there’s a snag or two

the toescape reveals unsmoothness

that may plague the sockwearer

curl his toes though he might

he is too old and fat

and his nails too impervious to clipping

to attempt trimming

when his out-the-door drop-dead deadline

is six minutes

so he bunches his sock down its shank

so his bunched toes touch sock-end

and he carefully unbunches sock up foot then leg

..

one snag or two avoided

and as he drives to work

he strategizes his imagined

conversation with his boss

who abhors criticism

yet behaves it a way that costs the company money

and her the respect of her subordinates

it will be a tricky navigation

akin to having a foot with eight toes

of which three toenails are jagged

and socks of a fabric a cousin to burlap

..

he smiles

and wraps his bunched eight toes

in silk handkerchiefing

pulls carefully

and coos at his unsnaggy strategy-sock

it will be smooth as well-whipped cake frosting

on a piece of cake

As a participant in The People’s Artist competition, presented by Johnny Depp and Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo, with today’s votes doubled and Thursday the deadline to vote for the Top Ten tier, and I firmly entrenched in 12th Place, and never having attained higher than 11th, this post shall act as my Hail Mary pass, to appeal to all those who are eligible to vote to please vote for me as The People’s Artist IF, and only IF, you enjoy and value my artwork and think I would be an outstanding People’s Artist.

Here is the link that will lead you to my own private ballot box:

peoplesartist.org/2026/g-bowers

And here is a synopsis of my credentials:

My first coherent drawing was a portrait of my mother made when I was two and a half years old. She had ten fingers and ten toes, lines going all over the place, a big smile on her face, and a circle in the middle of her body that may have been her belly or her navel.

First worked with clay at 7. First attempted to raise a cylinder on the potter’s wheel at 20. First succeeded raising a cylinder at 35. I have made thousands of vessels, hundreds of birds, and scores of individualized chess pieces. I have dozens of ribbons from art shows, mostly honorable mentions.

I have repurposed tons of clay into useful and/or expressive ware. And some day soon I will reporpoise clay into a bottle-nosed dolphin.

Thanks for reading my Bad Pun of the Day, and please vote for me!!

a trio of imperfectly

peeled hard-boiled eggs

huddle in a potter’s bowl

where they will be fork-mashed and -hacked

to a unified mush to which will be added

store-brand mayonnaise in three dollops

and Plochman’s mustard in an air-forced squirt.

this condimented mush will lie

on a store-brand potato bread hot dog bun

and on this bed of food

thin-sliced roma tomato will be arrayed.

1% butterfat milk will be the beverage.

coffee with splenda and french vanilla dry creamer

will follow

as with a sauntering walk

to aid digestion.

Again, to my sweetheart Donna

when my faraway love and I talk on the phone

sometimes it is a playful random subject-walk

sometimes it is important nuts&bolts of plans

but probably most often it is being-together

touching . . .

“just wanted to hear your voice”

you come over right now”

“i embrace you. i kiss you”

“my heart is full

but my bed is half empty”

these are not sweet nothings

they are sweet little-bitties

saying yet again

what we say every day

..

we pass the time apart

together

we entwine

churning the yearning

into a frothy parfait

Photo courtesy of WordPress Free Photo Library

fortified, medicated, dying

when i was a sickly little kid I was disinfected with an antibiotic bombardment

it killed even the good bacteria aiding digestion and so i was made to eat much more yogurt than I wanted

they also tried a sulfa-drug nasal eyedropper and different antihistamines and vitamin and iron supplements

i was vaporubbed and gammaglobulined and forbidden nighttime outdoor activity because, the allergist said, many plants germinate at night

and they put a dust precipitator in my room

and they put me in “adaptive p. e.” at school

and i was unhappy at all that freakifying treatment

i feel a whisper of humiliation to this day

but now it’s quite normal especially at my age to be encumbered with a daily schedule of several medications

so i fit right in with my atenolol and rosuvastatin and tamsulosin and metformin

..

but now i dislike fitting in

and though dying scares the crap out of me and i hate the very notion and I hope not to face the reaper for many years

there seems to be a creeping invasive notion

that there will be an upside to the end

challenge: post;

no overthinking.

take a ghost,

black eyes unblinking,

lonely, drifting,

yearning wraith;

add a just-

deceased lass

Faith.

have an afterlife, you two.

have some ghost-kids. have a crew.

have a picnic on the moon–

post complete,

and

none

too

soon.

🙂

clumsy

stumble

wobble

nearly fall

obstacles define you

navigation

of a wall

tends to misalign you

breathing ragged

eyesight blurry

strategy

a mess

don’t be jagged

what’s your hurry?

long live

Clumsiness!

..

Friends, I am still in the running for Johnny Depp’s The People’s Artist competition. If you would like to vote for me, this is the link:

peoplesartist.org/2026/g-bowers

This round’s voting is through May 22nd. Thank you!

you get taken out of the thusfar when you die

and are brought back when you are reborn.

flour and water are mixed and flattened

and briefly brought to flame and tortilla life

reborn how?

your birthday comes and a You comes to memory.

and the tortilla encases spiced meat and green chilies

and a mix of cheeses

a poem you wrote long ago is reread

and the reader hears your voice, thinks your thoughts.

and is plated with salsa and sour cream

and a cooling mix of shredlettuce and tomato dice

you will be dreamt. a cousin will mention you,

sounding like you. there are photo-traces of you.

and the diner carefully puts salsa on every bite,

sour cream on some, and when the burrito is gone

it becomes an indivisible part

of the diner’s thusfar.

one eye squinted shut the other bleary

nightshirt x-men ’97 underwear camo (????)

pills to take teeth to clean stubble to shave away

then a shower washes evil away

and coffee provides a fortifying elixir

..

five days a week for more or less 150 weeks

this is the way things begin

the odd and reassuring way I say

“gentleman, start your engine”

Torn Hawaiian Shirt on Floor, 2026

My beloved, bluesy Hawaiian shirt had left-side shredding beyond repair. I placed it on my front room floor to take a farewell photo, but the front & center, arms-at-sides pose made the poor shirt look like he was facing a firing squad, so I moved him around, and lo and behold, he resisted on direction, flowed in another, acquiesced in yet another. He ended up looking like a cartoon profile head of Picasso with a touch of Mussolini, depicted cubistically, the shirt tags providing the whites and the beads of his beady eyes. At the top of the back of his head he seems to have hatched a spectral descendant of the Warren Publications narrator Uncle Creepy.

This is an example of ephemeral art, Friends. It existed only until, seconds after I took the photo, I picked up the shirt and dropped it in the waste-paper basket for conveyance to the dumpster. The photo not only memorializes it, though; it extends its existence digitally, and multiplies it by as many people who see this photo. It will, as popular parlance has it, live rent-free in your head for the rest of your life.