—Poetry by Carol Louise Moon, Placerville, CA
—Public Domain Photos
THE NUMBER FOUR
(Stream of Consciousness Poem)
Well, of course, four seasons come
to mind, followed shortly by four-
leaf clovers and the four winds.
Yesterday, I witnessed four cows
standing in a field at Four Corners,
and wondered where the rest were.
Or, was I assuming there should be
more nearby? What cow owner
would own only four, when he/she
could own 8 or 12, which are two
even numbers divisible by four.
Some four-fold better use of land,
I suppose.
But, I digress. I have four fingers
on each hand, unless you count the
thumb as another finger. But, who
does that? Perhaps the thumb
should stand alone in its digital
importance. Our whole human
specie depends on it!!
But, I digress. I know a woman who
was married to four different men
at four different times. She told me
that she finally caught on… she
hadn’t previously known who was
right for her. I figured there must
have been, at least, four pieces of
advice about finding a husband
that she could have relied on.
Anyway, after four years of marriage
to the fourth husband, and the
adoption of four rescue dogs, they
divorced. But I digress.
(Stream of Consciousness Poem)
Well, of course, four seasons come
to mind, followed shortly by four-
leaf clovers and the four winds.
Yesterday, I witnessed four cows
standing in a field at Four Corners,
and wondered where the rest were.
Or, was I assuming there should be
more nearby? What cow owner
would own only four, when he/she
could own 8 or 12, which are two
even numbers divisible by four.
Some four-fold better use of land,
I suppose.
But, I digress. I have four fingers
on each hand, unless you count the
thumb as another finger. But, who
does that? Perhaps the thumb
should stand alone in its digital
importance. Our whole human
specie depends on it!!
But, I digress. I know a woman who
was married to four different men
at four different times. She told me
that she finally caught on… she
hadn’t previously known who was
right for her. I figured there must
have been, at least, four pieces of
advice about finding a husband
that she could have relied on.
Anyway, after four years of marriage
to the fourth husband, and the
adoption of four rescue dogs, they
divorced. But I digress.
PENCIL-PERFECT MANDALA
(Tercets)
On studio desk I lay out tools: graphite
and pencils, various quills and ink.
I love the smell of my ancient pencil
set, certainly not the smell of graphite—
and let’s not even go there with the ink.
I have a sharpener for pencils
and a pad beneath my fist so graphite
won’t smear. I sketch a dying cat—ink
black—on a table near a cup of pencils.
Her back is turned, eyes of graphite
closed. Her life seems drained as ink
in a blotter—her final days penciled
on a vet calendar. This graphite
pencil drawing, highlighted in ink,
is a six-paned mandala—a pencil-
perfect way to say this cat, Graffiti,
is entered into the Book of Life, in ink.
(Tercets)
On studio desk I lay out tools: graphite
and pencils, various quills and ink.
I love the smell of my ancient pencil
set, certainly not the smell of graphite—
and let’s not even go there with the ink.
I have a sharpener for pencils
and a pad beneath my fist so graphite
won’t smear. I sketch a dying cat—ink
black—on a table near a cup of pencils.
Her back is turned, eyes of graphite
closed. Her life seems drained as ink
in a blotter—her final days penciled
on a vet calendar. This graphite
pencil drawing, highlighted in ink,
is a six-paned mandala—a pencil-
perfect way to say this cat, Graffiti,
is entered into the Book of Life, in ink.
A SPECTACLE OF BLUE
(Color-Themed Poem)
Amaryllis among feathered fern
in blue-gray shadow, looks to be
well-sown with weeds. Dandelions
tiptoe across the lawn… I don’t
feel much like weeding this morning.
Daylight at noon, or warmer daylight
tomorrow… This yard can take care
of itself.
Feathered friends are always
welcome here: blue-green
swallows, bluebirds, scrub jays—
especially my blue jay friend.
Tomorrow I’ll clear all weeds
beside the shed.
Blue and chatty, my jay friend
greets me. Swallows light on the
birdhouse peg and lemon tree snag.
A spectator now, I would do well
to pull up a lawn chair and watch
these antics.
(Color-Themed Poem)
Amaryllis among feathered fern
in blue-gray shadow, looks to be
well-sown with weeds. Dandelions
tiptoe across the lawn… I don’t
feel much like weeding this morning.
Daylight at noon, or warmer daylight
tomorrow… This yard can take care
of itself.
Feathered friends are always
welcome here: blue-green
swallows, bluebirds, scrub jays—
especially my blue jay friend.
Tomorrow I’ll clear all weeds
beside the shed.
Blue and chatty, my jay friend
greets me. Swallows light on the
birdhouse peg and lemon tree snag.
A spectator now, I would do well
to pull up a lawn chair and watch
these antics.
