Friday, May 24, 2019

That Constant Shifting

Bitter Water Windmill
—Poems by Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
—Photos by Chris Moon

A WINDY STROLL                

Even now I feel the shifting connected to
green non-mown lawns and the routing and
rerouting of large maple leaves in the yards.
Squirrels had sought us out, and were still
searching us out.

My dog and I weren’t always there, in front,
when the shifting began. We had sought out
the shimmer-green sunshine between maple
branches as it was flowing through trees and
between neighbor houses, which were firmly
planted on foundations, like the solitary tree
in each front yard.

The color offering of our tree was olive-green.
Neighbors had sought out our olive, even as
we sought their elm-green sunlight shining
through green fallen leaves which were
covering my large dog’s tracks.

He had sought out his favorite rest stop,
avoiding the skittering windy leaves by
rerouting his tracks away from sidewalks.
Because of maple leaves fallen there, other
considerations for “resting” options were
sought as we strolled, moving onto leafless
lawns which were green as envy is green.

I had engaged in a collection of five-pointed
leaves while picking through piles. And still
I feel connected to green non-mown lawns
and the routing and rerouting of large
leaves in the yards… the constant shifting.

 Pacific Coast Windmill


and a hail, and
another sharp noise
and a soft noise
and a bright light
that was too bright—

and soon I was
running home and
running in and
shutting the front door tight.



This scream-green season,
these phantom clouds, this
static electricity air enhancing
one’s breath of awe.

I venture in quick steps
around to the backyard,
shoots of grass soaking my socks.
Oh, the smell of rotten squash.
The old oak rocking chair
rocks empty.

Guardian crows call out—
then swoop, as time slips into
dusty dusk.

Hell hail. Then, the awesome
sound of train-not-train.
Now, here she comes, Boys.
I crouch to reach for the
brass-handled door.

 Nebraska Prairie


A white moth in summer heat
perched on weed stalk—
gentle sway of near breeze
stays awhile—a pause in breath.
Crimson ladybug below
a shadow of simmering summer song—
crimson ladybug below
stays awhile. A pause in breath,
gentle sway of near breeze.
Perched on weed stalk,
a white moth in summer heat.

 Nebraska Windmill

      After a line in “Night Winds”
      by Ezra Pound (1888-1972)

The old winds blew when chaos was.
The osprey in her shoreline tree,
her eggs secure in wind-blown nest.
The rain, the tide make crashing sounds.
Through misty sky her mate soars high
above, and sure. His raptor eye
upon his prey, sees nothing on
the roiling sea. He circles round,
another try—a great fish surfacing.

What do they tell, these clattered trees,
the smattered clouds, the dense gray fog
where osprey nests reside? These white-
crowned birds with talon-cut will hunt
despite the might of nature’s force.
Great trees that stand, the birds that soar,
the crashing waves which then reclaim
the sandstone bluffs—they all attest
to wild old winds which blew
                     when chaos was.

 Parkfield Windmill


Where is the deep river of my ear that
I should hear the song of the bassoon?

Why do my eyes vibrate gently with
the inhalation of flute breath?

When the piccolo bird song rises, does my
hair grow a little faster, a little stronger?

My feet now feel securely anchored to
the floor when receiving clarinet news.

But it’s the French horn greeting that
wraps affectionately around my heart.


Today’s LittleNip:

The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.

—William Arthur Ward


Thank you, Carol Louise Moon and Chris Moon, for today’s offering about the wind and for Chris’s windmills! For more about Chris Moon's photography, see

Unfortunately, today’s visit to the American Haiku Archives in the Cal. History Room of the Library and Courts II Building in Sacramento has been cancelled. (See for more about that.) But Josh McKinney will be presenting a poetry class at Sac. Poetry Center from 6-9pm. And tonight in South Sacramento, T-Mo Entertainment presents the MIC on FIRE poetry/comedy/music show with poets Alé Hernandez, Elton McWashington, Ronnie Jones and Hip Hop artist Deeno plus comedians and singers. That’s at the KAST Academy,10481 Grant Line Rd., Sacramento. Tickets: $10. Host: Terry Moore.

Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa, celebrating poetry and reminding you that, as Catherine the Great said, “A great wind is blowing and that gives you either imagination or a headache”

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.