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Today I had the privilege of working with two of the true Sweethearts of the Village Gallery. One of them was Ricki Losee, as above. I hope to devote a future post to the other of them, but for today she will remain anonymous.

As for Ricki, her artwork in Prismacolor pencils is a celebration of vibrant, color-saturated life.  She is at one with nature, especially with those creatures she deems Happy Things, which include birds and butterflies. Every nature drawing I have seen of hers has love, loyalty and creature-fellowship in it.

This page occurred mostly during a lull in the early shift, when Ricki asked me about my poetry and I decided to demo it for her, noting the happy fact that both of her names, Ricki and Losee, are five characters long. While I worked I talked to her about things important to her. Reverence for life is way up there, as is her love for her ornithology-inclined daughter, who is studying raptors, golden eagles in particular, and in pursuit of a Ph.D. So I have surrounded Ricki with not only a few sketchnails of her drawings, but also a golden eagle in full wingflex.

The words to the eponymous double acrostic are these:

Reverence for life ensures you have a tale to tell
If you see some Happy Things they just may say Hello
Cackles, birdsong, cacophonic squawks–and so it goes
Keeping conversation with a Condor? Do not grouse
It may turn to dietary issues–like a mouse

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The title for this series owes its colonscape to the Miller Analogies Test, Interested parties may quickly find a website that has the lowdown on the MAT, and free sample tests to boot, but all you need to know here is that ” : ” means ” is to ” and ” :: ” means ” as “.

:: you may recall, the double-acroticist looked at his (my) ANK LET beginning, and quickly epiphanied  opportunity toappend aitch and tee, yielding ANKH LETT and enabling a DOUBLE Double Acrostic, which is not to be confused with a Quadruple Acrostic. The twin-twin challenges remaining were to 1) finish the acrostic a) so it would makes sense either way; and 2) do the illustration, which must b) incorporate the acrosticization in a single image. The above study is a possible serving suggestion, imagining a Lett woman (identified through her choice of having the flag of Latvia on her ankle) wearing an anklet that bears amongst its links an Ankh. What about LET? some astute observer may ask. Well, my Sweet Girfriend, who shall go named–Denise–LET me take a photo of her lower leg, and I based my drawing on the photo.

Two parts down, five to go. See you fine folks in a couple of days!

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I keep getting possessed by a lovesickeningly romantic Sap who thinks life is hunky-dory as long as She Loves Me and, contrariwise, life is horrible if She Loves Me Not. Every so often I let him ride the Pencil and the Rhyme-Scheme-atron. This is one such time.

Here are the saccharine words:

Overtures at any other time may have been rash
Out of their contextual ensconcement–likely hash
If, however, frank assertions from a soulmate’s cache
Infiltrate a heart it may restore one’s hope, for sure
Cats who are enthusiastic tend to preen and purr
Catch a wholesome ecstasy: just meet a gaze and stir

The Sap wants me to point out the hidden message of the middle words: other contextual assertions restore enthusiastic ecstasy. Sap, it is done. Now please get lost until I need you again…

 

ImageIndex cards, four inches by six, ruled on one side and blank on the other, are the antibane of my existence. A few dozen of those babies and a couple of sharp Ticonderoga Black pencils and I can fly intercontinentally and be kept engaged and amused throughout the flight. Get a hundred-pack at any office supply and for less than four cents each you have the ideal unthreatening Idea Playground. Bad ideas can be tossed, good ones added to the uncut-diamond pile.

Today I have the acorn of what I hope will sprout into the oak of an exemplary journal page. I started with ANK LET, perhaps a next-in-the-series to my previously posted GOB LET. As I was working out end words ANK and LET were staring me in the face and ANK started hankering for an aitch at the end: ANKH. Ankh: powerful life-symbol from ancient Egypt. “Spirits of ancient Egypt..,” Paul McCartney sang once.

But what about LET? Well, add a tee and you get Lett, which means Latvian. This can go any number of good ways.

End of Part One

Happy Valentine’s Day to my dear Girlfriend, Denise. Denise, I custom-created this for you while watching the very romantic movies WOMAN OF THE YEAR and PRIDE OF THE YANKEES. Hope you like it!Image

Sorry about the crappy-phone-camera photo quality, Darling. I’m Scannerless right now.