THE CRIMSON OF SPRING
Anna’s hummingbird would fit inside
my pocket if I could catch him with
my hand. Crimson is in the eye of the
beholder this sunny day in bloom
along the curb. A fantasy of crimson
seems to spring up everywhere.
Pockets of tiny weed and red
eye-winks of sweet pea—spring’s
handiwork is evident in our yard.
Crimson roses venture through our
redwood fence. Crimson breast of
robin, brown eye-band of cedar
waxwing—Crow’s eye is on the
smallest of these.
Spring provides a bounty and
a tragedy. Crimson flow of blood—
Crow’s had his Hand in this…
and something more. Everywhere
I senses a struggle. Suddenly
the least of these will spring to
flight escaping heavy hand of Crow,
his royal crimson heart a pocket hole.
Though I love spring, and “Oh, ‘tis
grand,” I see the hand of fate—
the surprise of crimson.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WATER DANCE
(an EIO)
—Carol Louise Moon
Ebb and flow of ocean’s waves
into this tide pool—rippling
edge of foaming weed behaves
intuitively, insisting
on its own rhythmic jiggling.
____________________
Carol Louise Moon has dropped in on us this morning with tales of spring and a bit of a dark undertone, echoing our Seed of the Week, The Death of Spring. Ouroboros rolls both ways, yes? Life, death, repeat.
Carol Louise’s poems include an EIEIO, called an EIO for short. Watch the first letters of each line: EIEIO. And tune in again tomorrow for Form Fiddlers’ Friday. Carol Louise sent us a lovely Pleiades!
Today is Earth Day 2021! For Earth Day events (three days of climate action!), including the global climate summit, go to www.earthday.org/. And tonight, 7pm, check out Celebrating Earth Day With US Poet Laureate Joy Harjo: An American Sunrise, a virtual talk and free online program featuring her new book of poetry, An American Sunrise. Must reg: www.skirball.org/programs/words-and-ideas/celebrating-earth-day-us-poet-laureate-joy-harjo?fbclid=IwAR0X5Y9qsbOKlTSMVi9y_vX_H9SgA_Z0xJo5Tf2O4uJore9vf8O9muDNYEg/.
Also tonight, 7:30pm: Frank Dixon Graham and Sac. Poetry Alliance present a Literary Lecture by Maxine Chernoff: Managing Family Life & a Literary Career at us02web.zoom.us/.
_____________________
—Medusa
Anna’s hummingbird would fit inside
my pocket if I could catch him with
my hand. Crimson is in the eye of the
beholder this sunny day in bloom
along the curb. A fantasy of crimson
seems to spring up everywhere.
Pockets of tiny weed and red
eye-winks of sweet pea—spring’s
handiwork is evident in our yard.
Crimson roses venture through our
redwood fence. Crimson breast of
robin, brown eye-band of cedar
waxwing—Crow’s eye is on the
smallest of these.
Spring provides a bounty and
a tragedy. Crimson flow of blood—
Crow’s had his Hand in this…
and something more. Everywhere
I senses a struggle. Suddenly
the least of these will spring to
flight escaping heavy hand of Crow,
his royal crimson heart a pocket hole.
Though I love spring, and “Oh, ‘tis
grand,” I see the hand of fate—
the surprise of crimson.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WATER DANCE
(an EIO)
—Carol Louise Moon
Ebb and flow of ocean’s waves
into this tide pool—rippling
edge of foaming weed behaves
intuitively, insisting
on its own rhythmic jiggling.
____________________
Carol Louise Moon has dropped in on us this morning with tales of spring and a bit of a dark undertone, echoing our Seed of the Week, The Death of Spring. Ouroboros rolls both ways, yes? Life, death, repeat.
Carol Louise’s poems include an EIEIO, called an EIO for short. Watch the first letters of each line: EIEIO. And tune in again tomorrow for Form Fiddlers’ Friday. Carol Louise sent us a lovely Pleiades!
Today is Earth Day 2021! For Earth Day events (three days of climate action!), including the global climate summit, go to www.earthday.org/. And tonight, 7pm, check out Celebrating Earth Day With US Poet Laureate Joy Harjo: An American Sunrise, a virtual talk and free online program featuring her new book of poetry, An American Sunrise. Must reg: www.skirball.org/programs/words-and-ideas/celebrating-earth-day-us-poet-laureate-joy-harjo?fbclid=IwAR0X5Y9qsbOKlTSMVi9y_vX_H9SgA_Z0xJo5Tf2O4uJore9vf8O9muDNYEg/.
Also tonight, 7:30pm: Frank Dixon Graham and Sac. Poetry Alliance present a Literary Lecture by Maxine Chernoff: Managing Family Life & a Literary Career at us02web.zoom.us/.
_____________________
—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!
