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2020 0418 over atop

This morning I was watching a video featuring the late John Prine. He was at a festival that had “Not Strictly Bluegrass” in its title. Inference says it was 2017 because Prine dedicated the song “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore” to “The New Führer, Adolf Benito Trumpetini.” And bless Honest John Prine’s protest-prone heart. He certainly had Trump pegged.

Prine has gotten a lot of deserved and long-overdue attention since he contracted, and eventually succumbed to, COVID-19. His many fans may enjoy a listen to another Heaven-related song, “When I Get To Heaven,” which begins with these spoken words:

“When I get to Heaven, I’m gonna shake God’s hand.
I’ll thank Him for more blessings than one man can stand.
Then I’ll find me a guitar, and start a Rock ‘n’ Roll Band.
And check into a swell hotel. Ain’t the Afterlife grand?”

John, this one’s for you. Wish you were here.

Over Atop

OMGDG someone call the DEA
Onward! For amazement jazzes up both alp & lea

Verily some Jameson laced your café au laît
Very Fine to Mint–remember LSMFT

Endchronic maelstromic War serves the libretto
Ectoplasmic echoes gather souls from manse to ghetto

Romper Room is OVER friends–balloon’s about to pop
Rise the fell APOCALYPSE the fullness of the stop

Today’s National Poetry Writing prompt called for a poem that featured technology that is no longer in vogue. When I saw the prompt the memory of the scent thrown off by the mimeograph at Glendale High School–of the ink and spirit developer, that second cousin of Magic Markers, liltingly aromatic–hit me in the nose, so I did a little bygone-era walkabout via Internet search, and watched a training film on mimeograph techniques courtesy of the University of California at San Diego, which in 1958 was called San Diego University.

(More Memory Laning came when the film reminded me of the sound the film projector made when in grade school and high school they showed us stuff like that. I remember in 8th Grade, Mr. Gasser showed us a film on digestion, featuring fluoroscopy after a food or drink item had been put in the mouth, and seeing the journey down the gullet to Stomachville. Hilarity ensued when Mr. Gasser ran the film backwards, and you saw stuff gradually coming up a kid’s esophagus, then consolidating in the mouth, and then you see the kid chew and chew, stick his fork in his mouth, and pull out an unchewed piece of cherry pie. Our darkened room exploded with laughter. So hey, Rudy Gasser, wherever you are–thanks for all the fun stuff like that!)

2020 0417 mimeo

Mimeo Graph

Make a stencil/get an ink pad/paper: cotton rag
Mockup/test/& crankcrankcrank/you got it in the bag

Images come flying out, 12 dozen for a dollar
It’s a boogie-woogie noise the envy of Fats Waller

Memoranda/flyers/Hell: The History of Cholera
Maybe even comic books–Osiris Vs. (Taller) Ra

Eventually, Xerox gave the mimeos the slip

Obsolescence makes them one with petro/hieroglyph

In a previous post I did a poem intertwining Rudyard Kipling, Edgar Allan Poe and Sylvia Plath. “Kip Poe Syl” lent itself to an acrostic, but I did not do one. Now I do.

2020 0414b kip poe syl

Kip Poe Syl

Khartoum beckons. Reaper reckons. Lass
Keeps fiendish company as love takes pass

Into Manhood-proving fateful fray
IF NEVERMORE & Daddy go away

Pip Pip hooray Bedeviled eggs go well
Parboiled plenteously here in HELL

Day Fourteen, and here is a paste of the prompt:

“Today’s optional prompt asks you, like Alice Notley, to think about your own inspirations and forebears (whether literary or otherwise). Specifically, I challenge you today to write a poem that deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems. These could be poems/poets/people that you strive to be like, or even poems, poets, and people that you strive not to be like. There are as many ways to go with this prompt as there are ways to be inspired.”

So I thought of the poets, and there are too many. Then my inner acrosticist took three cards out of the Rolodex: Rudyard Kipling, Edgar Allan Poe, and Sylvia Plath. All left their mark. All were driven and bedeviled and haunted. And they haunt me. I know the opening lines of “The Raven” and “Daddy” and I know all of “IF-” And Kip, Poe and Syl uniquely identify them with three letters. So there may be an Acrostic in the future…but I’m not feeling Acrosticky right now. But let’s see what happens.

