Monthly Archives: March 2013

This page came from the notion that since oceangoing vessels have traditionally been named after women, and thought of as women, and that airplanes are vessels that go into the ocean of atmosphere, those airplanes are women. Three terms specific to flight arrangements are therefore seen in a different, skewed perspective.



Low means a Moo
Air is to move
You’ll be a groover


Olga put the Off in Scoff
Vera put the LOL in Maillol
Ella got a boff way boffo
Rita went in heat at Heathrow


Ouches w/Job
Voices like lobo
Emulate mayo
Rye is OK



Every year a subset of America goes a little crazy-with-the-flow in a phenomenon called “March Madness.” This is the sixty-four best college basketball teams engage in an elimination tournament so that they become thirty-two, then the Sweet Sixteen, then the Elite Eight, then the Final Four. Alas, the team of my alma mater, the University of Arizona, just got eliminated.

But at least the tragedy was fodder for a journal page, and a deeply allegorical one at that. Even the acrosticization reflects March Madness in its wild interlocking of names and conditions.

When I was a kid there was a show on Saturday called “ABC Wide World of Sports.” Each show had an opening montage with an overvoice declaiming “The thrill of Victory…the agony of Defeat.” (RIP Jim McKay, who was really James Kenneth McManus, host of the show, who was at the 1972 Olympics in Munich when the brutal slaying of Israeli athletes took place. Not to digress, but I think MUNICH is every bit as important a movie to see as SCHINDLER’S LIST.)

This page is in two disproportionate parts: DAYBREAK (The Thrill of Victory) and UPDATE (The Agony of Defeat). Here are most of the words.

— D A Y B R E A K  —

UnDEFEATed is my college
EYELASH batting carnaL knowledge
LOTTEries are won & lost
Battles grim; IMPASSES crossed
Craft REENTERS atmosphere
Gazes STEELY show no fear
Phoenix/TEMPE/Mesa leer

— U P D A T E —

Buzzer-BEATen was my team
OLEO has smudged a dream
BoOKRAcks filled w/tomes of woe
cast aSIDE the Place & Show
Heartbroke horns of DiESEls blow

I’ll be okay in a few days, honest.



i spend a piece of paper
arresting vagrant thoughts
that soar and drip and caper
and sleep on Army cots
i also spend attention
on getting them undense
on aiding their ascension
on helping them make sense
but they’re so argumentative
that everything’s a joke
my editing is tentative
and thus i end up broke

sore sour crow came eros (quintuple acrostic)

saints & their eclectic mercies share
old metaphors that bring a cross to bear
recursion’s curves so sinners may then go
enjoy their shadows where they’re apropos

i mist you

i drop a fog
     of passing days
on what we had
     to give a glaze
to soften pain
     and angst to blur
and make the harsh
     ness disapurr


Breasts are many things. They are definers of mammals. They are enablers of the continued existence of human beings. They are life-threatening catchers of rogue cells. They are distractions, enticements, modified sweat glands, fabric stretchers, objects of desire, objects of derision, objects of adiposity, curiosity, virtuosity–but let’s get on with this post. Here is the page I made yesterday, which is about a specific type of breast, the enhanced breast, and about the instrument of its enhancement, the silicone implant.


Here are the words to the tricky, brain-busting quadruple acrostic:

Stuff cabbage–check! Stuff sausage–yes! stuff silicone? Ten-four
Quick-bobble will make wobblers with more perk than neoprene
Unlike that I Love Lucy star with monogram VV
Implanteds get invited to the finest posh soiree
Some grace a this-month centerfold or ad in social media
Help adolescent boys get off and make a Grandpa swell
Enduring fame may not be hers but O the current melee
Delights that ditzy Jersey girl whose bra size is DD

For the most part I am against breast-enhancement surgery. It seems invasive, dangerous, and barbaric to me. But for a wonderful friend of mine, subjected to a double mastectomy, chemotherapy, and various other tortures of the damned, it may provide a semblance of normalcy and rebelonging, and I’m all for that.


Here are the words:

the sky is greener
   than your eyes
the nitrogen the light
   ning strikes the sky
is greener than the moon
takes meteors
   and burns them up the
sky is greener than our ways
ionosphere dims cosmic
   rays the sky has
helped us come to be
breathe Oh-Two in
enjoy the dawn

Green means many metaphorical things. It may mean Inexperienced, or Jealous, or Envious, or Nauseous, or Fresh. In this case it means Environmentally Sound, of course.

But what of the sky? The sky is what we see when we are on Earth and we look away from the Earth. (Presupposing we are out in the open and uncanopied.) The sky as I write of it here is the Earth’s atmosphere and all it contains. That is not what Sky means, strictly, but “atmospheric envelope” could not be made to work.

We are not gentle with our atmospheric envelope, though it would be perfect for our sustenance if we were. Now a frightening number of environmental scientists say that the climate change our increasingly-unsuitable atmospheric envelope is midwifing will make ordinary life impossible in this century.

