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Monthly Archives: April 2014

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the cat demands i watch her eat

insignificant and nearly useless human quoth cookie the cat telepathically
you shall now justify your existence
by hovering over me whilst i crunch the dry offering and lick the wet
neither are quite to my liking
and you would be well advised to improve on future offerings
but for some reason your hulking form helps with the taste
and calms me

she has not-quite-promised to put in a good word with the creator
if i and her other underling perform as required
telling me in no uncertain terms
the creator is feline
and hinting
that the creator may actually be she

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a snap decision about pop culture with a crackle finish
to bill campana

once upon a time
there was a noise
the noise obtained when milk was poured over toasted rice

the noise was a lot like bacon
and a little like the effervescence of carbonated water

and when the noise was heard there was a golden moment
a crackle of electricity across synapses
the snap of an affirmative finger
the pop of a champagne cork
and rice krispies was born
and with it its three personifications

i propose three girlfriends and a puppy
the girls: shh for snap murmur for crackle and sigh for pop
the puppy: mollymute

they will calm their hothead fellas
and put out the fire
they imply

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This sketch was done criminally quickly–it’s 8:36pm and I need to take a pre-shift nap and then show and leave here by 10:10. But I am so grateful to lisa.ms for her kindly permission to use her photography as a base for my sketch, I just have to post ASAP. Call it a work in progress…

The words to the triple acrostic:

Seek ye Sweet–avoid Haboob
O, quaff Nectar with thy Tube
Now to Hexagonal Cube

Here I used the anxiety I’m starting to feel about my upcoming poetry co-feature (tomorrow!) to generalize all anxiety everywhere. The line breaks in the first block of text are at a set number of characters, so a typeface like Courier, with set character widths, would yield a solid cliffside of text at the right.

breathcatch

it is wrong it is wrong it is wrong
to wake up anxious to stay that way
to hear of wrong things to see wron
gness on the screen in the food ove
r in other countries and right here
and not know where to turn and fail
to catch breath where is the breath
and what is in it but soot and nois
e and pain knowing to be here is mo
re of a burden to the earth crowded
as it is with wormwriggle multitude
s murdering oppressing grabbing and
using god for nefarious ends and pr
eying and holding souls for ransom!

a bottle
a rattling plastic pillholder
a jar of tears

the breath is back
and there is relief
but even the relief
has claws

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tableau vivant

taxes levied leveled Levi
blimey barney’s stoned but viva
eager beamers roar & win
ukuleles sound like mint

TAB LOW/WE WANT

The candidate survived the peer review
And then her father died, as if on cue
Bulimia & travel left her raw

LOVE set her world aright & flipt her shwa
Obsessing over Style & cred & thin
Will make us OVERLOOK a crucial hint

I don’t want to clutter up the post with annotation, but I will say that Bulimia and Depression seem highly correlative. Also: I think the image has good potential for snap/crackle/poppery that has not yet been realized. I did two other scan/edits that were even less successful:

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With this poem the requirement of a poem per day for National Poetry Writing Month will be fulfilled. Bonus/extra poetry will appear under “NaPoWriMo Poem for April 31,” “NaPoWriMo Poem for April 32,” etc. We’ll see if I can get to April 50 before the end of the month. [smiles]

not a love letter to a dead dog or two, but it might as well be

he was my best friend
and his name courtesy of my daughter
was william doglas bowers.

that’s not a typo. it’s d-o-g-l-a-s.
i haven’t seen him in nigh on five years,
because that’s when he died.

i harbor no illusions that he’s smiling down at me from dog heaven;
even if there was one, he’d have far better things to do;
but no, my sad surmise is that when he got the big sleep
courtesy of the strong drug intravenously applied
that smacked him so hard his eyes never closed
he was completely extinguished,

and that,
given the joy he gave me and the rest of his family,
defines tragedy better than any play or headline.

i so hope i am wrong.
some quantum physicists are now bruiting about the continuity of consciousness
via transport of the energy state/configurations in “brain microtubules,”
but i think even the smartest of us are desperate enough
to indulge in creative wishful thinking.
i am glad that they think so, though,
especially since they are smarter than me.

if bill does indeed continue,
and if further he’s free of the dysplasia and other physical woes he wore,
then that undoubtedly means that cowboy,
dog of my childhood,
has persisted.
they may even meet and exchange that-stupid-gary stories.
they may romp,
with bill mocking his dysplasia as romplstiltskin,
and cowboy might then reenact his epic encounter with the horse in the meadow,
or the skunk at camp geronimo,
but all of this has a probability vanishingly small.

i wish i could tell bill
about this other bill
who is only vaguely doglike,
and that only in the fact that he does amazing tricks,
only they’re with words.

i wish i could tell cowboy
that that line in the song “mister bojangles” is an understatement.
“after twenty years he still grieves.”
twenty years?
chicken feed…

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Every night I work I fish out one of the beautifully round-bowled spoons from the silverware tray and take it to the desk. There is something about its shape and its reflectivity that just grabs me. Last night I did this drawing, posing the spoon over and over again over the crossword puzzle grids I’d drawn and filled in earlier, and then I put the spoon, though still clean, into the dishwater tub by one of the industrial-strength garbage disposals.

Over thirty years ago I did a 24″ x 30″ drawing with the remains of several chicken dinners variously posed, and I called it “Bone Symphony.” It now hangs in our dining room, thus:

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So this decades-later, much-simpler drawing of mine is “Spoon Sonata with Crossword Counterpoint.” I got lucky with the alliteration. [smiles]

This is my first try at the Ballade form. Suddenly I fell like a teenager again…

Ballade d’amour

Our connection plays hard to get.
Hands held, we are still two, not one.
Longing’s true since before we met;
Fission’s flashing: a Megaton.
We’ve a passion that shines like Sun.
After dusk there is still a glow.
Seeing through what we’ve well begun
Let us learn what we don’t yet know.

Wrestling Chance, we eschew roulette;
Dueling Fate needs no sword, nor gun.
Picking paths through the woods, we let
Intuition rule; stroll, don’t run.
Daze may pass—please excuse the pun—
Nights may whisper to rev and go;
Plans may form and then grind, undone.
Let us learn what we don’t yet know.

Acrobatic, we fuss, and fret,
Caught in spider-webs Doubt has spun.
Locks confined in a tight barrette
May be formed in a braid or bun,
Some light blinds us enough to stun,
Implications may dam the flow.
Still, there’s many ways cats were skun.
Let us learn what we don’t yet know.

Let us face what’s to come, and shun
Desolations where naught will grow.
Lovers leap when misgiving’s None,
THEN they learn what they don’t yet know!

 

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Peaceful inside; outside, glop
Evanescent crackle/pop
Route that jet to Barcelona
Craft that Lisa: first name Mona
Even fish can get a fin in
If it’s oil on Belgian linen
VIM, my dearest, needs a Spine
‘D suit a darling Clementine

The crude drawn house inside the skewed window pane hearkens back to the early early Sixties. The teacher had us draw houses; I drew three or so. I distinctly remember that the one I drew with windows and a door got a gold star. The one with windows but no door got a silver star, and the one without windows got no star at all, even though it was a faithful rendering from memory of the windowless west side of our house.

Since light takes time to travel (usually 186,000mi/sec or so but can be as slow as 32ft/sec if passing through pressurized liquid helium, so I’ve heard) all glass windows are a sort of time-machine perception portal. The light from some stars has taken a galaxy’s rotation or so to get to our naked eyes.