Wednesday, February 20, 2019

Dreams Unfolding

5 AM Moon
—Photo by Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
—Poems by Carol Louise Moon


The stillness of a full moon,
chill poise of dreamscape,
and the sound of a fan stirring
air muffles terse conversation...

We lie in our rooms of pink
for me and blue for you.
We need light for comfort, but
we shiver in darkness.

What can be heard from our
rooms that the stillness of
the moon does not witness in
its quiet begging of perfection? 

 Heart Candle
—Photo by Carol Louise Moon


I knew that I would love you
when I saw you lying there
beneath the color blue:
two black eyes—raven hair.

When I saw you lying there
I gazed into your eyes,
two black eyes—raven hair
so soft.  I heard your cries.

I gazed into your eyes
again by candle light
so soft.  Hearing your cries,
I held you through the night.

Again by candle light,
beneath the color blue
I held you through the night.
I knew that I would love you.



There he stands, small—
a shiny black dog silhouette
on striped brown planks
of house deck;
his pearl black eyes
gleaming in moonlight.

He has eaten his fill—
his long-stick legs still
supporting his belly,

His cropped sausage tail
points to a constellation—
a gathering of stars
he cannot see due to mist
surrounding the moon.

“Look at me,” the moon invites.
“Yes,” the min-pin whines—
then, “No,” he whimpers.
It’s the shiny buck in the field
he seeks as his companion.

—Photo by Carol Louise Moon


He pushes his broom
all the way to doomsday,
not wanting to discuss
the filing of paperwork
along the way.

He knows the plastic trash,
cardboard, and coupons
carelessly discarded—
all that is disgusting about
this supermarket—
will follow him.

He rests his mop against
the break room table,
waiting for the meltdown
of an iceberg.

 Push Broom
—Photo by Carol Louise Moon


Her suitor, a tired old man
in no mood for dancing,
sits as he is on rattan.
His woman waves a hanky
as she sallies up to his gray face.
He chooses to ignore her.

Standing as he is near rattan
chair, a man impatiently taps
his patent-leather shoes.
She sallies up to his gray face;
she’s in the mood for dancing.
He chooses to ignore her hanky.

In patent-leather shoes
and gray suit another old man
sits in a chair of rattan,
impatiently tapping his shoes.
He’s in the mood for dancing.
He chooses to ignore her suitor.



See him through the window,
the forklift’s little window
with the large forklift, lifting.

Sitting up high, he rolls along
rolling through the green
grocery aisle past fish
and meats.

When he meets others, he
lifts them up with his words;
a preacher preaching—
a fork on the aisle

like a fork in the road,
one-way leading to heaven,
one-way leading to hell.

What! A heavenly smell of fish?
What a heavenly smell of fish!

Now he’s preaching like a
preacher and reaching like
a reacher.

Now he’s dying.
He’s dying to get off early
to see the preacher’s daughter.

 Super Moon
—Photo by Chris Moon


The night is short. Her royal-blue
gown hangs as pillar cover over
her Greek athletic. Patent-leather
shoes of black crocodile peek out
from under. Gem and pearl earrings
dangle from a face so lit by moonlight
that her valiant squints his blue-gray
eyes of delight. A creamy wrist orchid
megaphones their proper names. 
Penguin-suited musicians play in an
alcove of this cool, stone wine cellar. 
A dream is unfolding, its memory
is sealed.


Today’s LittleNip:

moonless night…
a powerful wind embraces
the ancient cedars

—Matsuo Bashō


Our thanks to Carol Louise Moon and to her brother, Chris Moon, for splashing  delightful poems and photos across our Kitchen table today, two of which are shots of the moon. One is tempted to make some sort of joke about Moons sending moons, but that would be supermoonfluous.

Sac. Poetry Center presents the MarieWriters Generative Writing Workshop tonight, 6-8pm, 25th & R Sts., Sac., facilitated this week by Christin O’Cuddahy. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.


 Madonna Inn, San Luis Obispo, 1962
The Madonna Inn was quite The Thing back in 
the '50’s and '60’s. 
That’s where I first met up with a vibrating bed. 
For more about the Inn’s history, go to 

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.