Words of a Feather

 —Poems and Photos by Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

A word,
unwords,
words unheard.
What’s worse is
extinct words,
words of non-
distinction.

Words unheard of,
“of” as a word,
or “if”—
as if it was,
(as it were)
a word.

A weird word
that’s weird
and nothing more.
There’s nothing more
weird than the word
moor.

So many moors;
more, Moore,
and moor…
and mooring.
A boat load “mooring.”
A boat load of Moors
on the water,
getting wetter
in the winter.

Other words,
like “birds in the water”
already wetter
when it’s winter weather.

Moors and birds
gathered together
like words of a feather…
on the water
in the winter.


(prev. pub. Song of the San Joaquin,
Medusa’s Kitchen)
 
 

CASADY
    [Carol Louise worked with a
    gal named Casady and wrote
    this poem for her.]

Casady, our western gal,
our gal of the west,
our best western.

I’ve seen her at the saloon
in a magazine, a dime novel
from the eighteen hundreds.
Always a smile, always on top
of the morning, the evening,
even at suppertime.

She dated the saloon keeper.
Pretty soon she owned the
Sundance Saloon. She dated
a sheriff, became a deputy.
Dated the district judge, got
married. . . to someone else.
I thought his name was Butch,
but I wasn’t sure.

HAPHAZARD

Tiny golden words
on a wooden box
could have been any
on a day like today.

On a wooden box,
poplar leaf stains
on a day like today—
windy and surreal.

Poplar leaf stains
arranged, yet scattered—
windy and surreal
like a mourning dove

arranged and scattered,
her eggs haphazard—
like the mourning dove,
pleading, or a prayer.

Her eggs haphazard
could have been any
pleading, or a prayer…
tiny golden words.


(prev. pub. in Peeking Cat Poetry and Common Threads)

ONE YELLOW ROSE

Four yellow rose bushes lined
the driveway of our home, each
receiving water, each receiving
sunshine.  After we four left
home we would return to our
mother who lived in the House of
Yellow Roses, each bringing news
of our lives, each bringing gifts
from our lives, laid on a small oak
table.  As our delicate mother lay
dying one small yellow rose was
placed nearby, lying where Mother
lay dying, dying where Mother lay
dying, both to dust returning.


(prev. pub. in Two Moon Productions)

BEYOND

Blood-red as if the tears from
barn owl eyes. These large onyx-
black eyes are penetrating—
beyond—through your soul. Best not
beseech him, this owl with his
blank stare.  A barn owl perching
beside you, snow white, round-faced.


(prev. pub. in Brevities, Vol. 97)

Today’s LittleNip:

HAL  (Old Fox)

Heavy.  My heart feels heavy—
haven’t slept for several nights.
Heard he’d gone; he didn’t call.
Hangin’ round this darned ol’ pool
hall ain’t the same.  Seems Hal and
his boys, all done gamblin’, have
hauled their assets out of town.

______________________

Today’s thanks to Carol Louise Moon, word-player extraordinaire, for her poetry with matching photos. Girlfriend puts on her boots and wades right in, bouncing the words off each other like pinballs. I guess one could say that poetry is all about “words of a feather”, yes?

Speaking of which, Frank Dixon Graham will be lecturing on Assonance and Dissonance tonight online at 7:30pm on Zoom. Register in advance at us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/tZMsc-GrpjssH9LAcOokC4rJKUwANlEKzjHZ/.

______________________

—Medusa 

 Carol Louise Moon

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