Archive

Tag Archives: acrostic poetry

2022 0103 tough crowd

A few days ago I got on the stage of a Phoenix bar, Gypsy’s Roadhouse, to perform seven minutes of poetry, at the request of, and in celebration of the birthday of, my friend Russ K. I was happy to be there, and honored by the request, but the superb performers who had preceded me could not get a rise out of the audience. And I did worse than they did.  The ONE time I got the faintest rise out of this tough crowd was an ad lib. I was in the middle of a set of words about cats, in one of my series of “CATastrophic Cat Acrostics,” and I came to the word “Anhedonia,” and I stopped. Looked at the crowd. “Raise your hand if you know what Anhedonia is.” No one raised a hand. “It is the Inability to Experience Pleasure.” Waited a beat. “You know, kind of like what you guys are going through now.” And I got a micro-laugh.

Other than that, it was zilch, zip, zero, and I psychically limped off the stage, yielding it to the next victim. Some nights are going to be like that, if you dare to take a stage.

But it was a valuable experience, humbling and character-building.  And it inspired this page. Please note that the things I have people say in my cartoon above did not happen at Gypsy’s Roadhouse that night. But I have heard the equivalent of every single one of them in my four-decade experience in bars, grilles, nightclubs, and lounges. Bar ladies DO get hit on rudely. People DO verbally abuse family members over the phone. Other people talk incessantly during a person’s act; so on so forth.

And some bars are magnets for extreme behavior. One of my favorites, not too far from my apartment, has been known to have crime-scene tape around it more than once.

TOUGH Crowd

They eschew the esoteric
Ostracize the sweater wearer
Upsy-daisied Jericho
Goes the Confidence, laid low
Having thus been woh’d, whoaed, woed

2021 1220 michelle frost omg

Soon after I began soliciting nominees for featured poets in Volume III, returned Valley resident Michelle Frost threw her hat into the ring. So I met her at Jarrod’s, an arts-friendly coffee stop in Mesa between where she lives and where I live, and in two minutes I was enthralled. She spoke of her way-back-when involvement in the Valley poetry scene, her move to Oregon and involvement in Great Northwest poetry, and changes that led to her return to the Valley. She also mentioned some other work she’d done, which I’ve highlighted in the note I made left of the acrostic above, and when she told me she was a professional organizer looking for more clients I said, “I’ll hire you.”

You see, I have been overwhelmed by living-space chaos for months now, and I am more disorganized than the Tasmanian Devil of Looney Tunes fame. Here is what Michelle was going to be dealing with:

And, long story short, here’s the view from where I’m sitting after Michelle worked her organizational wizardry:

20211220_191034

Here’s a transcription of the note by the poem:

“C. Michelle Frost, known to some of her friends as Frosty, is a poet and a professional organizer. She has been in her journey a teacher, a caregiver, a team member at a nursery, and the manager of the Children’s Books Department at a Barnes & Noble. Today she helped me organize my living space. Let’s add ‘Miracle Worker’ to her curriculum vitae. 🙂 “

Yesterday Michelle wrote an Abecedarian poem, which is an acrostic involving all the letters on the alphabet in order. I asked her, after she worked her magic and before she left my apartment, if she had something in the poem that would serve as an exemplary quotation for my page. Upon her recitation of the poem, which doubles down on the abecedarian acrostic with specific-letter alliteration, she got to the Fs and found three words that she said applied to her: Frolicking, Friendly, and Forgetful. But when I was calligraphing those words on the page, Forgetful somehow became “forgetly.” “Whoops!” I said and started to erase. “No, that’s GOOD!” she said abruptly, so “forgetly” remains. That micro-collaboration thrills me.

Here is the poem:

Michelle Frost OMG

Making waves beware a reef
It may be a lacerator
Chafing skin and giving grief–O
Harbors harbor alligators
Ecstasy may make verklempt
Latitude may stir a dog–O
Lyrical as Eminem
Easy as an Epilog

 

The last line alludes to how easy I found it to converse with this poet, C. Michelle Frost. I met her this autumn, yet I can talk to her as easily as if I’ve known her for years. She has the gift of being welcoming. 

