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For the Love of a Pooch

June 13, 2014
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It has been more than five years since Bill, great-souled dog of the Family Bowers, breathed his last. Here’s to him.

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Fate took us to the shelter, not any agenda
Forces beyond our control, but benign, and a plethora

Of circumstantial oddity eased our leap
Over into not-really “ownership” in one Swell Foop

Remembered times: a lovely fugue in allegro

This is a noble BEAST with an urge to GO

He is brave in the face of Danger and of high ethic
He is patient even though he loves to be manic
He has a sweet disposition–his empathic

Ego is healthy and his FIDELITY is top-notch
Every woof and boof of his is music of his worth

Credit is due my sweet-natured former wife Joni for coining the word ‘boof,’ which rhymes with ‘woof’ and describes the sort of stifled, dewlap-muffled bark Bill would issue, priming his barkmaker for Full Bark Mode. Joni also loved Bill with all her heart, as did Kate.

 

A Middle Name To Live Up To

June 12, 2014
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The middle name starts with a W. People would ask, “What’s the W stand for?” and often they thought they heard this in reply: “Whatever you say it is, it’ll be right.” But what was actually said was, “Whatever you say it is, it’ll be Wright.”

“Wright” means “maker.” In my more pompous moments I have said it means “Creator.” But its original meaning referred mostly to things of wood; thus were dubbed Shipwrights and Wheelwrights. Later, Playwrights. Perhaps one fine day Dreamwright will be a legitimate profession. One may dream.

As a Wright, it is incumbent upon me to make things. Here is something I made in September of 2005, via the process described a couple of posts ago as “the superheated glory of RAKU:”

001And here is something I made in July of 2008, and “digitally remastered” just this morning:

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The text is a triple-acrostic sonnet that goes like this:

Full fathom five to fifty off the reef
For all the Captain’s faithful to his staff
Onsurgent waves tall as a tall Giraffe
Obsess, convulse, and bloom like an O’Keeffe

Let’s pack it in lads this is so unreal
Let’s lash the sail and say that I’m a fool
Let’s learn our lesson and go back to school
Let’s NOT feed lampreys–sucks to be a meal

O MY, spake Bo’s’n–I’m already Jello
O LORD cried Brother–I donwanna halo
Whoopee! said Zooey–why so bleakly stay low
Why Shore said SureShot we’ll be coolly mellow

West of the Sun, Wise are the Woken Few
Whip out the World Wide Web O Brothers New

I love that I have made two such diverse-but-not-opposite things. About the poem I have a perspective just shy of six years from its creation, telling me that despite its adroitness of meter, rhyme and storytelling within the straitjacket of the acrostic form, scholars of the future will not take it seriously due to its scattershot clownishness. That’s moot, though: Not only did I make it, but it reflects my mind with a good transparency. And so in conclusion, ye Creatives, ye Makers, ye Wrights–go thou and do likewise, with my blessings and bonhomie!

 

Dusk 2 Dust, and Other Musings

June 11, 2014
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Lenny Bruce once had a bit where a thief was asking his fence, “Ya wanna buy a hot?” The fence says, “A hot what?” and the thief replies, “A hot ANYTHING–I had a helluva week!” Similarly, I had a helluva night last night. I could not stop drawing. Here are some, but not all, of the results:

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Dip ye into H2O–uh oh–it is très chaud
Urge a flooded 2-step & becalm the sea’s rain’s beau
Solve a Driftwood Puzzlement & give your Mojo brass
Killer Time will 1-2 PUNCH you–your job is to last

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Deliverance of Country with a capp’d & righteous C
Admixturance prog/Southern Rock to make it neo-Neat-o
Veer not from fearless choices as you twist the reverb knob
Endurance with Enjoyment: a Producer’s V i t a l job

I’d never heard nor read of this gentleman before this morning’s WSJ. He’s a record producer who, judging from the article on him, is doing fine work.

Lastly, a (perhaps) work in progress with plenty of blanks to fill. Anyone who provides the between-acrostics text with reasonable meter and rhyme will get their text calligraphed and placed in the acrostic with full credit and praise from me.

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Furnace Blast from the Past

June 10, 2014
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The Superheated Glory of RAKU

Give to the fire ceramic ware
And wait–the ware will glisten–
Uplift the drum; grip tongs with care;
Now grasp; place; burn; imprison
The ware in what were ‘garbage’ cans–
Lo! They contain flamed treasure!
Enjoy the smoky night–and, fans,
Thanks for the shared, pure pleasure.

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The process as practiced at Phoenix College in the mid-2000s involved preheating raku-glazed ware in an old open-topped kiln, placing the ware where a fifty-five-gallon drum could be lowered to contain it, gas-firing the ware till it looked through the peephole as if it were sweating, raising the drum, and pulling the ware out with tongs and placing it in metal trash cans containing combustible material. The material would catch fire and then the trash can lids would be slammed down, trapping the smoke within. A couple of hours of that and you’d smell like you’d been in a poker room full of cigar smokers. You’d be tired, hot and probably singed a little. You’d feel Glorious.

 

The Pun Exchange, Featuring Shawn L. Bird

June 9, 2014
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Shawn L. Bird is a poet, a novelist, and an educator. Here is my artist’s conception of her, but I do not do her justice, and I hope you visit her site to find that that is true.

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Recently Shawn posted an “Unfinished Canadian Joke” about a beaver crossing the road, thus:

On the side of the highway:

a body of thick fur and flat leathery tail.

Why did the beaver cross the road?

I guess we’ll never know.

I commented, thus:

Because with Beavers it’s one dam thing after another.

She replied, thus:

You should lodge a complaint.

