OSTIN BUCKMAN MOON, SR.
(my father)
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
He was always my father
this wonderful muscular man,
but he wasn’t always from New York.
He was only from New York since the war,
this traveler.
He was in France during
the war as a medic, this medically
knowledgeable person.
I knew him from the time I was born.
In his bed he would throw me into
the air and balance me on his knees
until I laughed.
He had a wonderful
sense of humor, this jovial guy.
He was a magician in my school days,
this tricky beer-bellied man.
Coins disappeared and reappeared;
days of mystery and wonder.
I knew him and loved him, and held
his unsteady hand on the day he died…
this peaceful man, this Wonderful.
________________________
MY FATHER WAS A BARITONE:
he waltzed me to sleep
when I was a few weeks old,
sang me to sleep
when I was in grade school.
At night, beside a mountain fire,
he told stories about constellations
beyond the rising sparks.
He named the wildflowers
and the twelve winds.
Life was a melody―
my father was a baritone.
he waltzed me to sleep
when I was a few weeks old,
sang me to sleep
when I was in grade school.
At night, beside a mountain fire,
he told stories about constellations
beyond the rising sparks.
He named the wildflowers
and the twelve winds.
Life was a melody―
my father was a baritone.
—Katy Brown, Davis
_________________________
GRAVESIDE
—Kim Clyde
—Kim Clyde
3 shots rang out
over his
flag draped
box.
In a fit of giggles
I remembered
how he teased
his nurse;
“still painting my toenails later?”
and wondered
what color
he chose to wear
for eternity.
________________________
1979
—Kim Clyde, Sacramento
He loved his bourbon
but it betrayed him in the end.
In his coffin
I did not recognize
the laughing man
who always wore
chinos and
a white v-neck tee
dressed in
a nightmare
baby-blue tux
and
ruffled shirt.
________________________
AUGIE IN ONE JULY
—Michael Cluff, Corona
Dad and I
plus younger brother Tom
would take some time
apart from Mama
and go try to break
glass in the abandoned drive-in
just south of the tin boxes
we were temporarily forced into
by weather and woe.
It was a mute sport
under the arid Arizona sky
a twilight enterprise
with no real point.
Dad would always win
since sharing was not
his strong point
but at seven
that was old hat
although breaking
a bottle
of clarity, green
or marine blue
sometimes carried on
ever too long
until...
even the reptile mind
got frustrated
in corona-red evenings
before what should have been
left out in the weeds and speakers
got returned back home
bruised but
intact.
______________________
Today's LittleNip:
Son, brother, father, lover, friend. There is room in
the heart for all the affections, as there is room in heaven for all
the stars.
—Victor Hugo
_____________________
—Medusa
