothill poet Sue Crisp who is in Yuma, AZ for a few months; Davis poet Ann Privateer (who spends lots of time in Paris); Caschwa (Carl Schwartz), who says, “With fake news so common now, people are beginning to question the verity of their own birth certificates.” And congratulations to Carol Louise Moon, who just returned from Maui, where she says she “returned with a ring on her finger”. Carol Louise has moved to Placerville, where she resides on ten acres with partner John, a builder of harps.
Deadline for submissions for The Poeming Pigeon (theme: Poetry from the News) is this coming Weds., Jan. 31. See www.thepoetrybox.com/ThePoemingPigeon.html#opencalls/.
For "Parables About Chickens", go to subversify.com/2017/04/10/parables-about-chickens/.
Poetry readings in our area begin tonight at Sac. Poetry Center, 7:30pm, with the UndocuFund fundraiser, featuring Maya Khosla, JoAnn Anglin, and Patrick Grizzell. Thursday will feature The Love Jones “Best Love Poem” Competition down in Old Sac., 8:30pm, or head over to Davis to hear Troy Jollimore and Heather Altfeld (plus open mic) at John Natsoulas Gallery, 8pm. Friday at 6pm, there will be a book release for Connie Gutowsky’s new book, Lift, at Sac. Poetry Center. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa
Medusa Graffiti, San Francisco
For more SF graffiti, go to ny2rio.com/?p=979/.
Celebrate poetry in any form!
Celebrate poetry in any form!
Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.
