—Poetry and Photos by
Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
RED, RED ROSES
I’d rather have roses on my table
than diamonds around my neck.
—Emma Goldman
I’d rather have roses on my table
the red, red roses of life and love.
The sweet aroma of pet and friends
will linger for many years to come.
The red, red roses of life and love,
more valuable than sparkling gems,
will linger for many years to come,
a comfort in times of loss and stress.
More valuable than sparkling gems
are memories held so dear,
a comfort in times of loss and stress.
I’ll not have diamonds about my neck
as memories held so dear,
but sweet aroma of pet and friends.
I’ll not have diamonds about my neck
I’d rather have roses on my table.
(a Pantoum)
I’d rather have roses on my table
than diamonds around my neck.
—Emma Goldman
I’d rather have roses on my table
the red, red roses of life and love.
The sweet aroma of pet and friends
will linger for many years to come.
The red, red roses of life and love,
more valuable than sparkling gems,
will linger for many years to come,
a comfort in times of loss and stress.
More valuable than sparkling gems
are memories held so dear,
a comfort in times of loss and stress.
I’ll not have diamonds about my neck
as memories held so dear,
but sweet aroma of pet and friends.
I’ll not have diamonds about my neck
I’d rather have roses on my table.
(a Pantoum)
FROM EGGS OF PASTEL BLUE
Seen between gray and blue sky
flashes of azul with pewter-gray.
Flying into nest-box-on-pole
a Mountain Bluebird brings grass
and twigs, begins to build her nest.
She has made a final choice of
nesting site and now she lays her
clutch of 5 to 6 pastel blue eggs.
Will she start another brood?
Will he assist her a second time?
Soon, through round porthole
tiny yellow gaping beaks can be
seen, and cheeping heard on this
late summer day full of industry
and hope as chicks ready for flight.
Now time has come to watch them
fledge, a ready try to fly—blue into
blue to the gray meadow of dried
grass, gray branch of pines, flying
and landing they become acrobats.
Snatching insects on ground, or
hovering blue wing, these adept
hunters feed on insects well into
summertime, and with berries
through fall and winter months.
Our hope for next year’s blue
return, (or will we wish they stay?)
Among mountain glories of gray sky,
Pine and forest friends, we look for
bright blue and gray surprises.
Seen between gray and blue sky
flashes of azul with pewter-gray.
Flying into nest-box-on-pole
a Mountain Bluebird brings grass
and twigs, begins to build her nest.
She has made a final choice of
nesting site and now she lays her
clutch of 5 to 6 pastel blue eggs.
Will she start another brood?
Will he assist her a second time?
Soon, through round porthole
tiny yellow gaping beaks can be
seen, and cheeping heard on this
late summer day full of industry
and hope as chicks ready for flight.
Now time has come to watch them
fledge, a ready try to fly—blue into
blue to the gray meadow of dried
grass, gray branch of pines, flying
and landing they become acrobats.
Snatching insects on ground, or
hovering blue wing, these adept
hunters feed on insects well into
summertime, and with berries
through fall and winter months.
Our hope for next year’s blue
return, (or will we wish they stay?)
Among mountain glories of gray sky,
Pine and forest friends, we look for
bright blue and gray surprises.
WIND
All that is beautiful,
deer in the world
and meadows, too.
There was a bird
who flew only once
and then no more.
Winds that sweep
through the channel—
the same winds
that keep birds airborne—
winds which form sandstone
sculptures. I know of these
winds which form sandstone,
that keep birds airborne.
The same winds
through the channel—
winds that sweep,
and then no more.
Who flew only once?
There was a bird
and meadows, too.
Deer in the world—
all that is beautiful.
All that is beautiful,
deer in the world
and meadows, too.
There was a bird
who flew only once
and then no more.
Winds that sweep
through the channel—
the same winds
that keep birds airborne—
winds which form sandstone
sculptures. I know of these
winds which form sandstone,
that keep birds airborne.
The same winds
through the channel—
winds that sweep,
and then no more.
Who flew only once?
There was a bird
and meadows, too.
Deer in the world—
all that is beautiful.
THE BLUE GHOST OF DISAPPOINTMENT
The blue ghost is made of air,
and light from the moon.
—Joyce Odam, from Summer Moonlight
The Blue Ghost is made of air,
air between redwoods planted
deeper still. Still, your heart
will melt, know the root cause
and end result. Birdsong and
the Blue Ghost is made of air
and light from the moon. It will
make no difference to redwoods,
deeper still. Still, your heart
will be saddened because of this
and will cry a Blue Ghost song.
The Blue Ghost is made of air—
such is power of birdsong, such
is the power of disappointment,
deeper still. Still, your heart
will run in search of hope. Listen
for a new day, quietly waiting.
The Blue Ghost is made of air,
deeper still. Still your heart.
(a Freestyle Villanelle)
ETERNAL LIFE
… to draw them shadowing back
Through the figment to the real
Of this ancient swirling atmosphere…
—Joyce Odam, from The Glow
To draw them shadowing back
through the sparkling light of years
we rely on dried flowers, photos,
perhaps leather-bound diaries.
And our struggling minds pull
through the figment to the real,
the reality of here and now. But
what have we re-gained of these
yesteryears if not just more
figments, molded and reshaped
by us as we experience the life
of this ancient swirling atmosphere.
And here we all share in the
knowing, as far as we can know.
Eternal life is this… to know God.
To know each other is to feel
God’s presence.
… to draw them shadowing back
Through the figment to the real
Of this ancient swirling atmosphere…
—Joyce Odam, from The Glow
To draw them shadowing back
through the sparkling light of years
we rely on dried flowers, photos,
perhaps leather-bound diaries.
And our struggling minds pull
through the figment to the real,
the reality of here and now. But
what have we re-gained of these
yesteryears if not just more
figments, molded and reshaped
by us as we experience the life
of this ancient swirling atmosphere.
And here we all share in the
knowing, as far as we can know.
Eternal life is this… to know God.
To know each other is to feel
God’s presence.
Today’s LittleNip:
The most violent element in society is ignorance.
—Emma Goldman
_________________
—Medusa, thanking Carol Louise Moon for her smooth poetry today and fine photos to go with it! The title of today’s post is the title of the collection Carol Louise is working on.
—Photo by Carol Louise Moon
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