—Poetry by Linda Klein, Playa Vista, CA
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
CONSPIRATORS
We would sneak away
in the middle of the night
telling no one we were leaving
or where we were going.
You would drive from your house
to pick me up on the furthest side
from where my parents sleep.
Off we would go into the night.
In the morning mom would call me
to come down for breakfast.
When I didn't come down,
she would angrily march upstairs.
Seeing my bed still made,
She would scream to my dad.
"Phil, she's gone!" The two of them
would stand together staring.
She would cry and say,
"What should we do?"
Dad's face would become
berry-red, "That boy! I'll kill him!"
Jerry and I knew we would never
do that, but we laughed because
it was fun to think about.
We had a plan, just in case.
We would sneak away
in the middle of the night
telling no one we were leaving
or where we were going.
You would drive from your house
to pick me up on the furthest side
from where my parents sleep.
Off we would go into the night.
In the morning mom would call me
to come down for breakfast.
When I didn't come down,
she would angrily march upstairs.
Seeing my bed still made,
She would scream to my dad.
"Phil, she's gone!" The two of them
would stand together staring.
She would cry and say,
"What should we do?"
Dad's face would become
berry-red, "That boy! I'll kill him!"
Jerry and I knew we would never
do that, but we laughed because
it was fun to think about.
We had a plan, just in case.
THE MARRIAGE OF MUSIC AND COLOR
When they met, they knew at once
their union was meant to be.
Music for the ears to hear,
color for the eyes to see,
a blend that pleased all living things,
a mingling that tingled the senses.
Every note brought shade and color.
Together they were ecstasy.
A PLACE
I went to a place last night
where memories linger, shadows creep,
and dark mingles with light,
a place called sleep.
I lay on a bed of moss,
alone in a forest of loss.
I listened as the rain came in,
beads of water splattered,
glistening on my skin.
I slept on. It didn't seem to matter.
I went to a place last night
where memories linger, shadows creep,
and dark mingles with light,
a place called sleep.
I lay on a bed of moss,
alone in a forest of loss.
I listened as the rain came in,
beads of water splattered,
glistening on my skin.
I slept on. It didn't seem to matter.
A SENSE OF CALM
I know that I am part of nature.
I immerse myself in it all,
find my place and participate.
I feel air flowing on my skin,
and through my hair, breathe it in
under the warmth of the sun.
Clouds melt in the sky.
Waves dissolve in oceans.
I am the sky and the ocean.
I share our Earth with other forms.
They are all familiar siblings.
I love and commune with them
and feel a sense of calm.
I know that I am part of nature.
I immerse myself in it all,
find my place and participate.
I feel air flowing on my skin,
and through my hair, breathe it in
under the warmth of the sun.
Clouds melt in the sky.
Waves dissolve in oceans.
I am the sky and the ocean.
I share our Earth with other forms.
They are all familiar siblings.
I love and commune with them
and feel a sense of calm.
BONZAI, A BATTLE CRY
A small old man rose
from the ground
with a fearless ram
clinging to his torso.
Leaves held in his hands
were stars to grant wishes.
His only wish was
to stand on both legs.
When he finally did so,
with his feet planted firmly,
he shouted out to heaven,
"Bonzai!"
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.
—John Muir
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Linda Klein for today’s fine poetry! And a reminder that tonight, Anthony Robles will host the final open mic of 2022 at Joe Montoya’s Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento, 8pm.
A small old man rose
from the ground
with a fearless ram
clinging to his torso.
Leaves held in his hands
were stars to grant wishes.
His only wish was
to stand on both legs.
When he finally did so,
with his feet planted firmly,
he shouted out to heaven,
"Bonzai!"
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.
—John Muir
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Linda Klein for today’s fine poetry! And a reminder that tonight, Anthony Robles will host the final open mic of 2022 at Joe Montoya’s Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe in Sacramento, 8pm.
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
