Yosemite Closes

Yosemite Waits For Storm

Yosemite closes due to impending blizzard.
Language is a storm that prevents camping.


4/6/2018 Copyright Caroline Gerardo
Poem a day
National Poetry Month
This one is short

What a Monster Needs Poem

What a monster needs

Press cider vinegar to rinse off slime.

Cheer up bath bombs, aroma fills the pond.

Orange fake suntan removal of thyme.

Peroxide to turn grey hair into blonde.

What a monster needs

Coconut oil to scrub sharp amber teeth.

Bramble rose wire to keep mouth silent shut.

Perfume necklace of a bay laurel wreath.

Duck tape on bloated rotten stomach gut.

What a monster does to hide his hate.

Caroline Gerardo copyright April 5, 2018

Winter Tangerine poem # 5 

Prompting a poem a day for April 

but no promises about keeping up 

Egg Shell Poem

Lost Egg Shell

Tiffany blue skin

chocolate spots

No yolk

No chick

No violent death

Not a suicide from nest,

Not a reject dumped out,

Probable murder by raven.

A hedge sparrow, a house martin,

& a goldfinch calls out in sorrow.

Mother skulks in shadow,

she prays the chick peeps. 

Did the crow pick the moss nest

as I pick the bowl of Jelly Bellies?

Avoid 

caramel corn, buttered popcorn,

cantaloupe, toasted marshmallow,

cinnamon Harry Potter boogers...

Flavor is only in the shell,

inside is gooey duck jelly 

that protein a crow hunts.

The mother sees Lazuli Bunting baby

luminous in sapphire, sapphire, citrine

but he is a russet potato feathered boy.

don't judge by the colors,

one nightingale shares

300 love songs

Above the flavors I don't bite into

Copyright  ©  Caroline Gerardo April 5, 2018

Ghazal Garden

Ghazal for an entry without a fee.

A black lettuce wrap sandwich for my sin

Don't tell my vegan daughter she'll cry sea

April is poem a day month for old me.
Anxiety grows at night under cardboard.

Sparrows tumble from my throat, is to say

Snakes eat Araucana eggs on their way

Amelia’s boys keep cabins in the wood.

Aphrodite’s sacred birds kept at bay

Solitary life,  they did not dismay.

Peaches, blood oranges feed the blue jays

Paul, young son loads the truck for market day

Coffee becomes compost, chicks are traded

Silkie Bantams warm in Matelasse beds

Sunflower seeds dry in a crumpled way.

Tires go flat over the dirty road frey.

The boy shares his lunch with a passeridae

She calls tik tik as rock sparrows do fly

Wish him good fortune, yes, which is to say

Waste not, be kind, work hard C. G. each day.

A woeful story ///  you want to replay.

Daughter told me never eat at Chic fil A

The C. O. O is ju ju ~  ~        Dan Cathy

we should shake our fist at chicken and say

Off to hell the phrase "my pleasure" all day.

Copyright © Caroline Gerardo April 4th 2018 
images, video and poem no permission rights granted

Rosary Morning

Chumash Indians were not better off.

We assume wrong-facts from history

We see living off nature as poverty,

the economically poor are unhappy,

those who don't drive to urgent care,

those who don't own a Range Rover,

those who lug Luis Vuitton luggage 

Having builds desire for emptiness.

I was in a hurry this morning to work.

The gas light blinks on, I can't make it.

On the front seat I had red cabbage and 

purple chard, first of spring to share.

With my olive drab twenty dollar bill

I put a brown bag of the vegetables to

the random man behind the formica

counter top, "twenty on seven please,

and these veggies are from my garden."

He peeks in the bag, incredulously,

"Oh my mother had these," he says in

heavy Pakistani syntax English accent.

A red headed woman in a XT 5 2018

Cadillac SUV is cursing at the credit

card machine slot for her gas pump.

She tells me, "this God dam place

is the worst station for miles around."

I smile but don't answer, not wanting

to engage in her rage morning event.

Behind black tinted windows two

children in cars seats in the back fuss.

She tells them to "shut the f... up," 

and storms into the cashier office.

I'm not certain I ought to leave the

children in her vehicle alone, so I

stand in front of her shiny new car

which has the driver side door open.

My fuel finished pumping and she

doesn't return, I see the children

are two and five approximately.

Cars park, pump and disappear.

Still, the flaming red head does

not return. I lift my shoulders,

give a shy wave to the children

who now silently watch me.

I wonder if her credit card

is hacked, or overdrawn or?

Here she comes, blue veins

in forehead popping out mad.

"God dam Indians why don't they

go back to Mexico farms," rants.

Her information is dead wrong.

Bigotry hot as wax searing skin.

I correct her mistake in thought.

Dig rock clay with iron to find

water to plant the three sisters,

rise bread in wood fire oven,

laundry washes sin outdoors,

kneel to scrub the terra cotta

In 1824 the Chumash revolted,

 burned red head's Cadillac to dust.

In my mind; but I say to her,

"Your Grandchildren are beautiful."

Knowing they are likely her own,

wish I had shared a life changing

snappy way to turn her her around.

I return to the safety of my truck.

The aroma of coffee fills the cab.

I think of the holy water font at

the Mission and recite the rosary

as I drive on to work I pray.

Caroline Gerardo copyright April 3, 2018 # 3 of my poem a day for #NationalPoetrymonth

laundry fountain

bread oven

ancient hoe 

mill

sundial