Here are the words, from me to you:

Get kisses right before we sleep: all very well and good
Great chemistry as surely as mahogany is wood
But thorough bliss is unfulfilled unless a savored wish
Be shared be sought be striven for be Had–we DO? Delish!

Love,
Gary

On the last of January I made the acquaintance of a force of nature in the disguise of a little old lady. She allows me to post this blog only on the condition that I use no names nor photos, though she allowed me to take a camera-picture of her for my photo source for my drawing. She says it’s all right to use the first initial of her and her friend’s names, so she shall be A___, and her friend, G___.

A___ and her family had the good sense to leave their neighborhood two days before the Nazis hit town, which is why she is alive to tell her bathtub stories and jokes. She told me three of each. Yesterday I synopsized the bathtub stories in the following poem, using a title provided by a friend:

life in a bathtub

an electric-blue-clad 88-yr-young lady breezed into the shop
and almost immediately told three bathtub stories
which are here arranged by her age at the time

very, very young, in austria-hungary:
as the youngest, in her uncle’s house,
she was the first in the day for the family bathwater;
for some reason, though, she had to bathe
surrounded by the family.
her uncle dropped a sugar cube into the water.
“that’s for your sweetness.”

fifty-one years old, in california:
water was being rationed.
a fellow apartment dweller knocked on the door
and asked to share her bathtub
so that they would be good and proper rationers.
he was twenty-six. a neurologist, and most likely a virgin.
mayhem ensued
when his long, lanky leg knocked down the shower curtain.
years after the affair they were still in touch.

in her mid-seventies, northern arizona:
she’d had a WONDERFUL bath
and then dressed
and answered her friend’s knock at her door.
“why so smiley?” “i’ve just had the BEST bath.”
turns out her friend both didn’t have a tub
and desperately wanted a bath.
soon she was in the tub and in bliss;
soon after, though, her friend discovered
that as an old and hefty lady
she could not get out of the tub.
she, petite and elderly as she was, tried to help.
early efforts were in vain. finally
she took off her own clothes and got in,
squirmed under her friend, and chivvied and hoisted.
a hefty upper body flopped out of the tub
and one of the puppies,
triggered by the pendulous breast
dangling before her puppy eyes
began to nurse.
“OH, how we laughed!!!”

i have the lady’s number.
i will call her soon,
but not to share her bathwater.

*****

As for the jokes, I’ll just tell the shortest for now. It’s also the only non-R-rated one.

Goldstein gets pulled over by a cop. “Sir,” the cop says severely, “Are you aware that your wife fell out of your car a quarter of a mile back?” “Oh, thank God,” Goldstein replies. “I thought I’d gone deaf.”

–Well, if you heard HER tell it, you’d laugh. Here she is:

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My friend Joe challenged our poetry group to write a poem about metal, but not gold, silver or platinum. I wrote this:

yum yum yum molybdenum
say it thrice it makes you thrum

with it i am o so chummy
want to be molybdenummy

love it quickly love it slowly
worship it as holy moly

moly ringwald moly hatchet
moly fever let’s all catch it

that is why i gave it chase
wound up with a moly face

This morning I frantically riffled through my archives for a second Holy Moly. Here it is:

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Two Holy Molys will see me safe to Phoenix, where I’ll see my mother, my daughter, and, I hope, my ailing stepfather. Au revoir!

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From midnight to seven today I was doing my Graveyard Shift Front Desk thing. Drove home to Cottonwood, communed with Cookie the cat on the couch and caught about forty-five minutes, then drove back to the Village of Oak Creek for my solo shift at the Village Gallery. It was busy and then not off and on from 10am to 6pm. When it was unbusy I looked through my almost-filled notebook for unfinished stuff, being too beat and disheartened to start something new, and found a portrait of Etta James. It was a welcome distraction to work on the portrait and to concoct some poetry based on the liner notes of one of her CDs, which we have at the Gallery. Now I’m here at home, very tired but wired too, and so I finished the page, scanned it and photoedited it as you see. Ms. James died two years and eleven days ago. I so wish I’d seen her perform.

Here are the words to the acrostic:

Even Angels board the ouija
Elves and trolls and you too mija
Thus goes one LA girl’s anthem
Took her Bleus but shan’t decant them
Thrilled a Fuqua Chessed a piece
Tapped a needle for release
Ahh: AT LAST she’s made good choices
Adding hers to Heaven’s voices