Not much needs to be said here. I’m on another of my tangential rambles with my art practice, and what pleases me a great deal about crawling my way into the digital era is that not only can I document my work better than I used to do, I can retain it in numerous, widely varied states and play with it without nearly so much difficulty in changing my mind and erasing or altering things as I like. Talk about a bonus for a mercurial goof-off like me.
Saturday Night Study Group
Lo, the lazy morning passes,
Finds the weary lads and lasses
Still abed, or on their asses,
Half awake and half a-snore,
‘Mid detritus of the pizza,
Hot wings, chips and other treats a
Sober student seldom eats, a-
Strewn in heaps upon the floor–
Partied late; what was it for?
Shattering the blissful quiet
Suddenly, a loud impiety
Is screamed and starts a riot
Right among the corpse-like corps:
All a-scramble, grabbing trousers,
Shirts and shoes, these late carousers
Start remembering the wowsers
Of the night they’d passed before,
Though recall was rather poor–
Finally, wakening more fully,
One of them, if somewhat dully,
Crawled across, his brain still woolly,
To fling wide the knocked-on door
And reveal the dawning horror
Come to waken every snorer,
Standing, looking faintly, more or
Less, like someone seen before–
Somehow shook him to the core–
Ay! It’s Mother stands there staring,
Arms akimbo, nostrils flaring,
Challenging his story, daring
Him amain: Explain this war!
What’s this wreckage, who these bodies
Strewn among the butts and toddies,
Some dressed only in their naughties,
Covered all in festive gore?
He stood gawping, nothing more.
In the cursèd silence stretching,
From a distance came a retching
Sound and instantly, all fetching
Up as though a manticore
Chased them out of their reclining,
They responded to this shining
Call and left the poor repining
Lad, with Mother, at the door,
Beast and trembling matador.
Dust now settling, son and mother
Gazed intently on each other,
Understood this bit of bother
Must be rectified, the score
Evened out: this was the chore.
Mother, calm now and quite cool,
Explains to him that, while in school,
Her son shall still observe the rule
Of sober thought. The lad’s encore:
Will I party? Nevermore!
(And means well, just as before.)
Or just uniformly old?
Does it matter? Not much; never mind. As it happens, I was a little hazy to begin with, so there’s not much worry about the old marbles disappearing. Who really needs marbles anyway, except for a game-playing champ or, say, Michelangelo. For me, the touch of lunacy just adds a little color and a lively element of surprise to my everyday existence.
Scaredy Coot
My fears are principally these:
Of sharks, the dark; of killer bees;
Of speeding cars and drunken louts
That race them through the roundabouts;
Bloodsucking leeches; of the kind
Of beasts that populate my mind
In doctors’ offices; of tests
That only earn me second-bests;
And most of all, I fall in tears
Lest someone should unmask my fears!
My Hero, My Self
The guide to my path,
The lamp to my feet,
My counselor, guru,
Informer, my sweet
Intelligent tutor,
My rescue, my hope—
Too bad you are Me,
You poor pitiful dope.
If you can’t make a grand entrance, at least try to make a spectacular exit . . .
Talk about Relief!
The way my insurance is freighted
With small-print and guilt, and prorated,
I find that this chick
Who can’t risk being sick
Can afford to be
Decapitated.
Campfire Song for the Unwitting Centerpiece
Singing silly campfire songs, we sit at either side
Across the pit and toast marshmallows, making note how wide
And high the flames can leap at will, and thinking if they might
Be quite sufficiently stoked up by middle of the night
To throw something substantial in to roast before the dawn,
Perhaps a certain someone here we’ve finally settled on,
Whose camp-songs so annoy us; cook to ash before next day
Our deep-disliked camp counselor: our own auto-da-fé.
Why, certainly, cabin-master, Sir, have another toasted marshmallow! Here, just lean over a teensy little bit closer . . .
Art-Colored Glasses 