This is at least the second time I’ve used “Into Each Life” as a triple-acrostic spine. Curious readers may find another one in my November 2014 archives. Fun fact: Georgia O’Keeffe is featured in the other one as well.

2021m 1219 into each life

Into Each Life

Introspection keeps us healthy. Won’t you stick around A. Weil
Notwithstanding automation he’s alive as you and I
Thanatopsis is no way of circumnavigating grief
Onomatopœia pops to hasten us to G. O’Keeffe

“Won’t you stick around A. Weil” is my first Bad Pun of the day. Andrew Weil is a highly respected and knowledgeable expert on Health. His discussions on nutrition go right down to the chemical-interaction level. He is a valuable resource, but is not the easiest read in the world, because the subject matter itself is complex; but I think anyone serious about their health would benefit from hearing what he says.

Georgia O’Keeffe is a valuable resource as well. She lived one of the fullest lives possible for a woman born in her time, and she left us some incredible images. One of the big thrills of my life is that I was once in the same room with her and Ansel Adams.

If you find this poem, this page, and my intentions hard to fathom, it is not your fault. The first line, pun notwithstanding, is fairly straightforward, and the second line, “Notwithstanding” notwithstanding, isn’t too obtuse. But “Thanatopsis is no way of circumnavigating grief”? Thanatopsis means “a meditation upon death.” Circumnavigating means “sail or travel completely around a thing, especially the world.” What I try to say in this line is thinking about and expressing philosophical notions on the subject of Death is not going to help anyone deal with the grief associated with a particular death. It may be a way of avoiding that grief. And I think it’s important to give grief its proper station, in proper moderation.

The last line has an element of word-playfulness to it. When I say “Onomatopœia pops” I am exploiting a loophole in our language rules to make Onomatopœia itself onomatopoetic. At the same time, my use of “automation” in line 2 finds a faint, twisted echo in “Onomatopœia pops.” and the line as a whole, “Onomatopœia pops to hasten us to G. O’Keeffe” carries an implication of synaesthesia, which is “the production of a sense impression relating to one sense by stimulation of another sense.” hearing light, seeing sound, smelling touch are all synaesthetic phenomena. Don’t Georgia’s flowers pop? 🙂

 

20211210_100121

This card started with a freeze frame from a movie that had a cityscape. I sketched from the image on screen till I had about 40% of the scape in rough form, then I watched the rest of the movie, went back to the sketch, and faked and finished the rest. It needed a foreground, so the woman showed up and said she needed age, wine, and a drone recording her rooftop solo soirée. I obliged best I could. “Now the Crostic. I am a Crone, no bones about it. And you made me look too good, but I’ll take it. Make the bookends DRONE and CRONE, and put a big tasty Ampersand in the middle. Good. Now keep the words to a bare-bones minimum. Use some dichotomy and some complementary. –You’re done for now, but if you make this into a large-scale painting choose better words. For now, though, just adjust the background a bit for consistency and balance. –That’s enough. –I SAID, that’s ENOUGH!!”

Drone & Crone

Daydreams & rhetoric
Recorders & survivor
Omnivore & seraglio
Nonetheless & deposition
Ecstasy & testosterone

WordPress wished me a Happy Anniversary today. Nine years ago I made my first blog post. By the end of Year Ten, I hope to have done blog post #2000.

Today I offer an unflattering portrait. But it is not to humiliate. I hope it will motivate me to spend 2022 becoming a much fitter version of myself. We’ll see what happens.

This is also a nod to my former co-workers at SSP America. Often when someone would see me coming in and ask how I was doing, I’d say “Not bad for a fat, old guy.” “Oh, stop it,” some would reply. But I kept saying it, because I wanted to own my age and fat and still hold my own in the food-service milieu, where the average age and weight for the worker bees are much lower than 67 years and 238 pounds. Of course, before the pandemic I was both younger and lighter. Time to swing the pendulum back toward fitness and health!

