Dry Dock
—Photo by Taylor Graham, Placerville
—Photo by Taylor Graham, Placerville
FLAT FEET
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
My feet are flat fish,
halibuts, I'd say
when time comes for the telling.
The smell's not what it's worth,
the dog knows that—
—Carol Louise Moon, Sacramento
My feet are flat fish,
halibuts, I'd say
when time comes for the telling.
The smell's not what it's worth,
the dog knows that—
his nose and all.
The dog knows that
the smell's not what it's worth
when time comes for the telling.
Halibuts, I'd say.
My feet are flat fish.
_____________________
MISSIVE
—Carol Louise Moon
Mister Lover Man: Times have
misshapened memories. I've
misplaced your photo, often
mispronounced your middle name,
misspelled your wrong address and
mismanaged my emotions...
Misty-eyed... I'm missing you.
______________________
SPHYGMO
—Carol Louise Moon
Sphery moon on northern bog.
Sphagnum working overtime.
Sphynx Moth moves within a grand
sphere of season's influence.
Spherule eyes gazing, keeps his
sphygmic pulse on time, poised with
sphenic wings arched overhead.
______________________
THRESHOLD
—Carol Louise Moon
Thursday Theme: the three graces,
three-fold talent through and through.
Thick thermometry and a
thoroughfare of theatrics
thoughtfully thickens. The Thief,
the Thinker and Thyself, a
thimble of theology.
(first pub. in BREVITIES)
The dog knows that
the smell's not what it's worth
when time comes for the telling.
Halibuts, I'd say.
My feet are flat fish.
_____________________
MISSIVE
—Carol Louise Moon
Mister Lover Man: Times have
misshapened memories. I've
misplaced your photo, often
mispronounced your middle name,
misspelled your wrong address and
mismanaged my emotions...
Misty-eyed... I'm missing you.
______________________
SPHYGMO
—Carol Louise Moon
Sphery moon on northern bog.
Sphagnum working overtime.
Sphynx Moth moves within a grand
sphere of season's influence.
Spherule eyes gazing, keeps his
sphygmic pulse on time, poised with
sphenic wings arched overhead.
______________________
THRESHOLD
—Carol Louise Moon
Thursday Theme: the three graces,
three-fold talent through and through.
Thick thermometry and a
thoroughfare of theatrics
thoughtfully thickens. The Thief,
the Thinker and Thyself, a
thimble of theology.
(first pub. in BREVITIES)
—Photo by Taylor Graham
SILHOUETTES
—Olga Blu Browne, Sacramento
I, born of shadows and silhouettes and
secrets in the wind.
Anonymous is my name, I'm fire, my
heart is ice.
I'm called beauty, but you, you will
call me desire.
_______________________
GARDEN OF SHADOWS
—Olga Blu Browne, Sacramento
I, born of shadows and silhouettes and
secrets in the wind.
Anonymous is my name, I'm fire, my
heart is ice.
I'm called beauty, but you, you will
call me desire.
_______________________
GARDEN OF SHADOWS
—Olga Blu Browne
Secrets in solitary places
like memories wrapped in
white paper
Freeing what waits within
and all that's never been spoken
Where hope is like petals in the
wind in a garden of shadows.
______________________
A POET'S TONGUE
Secrets in solitary places
like memories wrapped in
white paper
Freeing what waits within
and all that's never been spoken
Where hope is like petals in the
wind in a garden of shadows.
______________________
A POET'S TONGUE
—Olga Blu Browne
With words that bleed poetry
whispered in a poet's tongue,
She writes of gestures of grace
and echoes of pain.
Caught between memory and
experience, kept alive by words.
Words that bleed poetry, whispered
in a poets tongue.
_____________________
SILENCE IS SACRED
With words that bleed poetry
whispered in a poet's tongue,
She writes of gestures of grace
and echoes of pain.
Caught between memory and
experience, kept alive by words.
Words that bleed poetry, whispered
in a poets tongue.
_____________________
SILENCE IS SACRED
—Olga Blu Browne
Speak softly in my presence, where
silence is sacred, and memories echo.
There I pen my poetry on ivory
paper.
Weeping words of nothingness lost,
Like the phantom of your essence.
____________________
ENDLESS
Speak softly in my presence, where
silence is sacred, and memories echo.
There I pen my poetry on ivory
paper.
Weeping words of nothingness lost,
Like the phantom of your essence.
____________________
ENDLESS
—Olga Blu Browne
Welcome the silence, and the
stillness of quiet.
To write in solitude is the entity
of pure poetry.
A comfortable silence where
memories are endless.
_____________________
POET'S MIND
Welcome the silence, and the
stillness of quiet.
To write in solitude is the entity
of pure poetry.
A comfortable silence where
memories are endless.
_____________________
POET'S MIND
—Olga Blu Browne
An unwritten poem is a shadow
on the edge of a poet's mind
Where rocks weep with memory
and echoes have shape.
Without pen, poetry sound is
silent.
_____________________
GLASS HEARTS
An unwritten poem is a shadow
on the edge of a poet's mind
Where rocks weep with memory
and echoes have shape.
Without pen, poetry sound is
silent.
_____________________
GLASS HEARTS
—Olga Blu Browne
Memory by memory harmonizing
soul and self,
understanding the tone of
yesterday.
Whispers remain an entity of
sound, silence sings its song.
Glass hearts wait to be listened
to, as time loses its design.
Memory by memory harmonizing
soul and self,
understanding the tone of
yesterday.
Whispers remain an entity of
sound, silence sings its song.
Glass hearts wait to be listened
to, as time loses its design.
______________________
Thanks to today's poets, and to Taylor Graham and Michelle Kunert for today's photos. Carol Louise Moon is a fan of Pleides poems (and fish) and is the editor of DADs DESK, Sacramento's only large-print poetry journal. It's available at The Book Collector. Olga Blu Browne writes that she's a resident of Sac, where I have attended poetry workshops with Joyce Odam and Norma Kohout at the Hart Senior Center for 3 years now. Many of my works have appeared in [Joyce Odam's journal] BREVITIES or DADs DESK. I also attend Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe every Thursday.
About her photos, Taylor Graham says: I'm probably the only one fascinated by how dock (the rust-red "weed" in our fields) looks like an artist did a dry-brush effect over dead grass.
And be sure to check out Medusa's most recent Facebook album by Michelle Kunert: Last Monday at SPC.
______________________
Today's LittleNip:
FORECAST UNCERTAIN
—Taylor Graham
The sky's unbreakable, a blue gem.
According to the records, drought or flood.
But will it ever rain again?
We leave our prints in either dust or mud.
The sky's unbreakable, a blue gem.
According to the records, drought or flood.
But will it ever rain again?
We leave our prints in either dust or mud.
______________________
—Medusa
Black Irish Band at Union Pacific Railroad's
150-year Celebration in Old Sacramento
September, 2012
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
150-year Celebration in Old Sacramento
September, 2012
—Photo by Michelle Kunert