—Poetry by Linda Klein, Los Angeles, CA
—Public Domain Illustrations
RUBY RING
A red ruby cut to reveal a burst of light in its facets,
I peer deep into pools of dark, clear claret,
shimmering in sunshine and nested
in the welcoming prongs of a rose-gold ring.
The young girl waves her soft, graceful fingers in the air.
The ruby glistens as though it would take flight if it could.
Having noticed me admiring the rich, red stone,
she brushes aside her loose, strawberry blonde hair,
and with a smile offers the ring for my inspection.
Again I am lost in the depth and glow
of this hearty wine-colored jewel,
at once ablaze with a warm flash of fire.
The girl twists the ring off and hands it to me.
I look at her in disbelief, but slip it on excitedly.
Its brilliance glimmers through prisms of light.
The ruby is my birthstone, I tell her,
yet I never owned one.
You must have it, she calls back to me and
flees before I am able to protest her generosity,
her red hair flouncing as she runs.
The ruby ring is mine now.
How will it change me?
A red ruby cut to reveal a burst of light in its facets,
I peer deep into pools of dark, clear claret,
shimmering in sunshine and nested
in the welcoming prongs of a rose-gold ring.
The young girl waves her soft, graceful fingers in the air.
The ruby glistens as though it would take flight if it could.
Having noticed me admiring the rich, red stone,
she brushes aside her loose, strawberry blonde hair,
and with a smile offers the ring for my inspection.
Again I am lost in the depth and glow
of this hearty wine-colored jewel,
at once ablaze with a warm flash of fire.
The girl twists the ring off and hands it to me.
I look at her in disbelief, but slip it on excitedly.
Its brilliance glimmers through prisms of light.
The ruby is my birthstone, I tell her,
yet I never owned one.
You must have it, she calls back to me and
flees before I am able to protest her generosity,
her red hair flouncing as she runs.
The ruby ring is mine now.
How will it change me?
SCABS
My daddy was a loyal union man.
During labor strikes he'd come home late, with no pay.
He marched to help his brothers get better treatment and fair wages.
Some days he'd walk for hours holding up a heavy sign.
He made up for the ones who were called scabs,
who went to work crossing picket lines,
and jeered at those who fought for benefits even they enjoyed.
In daddy's shop some of the men were rough.
Their anger at the scabs festered and grew stronger,
till one summer day there broke a bloody battle
in the sweltering streets of New York City.
Daddy, who had always been a peaceful man,
tried to avoid the violence, but was soon pulled in.
Mommy and I went to fetch him from the clinic.
His swollen eyes and face frightened me.
Deep scratches and bruises covered his face, arms, and hands.
What scared me most was that he looked so sad.
I touched a crusty reddish-purple gash on his cheek,
wondering if it would heal or scar.
They call that dry, ugly crust a scab.
My daddy was a loyal union man.
During labor strikes he'd come home late, with no pay.
He marched to help his brothers get better treatment and fair wages.
Some days he'd walk for hours holding up a heavy sign.
He made up for the ones who were called scabs,
who went to work crossing picket lines,
and jeered at those who fought for benefits even they enjoyed.
In daddy's shop some of the men were rough.
Their anger at the scabs festered and grew stronger,
till one summer day there broke a bloody battle
in the sweltering streets of New York City.
Daddy, who had always been a peaceful man,
tried to avoid the violence, but was soon pulled in.
Mommy and I went to fetch him from the clinic.
His swollen eyes and face frightened me.
Deep scratches and bruises covered his face, arms, and hands.
What scared me most was that he looked so sad.
I touched a crusty reddish-purple gash on his cheek,
wondering if it would heal or scar.
They call that dry, ugly crust a scab.
EYES THE COLOR OF A HAZELNUT TREE
Mama's eyes were hazel,
not brown, not green, but both,
with flecks of gold and specks of black
flashing like sparks from a campfire
on a warm, dark night.
They changed with her mood and the weather,
always highlighting her reddish brown hair.
The only hazel eyes in our family,
we regarded them as gems,
both precious and rare.
Mama's eyes were hazel,
not brown, not green, but both,
with flecks of gold and specks of black
flashing like sparks from a campfire
on a warm, dark night.
They changed with her mood and the weather,
always highlighting her reddish brown hair.
The only hazel eyes in our family,
we regarded them as gems,
both precious and rare.
SLEEPOVER
A mermaid asked her seahorse friend
if he'd like to spend the night.
They dined on seaweed fronds
and fragrant water lily bites.
After a spirited jellyfish toss,
they lay down on soft grotto moss.
Cuddled together in her watery bed,
they contentedly fell asleep,
dreaming with wonder that they had wed,
their slumber, mystical and deep.
Her dreams were pearly bubbles floating out of reach,
and his, coral laurels, that formed a crown for each.
Pleasure reflected in their angelic faces.
Warmth and love embodied their tender embraces.
A mermaid asked her seahorse friend
if he'd like to spend the night.
They dined on seaweed fronds
and fragrant water lily bites.
After a spirited jellyfish toss,
they lay down on soft grotto moss.
Cuddled together in her watery bed,
they contentedly fell asleep,
dreaming with wonder that they had wed,
their slumber, mystical and deep.
Her dreams were pearly bubbles floating out of reach,
and his, coral laurels, that formed a crown for each.
Pleasure reflected in their angelic faces.
Warmth and love embodied their tender embraces.
Today’s LittleNip:
THE SEAHORSE
—Linda Klein
The seahorse bobs to get about.
He can neither swim nor gallop.
Propelled upon his spiral tail,
He's much grander than a scallop,
He wears a spiny crown and mane.
He winks a wall-like eye,
upsetting lazy jellyfish
each time he pogos by.
______________________
—Medusa, thanking Linda Klein for her fine poetry today as we daydream about mermaids and seahorses—the stallions of the sea!
And don't forget to make your clocks "fall back" for the end of Daylight Savings Time!
For “Six Things You Didn’t Know
About the Seahorse”, see
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.
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