Can you help? Are you willing to help? Look in your heart and you may find that you are greener than you think.


First movement: Allegro


Second movement: Largo

The above pages represent my output for March 25. There is much to be done with both of them, but their ships have sailed. Perhaps their ships will return to dock, but not today.

Note to REPO MAN fans: the acrostic-within-the-acrostic reads LATTICE OF COINCIDENCERS. You might be thinking Plate, or Shrimp, or Plate of Shrimp…


Daily maintenance of a creative journal is  ever-challenging. What do you do when you can’t think of anything? You cuss, and censor your cussing with “blankety-blank…,” and realize the ironic relationship between the Blanket and the Blank, and you’re off and running.

Here are the words to the triple acrostic:

Bartleby Beetle–by all rights a snob
Left friendly pheromones gracing a knob
Annie Arabian waylaid her foal
Needing a frisky young stud for a stroll
Kermit Koala gyrated with Leila
Keeping a promise youths make at a gala
Emmett Egret played around with a swan
Easily straying from checkers & flan
Telling such lies stymies joy, but a brick
Though essentially dense, is with dignity thick

What does it mean? It may not mean anything but Blankety Blank. Or it may be a statement about Aesop’s Fabulous absurdity, or it may be a celebration of the Brick similar to the one Woody Harrelson’s character made in INDECENT PROPOSAL. It’s just wordplay and flash-storytelling, really, rated PG-13 for adult themes. I hope it entertains.


Go to a 40-Plus Year Class Reunion and you are bound to feel older than dirt–but you might also feel as young as Freshman Year. In a rushed day involving hundreds of miles of travel via auto, and a haircut, and a last roundup of ceramic and other art objects from the house I no longer live in, and a lunch with my mother and my girlfriend, and a book discussion with my daughter, I found myself at the 11th hour sketching the above frantically, trying to beat the midnight deadline. The quality of drawing often suffers when the artist does not take the proper time.

Dashed doggerel reads

40 yrs
Smiles & tears
Hope & Strive–
We’re ALIVE!

It was marvelous seeing so many of my classmates. I wish I’d done them more justice, but it’s a consequence of daily posting that artistic justice is not always served.

ImageMore than fifty years ago a Minnesota kid wrote “Song to Woody.” More than four years ago an Arizona kid drew “Song to Bobby.” (He’d just seen I’M NOT THERE.) And just yesterday that same kid did another would-be tribute to his favorite songwriter:


The illustration includes references to “Like a Rolling Stone,” “Mister Tambourine Man,” “Positively 4th Street,” “Simple Twist of Fate,” “When I Paint My Masterpiece,” “Jokerman,” “Blowin’ in the Wind,” and “Leopard-Skin Pillbox Hat.”

These are the words to the double acrostic:

Begin with a North boy’s decision–he’ll leave Minnesota behind
Beguiled by a Dust Bowl declaimer–by hard times & music defined
On east to a Village whose voice was–just right for the dissolute skinny
On coffeehouse stools for performing–like many a Tom Dick & Vinny
Betokening change for the better–came Capitol Records, & vinyl
Baroquely, the folk went electric–& then came a trauma near spinal
Befuddlement presaged conversion–an episode, not a novella
Bold “Jokerman” waxed infidelic–a multiambiguous fella
Yes, his wont’s to want contradiction–like sallowness under a zap tan
Yet he achieves TRUTH via fiction–& lyrically he is the Captain

I close with the marquee of a wonderful event held annually in Old Town of Cottonwood, Arizona. Last year I was privileged to sing with Joe Neri and the Mystery Tramps, who had audience members sing seven of the ten verses of “Desolation Row.” I got the one with the reference to Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot. My voice almost broke on “The Titanic sails at dawn,” but I had a strong finish. [smiles]



This one’s pretty straightforward. It may help to know that I now live in Sedona, Arizona, where there is a plethora of breathtaking sandstone rock formations; also, when I was a kid and in the family car and we pulled up alongside a truck, if I caught the trucker’s eye and made a horn-honking gesture, often he (or she, but there didn’t seem to be any female truckers back then) would oblige me by honking his horn.

Here are the words to the non-acrostic:

from winter sprung

to spend an equinoctial time
in maximal vernal rapture
it may behoove to grow a sparse goatee
that the plucky breeze might riffle
all seventy-three hairs of its chin portion
the while you stride through
   & converse with
   the array of petrified sand
   that is popularly misnamed ‘the red rocks’

when you tell the array it is majestic
it glows a bit more fiercely
tooting its visual horn the way
   a truck driver toots his sonic one
   if asked to via gesture

when you ask the array what awes it
your attention is directed to trees
   fluffy in soft-blossomed lavender
and you are also commanded
   to go home
   kiss your lovely girlfriend
   and feel the g r a t i t u d e
   that Spring evokes