Thursday, March 05, 2020

My Temporary Home

—Poems by Sue Crisp, Shingle Springs, CA
—Public Domain Graphics Courtesy of Sue Crisp


Misty moon-glow as the gibbous
moon moves skyward through a
haze of wispy clouds.

Tentacles of light seep through
forest foliage casting filtered
shadow and light.

Wind whispers in the pines,
prepare for nightfall.  That
quiet time before darkness.

Snapping twigs, rustling leaves,
as woodland day foragers move
toward nesting spaces.

Nighttime eyes appear in the
glow of the moon, as nature’s
nocturnal wanderers wake.

A rhyme-set by seasonal flows.
Patterns of forest life’s

Rituals of preparation for night,
the burrowing and nesting.  The
sound of gold-eyed owl wings in flight.


She limped, drug one wing,
made as sound as if in pain.
All just a masquerade, a lure,
to pull the predator away from
her gravel nest of new chicks.

The killdeer continues her
struggle to a grassy patch of
the shoreline, suddenly recovers,
bursts into flight.  Her injury
all a masquerade of survival.


My chrysalis is only my temporary home.
Perhaps one day I will be a dragonfly.
In my darkness, I cannot hear, see, taste, touch or smell.
I would like to see or free myself as a dragonfly.

You can see my chrysalis hanging from a tree branch in the garden.
Maybe a dragonfly is not what I really want to be,
however, it seems it would be thrilling and exciting,
a real challenge.
Some say my pre-morph habits are destructive.
Not so.
Morphing is the scariest part of my change, yet I feel the growing hunger for it.
Many emerging at the same time could offset its intended natural value, but
living a longer insect life would be ideal.
My companions would enjoy this new evolution.
My emergence with others will benefit natural pollination;
for now, my chrysalis is a beautiful cloak hiding me safely.
I know I will be a good nature’s host, even if not in the body of my choice.
I will take what is to be given.
My fellow emerging butterflies tell me my chrysalis is only my temporary home.




A whisper brush of wing
against a century-old glass pane.
You know that it’s that fluttering nighttime thing.
The Fledermaus is home to roost again.

Seasonal annual roost, our home,
pups skitter and squeak night and day.
The scent of guano is never far away.
Concessions to bug-free outdoor spaces.

Granted, there are disadvantages.
Streaked windows and guano litter.
Squeak and skitter soon become a tranquil sound, like
a whisper brush of wing.

After “Palermo” by Billy Collins

The song the squirrel had taught me how to sing
was one of indecision.  Displays in the store-
glass window had caught his attention as he
stood on his hind legs, tiny paws pressed to
the glass, to peruse its interior contents.

You could almost see the longing on his
grey-furred face to capture just one item
to be his own for his park tree dray.  The
dangers of the busy street were dramatic,
but his longing gave him courage as he
sang his chatter of despair.

He carefully gauged his timing of traffic
flow for his sprint across the busy road
to the city park.  Safe, he still gazed at
the storefront and its forbidden treasures.
My heart sang his song of despair.     


(In the Garden, In Her Bonnet, 2/29/20)  

In her garden, in her bonnet,
she takes quiet view of what
she has created.  The flowers,
herbs, a vegetable or two.

Now the hunt for ailing plants,
weeds, an unwanted bug a threat
to you.

Her hands caress her flowers.  She
speaks in low tones of encouragement
to her new plantings.  Her state of
calm and encouragement sends her

I am here for you, your guardian.
Only nature can keep you from being
the best you can be.


Today's LittleNip:

If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.

—Marcus Tullius Cicero


Welcome back to Sue Crisp! And many thanks to her for her poems and pix as she writes about some recent Seeds of the Week: Just a Masquerade, and In the Garden, In Her Bonnet. Join us on Friday for more of Sue’s work, this time in forms.

Tonight in Sacramento, Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe & Juice Bar will present featured readers and open mic, 1414 16th St., 8pm. And in Davis, Izzy Lala and Lauren Frausto will read at Poetry Night at the John Natsoulas Gallery on 1st St., 8pm. 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.

To hear Billy Collins’ “Palermo”, go to



 Squirrel Stops Traffic So He Can Cross
—Public Domain Photo

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.