20211203_132012

Fat Old Guy

Fall out of bed and shake a leg
For Life would take you down a peg

And flail and fry and fricasee you
And hear the White Lie “Nice to see you”

Time was I’d be considered Hunky
Today it’s Open Wide For Chunky

.

Note: When I was growing up and much of my focus was on Candy, there was a product called Chunky that was a biggish, ziggurat-shaped chunk of milk chocolate. Their television commercials always ended with a bass voice singing the four-word jingle “Open wide for Chunky.”

2021 1114 know this

Know This

Keepsakes are not vainly kept
Nothingness has zero depth
Out of Love came You and I
With Caresses meeting Sighs

This image and double-acrostic quatrain is from a remembrance of my favorite book, The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder. The way I read Bridge, Wilder presented five different kinds of human love as an argument that the Universe did in fact make sense. I try to conduct my life as if that were true.

2021 1103 offset

I am a disbeliever in miracles, though I have some sympathy for my late, great friend Karen W’s Course in Miracles definition of a Miracle as “a change in perception.” But Childbirth does seem miraculous, and holy, to me. It is an essence of hope. It is that fabled Death-Defying Act

That said, if a potential parent doesn’t want to have children, case closed as far as I’m concerned: they absolutely ought not to have children. There should be zero pressure from relatives, and especially there should be zero pressure from significant others, for someone who doesn’t want children to have them anyway. And Contraception ought to be vigorously employed in such cases. The “be fruitful and multiply” edict was initiated when the world population was far fewer than one billion. The more billions we add, the more overall quality of human life goes down.

Sorry about the preaching. May all the childbirths in your life be cause for joyous celebration!

off (offset) set

offspring nascent in the throes
ferment verdant purple rose
fellow mellow friend or ghost

20210929_151019For the entire month of September I had display space at Bookmans Entertainment Exchange, a charming emporium just north of the Northern Ave Light Rail exit, and on the 29th I was the “Meet the Artist” artist, doing free sketches and demonstrating Acrostic Poetry construction.

The 29th also coincided with my publication of Volume II of my Lives of the Eminent Poets of Greater Phoenix, AZ series.

I also drew free sketches for customers. This lady wanted the “S” Superhero symbol. I was glad to try. When I asked her name she said “Superwoman.”

20211002_093324

I also offered for sale merchandise that included postcards and refrigerator magnets of my artwork.

I didn’t make much money with this venture, but I think I made a ton of FUTURE money if I act on what I learned. Next time an arts or crafts fair nearby has a call for vendors, and there are no scheduling conflicts, I may just take another flying leap. 🙂

2021 0923 sara griffin
This is not my first portrait attempt with Sara. I did one for her birthday, but it wasn’t very good, though she accepted it graciously. I think I did a little better this time, but getting her just right still eludes me.

Sara, once known to me as Hydroxia Gryphon, can perform without a net, metaphorically speaking. She will without a cheat sheet face a crowd and begin singing a capella, and it sounds both spontaneous and pre-ordained.  Her voice is pure and elemental, remindful of a prairie wind.

Sara Will Sing

Scent of sage wafts in the chorus
As the prairie girl sings for us./I
Really love to feel that keen
As deseert zephyrs wail and cling

2021 0923 patrick hareThis is my approximation of Patrick Hare, a mordant and acerbic Valley poet who uses his poetry to skewer cultural wrongdoers who interfere with his enjoyment of daily life. His harangue on the grocery-counter ambusher-cashiers who hit you up for a worthy-cause donation when you just want to pay for your stuff and get out is howlingly hilarious, but dark as can be and not for the squeamish. He says out loud what many of us dare not even think. But he’s a real sweetheart offstage, so I tried to say so in my acrostic:

Wild Hare

Wisteria hides a Pariah
Indignant but sweet as Papaya
Lord Snarky gives dummies What For
Delivering Takedowns galore