2020 0414 kip poe syl

Kip Poe Syl

Rudyard and Edgar and Sylvia Plath
Let us be shaped by this odd Threefold Path.
Let us get Kip for the blood and the bone,
Firmly embed in Testosterone Zone.
Poe is for Passion so darkly uncomic,
Endlessly rhymed with a beat metronomic.
Syl’s so unsilly, such willies she gives,
Pouring her hope into such porous sieves.

Put them together, you get KipPoeSyl,
Mournful and frantic as Hank’s Whippoorwill.

“Hear the lonesome Whippoorwill.
He sounds too blue to fly.
The midnight train is whining low,
I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.”
Hiram “Hank” Williams, Sr.

2020 0412 dondoff

I’ve been wearing a mask when I go out. It looks like this on me:

2020 0412 gbmask

Some people don’t wear masks going out, despite convincing evidence that they slow the spread of COVID-19. I was thinking about that when I conceived this acrostic. “Off/On” is as binary as “Doff/Don.”

It is a bit uncomfortable to wear, but Friends, I’d rather be uncomfortable than in the ultimate relaxation and comfort condition known as The Dirtnap.

Don & Doff

Danger! Cee*Oh*Vee*Eye*D
O how Bug does Dirty Deed; O
No wonder we’re put off
& can’t STAND a Scoffer’d SCOFF

This is the year of the pandemic, and it makes for a lot of text exchanges. One such that I’ve had with my former co-worker Yuko led down a conversational path to an exchange of not just text, but images. The photo source for this drawing is one of those images. Yuko had explained that she was angry at her mother because she didn’t like the noodles she was given. A sketch, and then an acrostic poem, were born.

2020 0328 baby yuko

baby yuko

bogus noodles every day
and i’m MAD and hope that u
bring me food that is ok
yummy, sweet and tasty too

20200326_181650

Moron Mooon

Marigolds are made to bloom
Mission phantoms bank & zoom

Orbits arc & s a g a s too

Retrograde goes to & fro
Riyadh then Kalamazoo

Overhead that so & so
OMG Behold & Lo

Needle-tufted seeds are sown
Nestling in the Great Unknown

Here, Friends, is a tiny triptych that includes this card.

20200326_180503

I post this image/poem despite huge worry about being misunderstood. It seems obvious to me that it is meant as anti-Trump political commentary, and meant to raise awareness of the criminally misleading messages Trump had for the citizens of the United States in the first crucial weeks of the US outbreak–but people are sick and dying EVERYWHERE, and this may seem insensitive. I regret that I find it necessary.

A friend my age has a nephew who informed him some days ago that the COVID-19 was referred to among millennials as “Boomer remover.” Since I was born in 1954, right in the thicket of Boomer births, that struck a nerve, then a chord, and this poem/image happened.

Heaven knows I wish this pandemic weren’t happening. Since it is, though, I’m determined to a) live through it, and b) not cause anyone to NOT live through it. Raising awareness via this card is a (howbeit remote) chance to help “flatten the curve.”

2020 0322 thin that herd

THIN That Herd

Typhus strep and tetanus all tend to dine & dash
Hepatitis C may choose to have much less panache
Influenza scleroderma–and a touch of choler
Nestles in our systems like an evil Michael Pollard

Last ironic note: The United States of America has been grappling with another issue of epidemic proportions: that of rampant obesity. A healthy and non-fatal way to “thin that herd” is with controlled, sensible weight loss. Tighten Your Belts,. Friends!!

 

20200321_105118

There’s a plan this evening for my former wife Joni and our daughter Kate to bring me a green corn tamale with green sauce from La Piñata, a restaurant we’ve frequented since last century.

Kate will knock on my apartment door. I will wait ten seconds, then open the door. Kate and I will wave to each other, and then she’ll get back in the car with Joni while I take the meal they brought me inside.

Until this crisis is over, we must be ultra-cautious. We want to stay alive.

And yet two weekends ago there was a barbecue in the South where no restrictions applied. And just yesterday law enforcement had to chase thousands off a Florida beach.

Americans have been badly misled by our 45th President, Donald Trump. His ill-chosen words–“new hoax!” among many–lulled the US into inaction at a crucial time. Yet he still feels entitled to point his finger at a journalist and say “You’re a terrible reporter” when the reporter invited him to say something to reassure the American people.

HE is terrible. He should not be President. He should be behind bars for, at the very least, reckless endangerment which is costing lives.

Mis Led

Megadeaths will seal the deal

If/Thens à la Jordan Peele

See us lack both Sword and Shield