—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
—Katy Brown
I’m forgetting the common names for things—
the proper name for blue Nile lilies:
agapanthus sounds like angry panthers.
My eyesight isn’t what it was, either.
The newspaper type is getting smaller; yet
I see more bullying and cruelty in the world.
My daughter complains that I can’t hear;
the volume has to be rock-concert high now.
(Tragus is the fleshy part in front of the ear opening.)
********
Tragus is the fleshy part in front of the ear opening.
My eyesight isn’t what it was, either.
The volume has to be rock-concert high now.
My daughter complains that I can’t hear:
Agapanthus sounds like angry panthers —
the proper name for blue Nile lilies.
I’m forgetting the common names for things.
The newspaper type is getting smaller, yet,
I see more bullying and cruelty in the world.
********
I see more bullying and cruelty in the world;
my daughter complains that I can’t hear
(my eyesight isn’t what it was, either).
The newspaper type is getting smaller, yet.
The proper name for blue Nile lilies,
agapanthus, sounds like angry panthers.
The volume has to be rock-concert high now.
I’m forgetting the common names for things:
tragus is the fleshy part of the ear opening.
_____________________
A COMMON LANGUAGE
—Katy Brown
We were lost for so long before this;
each of us following meandering paths
through wastelands strewn with bones.
It seems like years that we’ve been together,
working the rigging on a gallant ship,
navigating by stars we each have christened.
We’ve made landfall and set up camp—
huddled on the beach by firelight,
tucked under arms, entwined:
a familiar tangle of bodies and thoughts.
We merge with one another.
Migrating swans follow our progress.
Words pass between us like bread.
They say that language dies
with the last speaker of it.
Language dies before then: words and
syntax slip away— lost, the term for snow,
or owl, or loneliness—
when no one remains to whisper your name.
What would have become of me
had I not been found?
_____________________
THE MERCY BIRDS
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento
The birds fly over this disconnected world.
There is a map in the air
but no candles for the windows.
Time represents our confusion:
how can the birds save us?
Symbols are failing to be truth.
Still, we watch with hope and fear
we are ever at the mercy of . . .
what will become of us . . .
***
oh, what will become of us:
time represents our confusion
that we are ever at the mercy of.
Still, we watch—with hope—and fear,
with no candles for the windows.
There is a map in the air
and birds fly over this disconnected world,
but how can the birds save us
when symbols are failing to be truth—
***
symbols—failing to be truth—
yet we watch, with hope and fear.
Time represents our confusion:
how can the birds save us?
There is a map in the air,
but no candles for the windows.
We are ever ‘at-the-mercy-of’ . . .
and birds fly over this disconnected world.
What will become of us?
_____________________
EUCALYPTUS IN THE VALLEY
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
Eucalyptus… the old man.
The old man… eucalyptus.
I can’t make up my mind.
Look at the shape of him.
What do you see,
eucalyptus… or… old man?
Well, of course, you see a
eucalyptus! What else
do you see? Can’t you see
an old man in the shape of him?
Not that old man out in the
field. Let’s walk away farther.
Now? Smell him; he even smells
nice in the arm pits, don’t he?
Just like my grandfather.
I’m gonna call this tree
Grandfather Eucalyptus.
_____________________
VALLEY GIANT
—Carol Louise Moon
That hillside here in the valley
with soil erosion looks like
the Giant gouged it out
with four fingers,
quite unhappy with
the crop dusting planes.
That last go-round
got him so choked up with
crop dust, plus tripping on
a whole stack of irrigation pipes
sent him landing the valley down
ten feet deeper.
You can see where the farmers
have dragged his body away,
and that last rain has left a
shallow lake.
_____________________
SALINAS VALLEY PATCHWORK
—Carol Louise Moon
These vetchers did such a
good job with their straight lines
and little fence posts sticking up.
And the vintners have strung
narrow black plastic piping and
wires that run in straight lines.
Very young vine plants sit
patiently in rows waiting for water
to sprinkle on them while the
sun shines.
A lovely Salinas Valley patchwork
quilt with browns and greens
and little white patches all sewn
together can be seen from this
small plane view.
A whole mess of crows flying over
looks like someone peppering
a king-sized quilt with ground-up
pepper corns. But… I don’t know
why someone would do that.
_____________________
Today's LittleNip:
GARDEN
—D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove
Focus shifts so easily.
This morning
I was looking at an iris, newly opened.
It seemed the most beautiful of things.
Now I look up to see you walking into
The garden.
It seems the most beautiful of things.
____________________
—Medusa
Happy Birthday, Katy Brown and Steph Schaefer!
—Photo by Katy Brown
For more of Katy's ballerina pictures, see
the Medusa's Kitchen page on Facebook.