—Harp Photo by Carol Louise Moon,
Other Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
—Poetry by Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
BIG FOOT
His skull is large.
His skeletal frame is somewhat
… Viking.
His hands are large enough
to build folk harps the size
of kangaroos.
This Big Foot’s fingernails are
… clean.
Today, he made me a sandwich
and we sat under a tree to
read and compose poetry.
Big Foot. I’m in love with him.
He’s hairy, but just enough to
convince me that he is related
… to me.
His feet are really large.
Did you know that Big Foot
doesn’t just show up in the
forest? He has been seen
on the great waters of the
Pacific Northwest. He has
a boat, a 27-foot-long boat,
similar to (but not the same as)
… the Vikings. He’s a mariner!
Yes, Big Foot is a mariner.
I’ve been on the water with
him, and I am a believer. His
feet are bigger than mine.
We have walked through the
forest together many times,
and I have a lot to learn
from him.
His skull is large.
His skeletal frame is somewhat
… Viking.
His hands are large enough
to build folk harps the size
of kangaroos.
This Big Foot’s fingernails are
… clean.
Today, he made me a sandwich
and we sat under a tree to
read and compose poetry.
Big Foot. I’m in love with him.
He’s hairy, but just enough to
convince me that he is related
… to me.
His feet are really large.
Did you know that Big Foot
doesn’t just show up in the
forest? He has been seen
on the great waters of the
Pacific Northwest. He has
a boat, a 27-foot-long boat,
similar to (but not the same as)
… the Vikings. He’s a mariner!
Yes, Big Foot is a mariner.
I’ve been on the water with
him, and I am a believer. His
feet are bigger than mine.
We have walked through the
forest together many times,
and I have a lot to learn
from him.
OLD CROW
See those crows out there
in the empty lot?
They’re all looking for
carrion, except… there.
Look at that old crow at
the base of the tree trunk.
With his beak he’s
flipping dried leaves.
He’s searching diligently
for bobbles, coins, foil—
anything that sparkles,
teases the eye.
He’s about to retire and
has lost his appetite for
competition. He’s left his
girlfriend behind. He’s
got jazz running through
his veins. Most days he
hums his life story of
so many made-up tunes.
(prev. pub. on Spare Mule Online, 2016
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 2016 )
See those crows out there
in the empty lot?
They’re all looking for
carrion, except… there.
Look at that old crow at
the base of the tree trunk.
With his beak he’s
flipping dried leaves.
He’s searching diligently
for bobbles, coins, foil—
anything that sparkles,
teases the eye.
He’s about to retire and
has lost his appetite for
competition. He’s left his
girlfriend behind. He’s
got jazz running through
his veins. Most days he
hums his life story of
so many made-up tunes.
(prev. pub. on Spare Mule Online, 2016
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 2016 )
MY FATHER WAS MADE OF JAZZ
and tarnished coins. He loved
philosophy: one woman only
until he finds another.
My mother was made of woven
mats and belly dancing. Not much
baking there having closed the
oven door. She ironed out
wrinkles in all my days and sang
off-key an angelic harmony to
the lull of my sobbing.
In melody and rhythm they made
me, placed me in a bassinet,
and went their separate ways.
To this day I hear my mother
weeping in the willow outside
my window.
(prev. pub. in Peeking Cat
Poetry Anthology, 2018)
and tarnished coins. He loved
philosophy: one woman only
until he finds another.
My mother was made of woven
mats and belly dancing. Not much
baking there having closed the
oven door. She ironed out
wrinkles in all my days and sang
off-key an angelic harmony to
the lull of my sobbing.
In melody and rhythm they made
me, placed me in a bassinet,
and went their separate ways.
To this day I hear my mother
weeping in the willow outside
my window.
(prev. pub. in Peeking Cat
Poetry Anthology, 2018)
DEATH OF A MODEST WOMAN
(A Eulogy)
Gone is the light from faded eyes
of a woman hidden from earthly praise.
No more shall times of promise lure
the wonder of her ways.
No language may explore the shifting
of her thoughts that end in rest,
when grace Divine, definitive,
has called her to His breast.
Her breast, where love has nourished us,
is done with rise and falling—
her breath of song is heavenward now,
and so her heavenward calling.
Know now what we have known before,
that women are Love’s perfection—
be they mothers, sisters, patient wives,
they are God’s loved reflection.
(1st Place Winner,
Poetry Soup Contest, 2021)
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
SECRETARY
(A Pleiades)
—Carol Louise Moon
Specialized ground-hunting bird,
she hunts rodents and other
small animals; seen wearing
stylish red-tint glasses, gray
suit, quill pens behind her ears.
Surely, stenography is
second on her to-do list.
______________________
Our thanks to Carol Louise Moon for her nimble poetry today! For more about the starry Pleiades poetry form, go to www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/pleiades.html/.
Tonight, 7:20pm, Sacramento Poetry Alliance and Steve Cirrone presents Macbeth: The Bardes Introduction to The Science of Fiction, a Lecture on the Work of William Shakespeare. Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/j/82839339639/. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/Literary-Lectures-102648175030990/.
______________________
—Medusa
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.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
