
I can call this one Monumental, not because it’s any big deal, but it’s about Monuments, and I have a wretched tendency to go for a Bad Pun when I see one. Please don’t be distracted! 🙂

I can call this one Monumental, not because it’s any big deal, but it’s about Monuments, and I have a wretched tendency to go for a Bad Pun when I see one. Please don’t be distracted! 🙂

Stands for “and in time we shall all be stars.” Remembering a nice moment from the movie Fame, which I saw many years ago. They may have sung that we WILL all be stars, but these are my people and they are expressing Shallness.

My friend Patt Montgomery saw my “B is for Begonia” post and suggested P for Petunia. Patt is one of the most prolific members of our Poets all Call group on Facebook, and she has written a lot of fine poetry using my Title Tuesday titles, so I am glad to have a way to express my appreciation via the use of her suggestion. And what’s not to love about Petunias?

synchroscapeku
i came to see you
as the moon
b e g a n to wax
i saw so much more
As always, the alarm went off at 4:45 AM, Mountain Standard Time. On my days off from work it is on so I can gloat that I don’t have to get up yet; and I also get richer dreams in the sleep-in phase. Today I slugabedded till 7:15, a full two and a half hours extra.

Over oatmeal and coffee I did a Words With Friends “Solo Challenge,” my opponent not a human being but the software-engineered algorithm. These Challenges are like chess problems. For an “easy” opponent you will usually get juicy setups and be able to superscore your way to victory. But for a “hard” opponent you must have more words, and variants of typical words, at your command. In this case my opponent started with “Blawn.” I’d never heard that word–sounds to my perverted mind like the past participle of a verb describing a kinky exhibitionistic sexual practice done in a suburban neighborhood. (Sleep-saturation sends my dream-soaked mind down odd avenues.) But more to the point of winning this Challenge, how do I get a Triple Word Score on this crucial first move? If only “fecal” were six letters long–hey, it IS! all you have to do is parse out the æ from antiquity. The Brits still spell it that way…

And so it went with me matching weird words with other weird words (who knew “jotty” was a thing??) and on to a satisying victory, with no bad aftertaste that occurs when I outscore a real-life Friend. (I never let anyone win. Ego? Egalitarianism? Entropic effectualness? Eitheror Eeyore way, it is often painful to stick to that policy.)
My next act of leisure was to noodle around with my latest work in progress, “P is for Petunia.” I filled in some background and snazzed up the “calligraphy” some. Later I’ll do a dilettante’s research on petunias for fun facts. They will go to the left of the drawing. But without them, the page is unbalanced. –Hey, Kids, let’s put on a Mashup Show! I took the ceramic “Chess Piece Series” Rook that my mother had kept on a living-room table for ten years or so, and positioned it so it would occlude the empty area. Bonus: the P of Petunia, which had seemed overly, cartoonishly off-kilter, now appears to be gravitationally drawn to the Rook, which gives him…Bad Pun drumroll, please…more Gravitas!! (Sorry not sorry for the Bad Pun.) Then I played with photoediting Andy Warhol style.

And at 2:14 PM, Mountain Standard Time, my pals Phil, Jeff and Marty and I have a tee time at Palo Verde Municipal 9 Hole Golf Course, where Jeff will win, Marty and Phil will fight for second, and I won’t Suck, because I’m even below Suckitude, golf-wise. But it’s good to be out in the open air with my buds.

I also spent a little time admiring the classic-artworks screen my mom so cleverly put together over 50 years ago. RIP Mom, and miss you, but glad your hurts are no more. Thank you for encouraging your artist son.
To make a long story slightly longer, this has been, and will continue to be, a gloriously lazy day. I am a luxuriating, lucky man to have these days every single week.

feat o clay
storebought clay comes in 25lb bags
two bags fit within a 50lb box
forty boxes make a one-ton pallet
and it is cheaper by the ton
but let’s start with what one bag can do

a quarter of a bag yields an exotic heretofore nonexistent bird
a tenth of a bag might give you a cereal bowl or a small teapot
devoting all 25lb of the bag to one shape might be the life-sized head and shoulders
of a couple of human beings
the same 25lb might depict a village in ultraminiature

“feet of clay” is idiomatic for fallible
but perform a feat o clay
and you become upliftable

commune
attune
become
one
with
clay

Today I learned that, as sent red roses signify Passion, and yellow roses Friendship, sent begonias are a way of saying “Be cautious,” and that plus empathy means “Stay Safe,” which is a mild way of saying “I love you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” For this special, dire time, it makes sense to send begonias to loved ones.
Have some Begonias, Friends. ❤

My latest Bad Pun Brain Teaser Contest was won by Bobbi Wells, a fellow member of the Facebook poet’s group Poets All Call. I had the unique pleasure of meeting Bobbi in person WAY back in the day, when she happened to be in Sedona at the same time that I and my then-sweetheart Denise were also there, and we rendezvoused at the Wildflower Bread Company. She was and is full of bubbly cheer and life, and a bit of magicky mischief. Remembering that visit, I crafted her promised acrostic-portrait prize with a reference to her Eons username anyafairlight, which is so Her that I often still call her Anya.
Bobbi Wells
Bucketize some morning dew
Overpay what’s overdue
Burst the seams of Laughter’s shawl
Bingoize that coverall
In a place where Why-Not dwells
It’s our Anya casting spells

A long time ago I read “At the Core,” a story by science-fiction author Larry Niven. (Fate-of-the-galaxy spoiler alert.) His protagonist Beowulf Schaeffer was hired by an alien race to pilot a superfast spacecraft to the galactic core. As Schaeffer gets closer he sees a lot of radiation. And as he gets closer yet he discovers that the galaxy is exploding, and in about 25,000 years the deadly radiation chain reaction will reach what is called “known space,” where humans and all aliens that humans have encountered dwell. Soon after Schaeffer reports this to his alien employers, the entire alien race prepares to leave the Galaxy. Schaeffer at first shrugs–who cares about 25,000 years from now?–but then wonders if the aliens, who are considered cowardly, might not be more courageous than we are. At minimum they recognize without denial the danger that they must face, and the sooner the better. Niven ends the story by having Schaeffer think, “Maybe it is the humans who are the cowards–at the core.”

A long time ago I did a Zinniascape. This near-Spring, a time of renewal and beginnings, the other end of the alphanet may be more suitable.