And from then on it went like this:

Gary: I tried, but my tail fell flat.
Shawn: Keep gnawing at it, and I’m sure it’ll work out.
Gary: Is that incisor information?
Shawn: Dam right! Stick to it!
Gary: Would that I could, but I can’t afford to be chewsy. [sad face]
Shawn: Yes, you have to beavery careful…
Gary: I’ll bite–why?
Shawn: It wood be quite a tail to explain.
Gary: That’s fine, as long as it’s not pulp fiction and I can sink my teeth into it.
Shawn: O no, it’s tree-mendous.
Gary: Ah, sweet Miss Tree of Life. No wonder you’re so poplar. And why aren’t I? Elmentary, my dear Watson…
Shawn: Well now we’re branching out, aren’t we?
Gary: I beleaf so.
Shawn: I willow you for this!
Gary: Weep not, O Poet. I know payback’s a beech.

Shawn, in her e-mail kindly granting permission to make a post of this, says, “I’m still pondering my rebuttal! You may have won the pun-off! [winky face]”  But rebuttal or no, she is the winner: She inspired, she generously gave of her time and wit, and she gave as good or better than she got. She proves that the much-maligned Pun has layers of value, as a vehicle for playfulness, as a way of geometrically expanding reality, and as an engagement of mind that helps stave off mind-loss. Life handled lightly from time to time is more enjoyable, and this is one way to enjoy it. Thank you, Shawn!

Batter UP/HEY Batta Batta Batta

June 5, 2014
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Half a day or so ago I watched a rebroadcast of Major League Baseball’s Arizona Diamondbacks versus the Colorado Rockies. Going into the eighth inning the D-Backs were down 8 to 5. But soon the bases were loaded, a walk was forced in, and then Paul Edward Goldschmidt, affectionately known as “Goldy,” lanced a three-run double down the third baseline, and the tide was turned.

To anyone unfamiliar with the esoterica of baseball, the preceding sentence is full of gibberish, as is this commemorative page. But I hope the page and its cadences work as metaphor and visual engagement for those unfamiliar with baseball.

“Batter Up,” said by the umpire, is the traditional way to start a half-inning. “HEY Batta Batta Batta,” said by the catcher and various of his teammates, is classic “pepper,” chattery words said to disconcert the batsman. Alas, modern professional baseball seems to lack this particular spice.

Batter UP

Buy a ticket, go, and then U
Are where Food Courts apprehend U
There’s a T-Bone on the menu
Tip your cup your hand your cap
Easy does it–loll and yap
Righteous Game is on the map

HEY Batta Batta Batta

Hurler squints and grips the orb
Hitter, in the moment, Zorba
Here the pitch comes–SWING–he hits it
Hammered, but the shortstop gets it

Elegance and s t a m i n a
Errors happen: WHAM and flub
Earned Run Averages rise–a
Eulogy for wild/crazed guys–it
Engineers a Bullpen dance–it
Ends the run extravaganza

You warble till you lose your Warb
You soak up fun–as you absorb, a
Youngness is, with which you’re kist
You add GRIN to your All-Done list
You see again the skyback vista

Passion/Fashion/Clasher

June 4, 2014
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I don’t know much about fashion, so I wonder how different my image would be if I did. I would love to hear from fashionistas about this one. Is it true, for instance, as I imply in the last line, that Halston and Dior are dated and/or obsolete? I just don’t know.

As for the clothing I drew, I wasn’t using any photo sources, so it’s all out of my head. The young woman with her back to us in full embrace is wearing my version of capri pants. The runway type in the middle is wearing a slit-thigh dress that is probably backless to boot; that’s the way (uh huh, uh huh) I like ’em. The fencers are wearing functional clothing; they’re fencing, not fashionizing. (And the embracers are passionizing; I just like capri pants.)

Here are the words to the triple acrostic:

Parting’s sweet, sorrowful dustup’s like talc
And it’s oft Tearful be you guy or gal
Slip on your soft shoes to slide to a salsa
Sex ups the salesmanship though it be crass
Iridesced I N D I G O gives it some dash
Overstocked, undersold fates are in store
Now for old Halston and older-yet Dior

do tell

June 3, 2014
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“And if you love somebody
tell them.”
–Rod McKuen, “Atlas”

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words:

divinations sink or float
dealing with an asymptote
odd: the doom we may forestall
owning up with wherewithal

Blog Post #500

May 31, 2014
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It is a day like many others. Denise and I went to pick up her Bountiful Basket order and then we went to the gym nearby and then we went to restaurant nearby and then we went home. She took the recycling to the recycling bins on Camino Real and I worked on five-minute portraiture. Ultimately we went to our respective caves to work on art and Art. She has published her latest post, “Mandalas,” and I am working on mine, “Blog Post #500.” The software is taking forever to upload my image, though it is a mere 150K or so.

So I’ll save this in draft after finishing the text, which includes this transcription of the post’s eponymous triple acrostic:

Bedeviled by the Telescum–perhaps they have my number
But here’s a fine true path to keep to boast a most high number
Loose fingers take me to a parlor shopping for a new five
Let’s do licentiousness 4 times–God knows you cannot do five
O do not look for Rhyme nor Rules: for you will find here zero
Got Truth? Got lots, good friend, but Hitting Home I put near zero

Later: opened the saved draft; used “Add Media” to upload the image, which seems a bit blurred but that’s OK; added tags that included “truth,” “rhyme,” “creative process,” and “blog posting,” but not “Telescum,” for that is a word I made up, though it may already have been created unbeknownst to me. Will now post this historic piece, Share it on Twitter and Facebook, and then invite my dear Denise to celebrate life and love.