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while we are praising lords and passing loot/a lute of ancient times is being plucked/and strummed and breezed and giving noise the boot/accompanying states of bliss and…muck’d

’tis played by fate as she three plays us round/she alternates as one plays tunes that hum/another pulls us puppets on the ground/another cuts our strings. we unbecome.

and then the trinity of sisters switch/for they•she need variety of spice/so player has a turn as karma’s bitch/and bitch turns executioner. not nice.

friend, as the lute plays, if you need reprieve

take pen or brush, and Make, and then Believe.

half of yourself had been waiting in your mother’s ovary since some time before her birth. half of you was manufactured in one of your father’s testes some days before your conception. maybe. it is possible that half of you came from a thawed-out sperm donation.

your tadpole half plowed into your egg half. dna from the tadpole’s head did a jackson pollock number on the egg’s inside wall. the wall thickened and became like unto gandalf to the other sperm cells, saying in effect “you shall not pass.”

you developed and became viable.

you passed through a birth canal or an incision and if you did not cry a childbirth attendee gave you something to cry about.

what you are doing here and now is continuing the journey you began, a journey of survival and the satisfaction of your curiosity, now reading the expositive words of a stranger or a friend or both or neither, and this very instant you have satisfied your curiosity by finding out how this poem en

“Tap” is one of those marvelous itty-bitty words that can mean any of a number of things. You may be tapped for a promotion. You may hear gentle rain on your window. There may be a Raven ready to repeat a maddening word, wanting you to let her in. Or you may be out of funds–tapped out. (I just tapped that on my laptop.)

So I have drawn the master of tap dancing, Sammy Davis Jr., doing what he did superbly. Next to him is a tableau vivant of a man walking, and the tap on his shoulder by a lady who is about to change his life. Next to them is the prosaic and eminently useful Water Tap, based on my bathroom-sink faucet.

Tap TapTapTap Tap

The door goes rat-a-tat-a-tat
To tell a Caller’s on the mat
They may complain about your cat

A dancer taps into nostalgia
And then he has fibromyalgia
As always, Entropy will gouge ya

Penultimately we may gasp
Plead if we hear a gravelled rasp
Perhaps we feel the REAPER’S grasp

2022 0514 wake time rest

Wake (TIME) Rest

“I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow…” Roethke

What a restless Night!!! Oh, dear
Ah, well–we will persevere
Keep the fate and make the mess
Ever hoping ever blest

Afterword: What does it mean to keep the Fate and not the Faith? Adam Clayton Powell, long ago, said “Keep the faith, Baby…and spread it gently.” My late, great Outlaw Uncle, Paul, sent me a condolence note in 1983 after my father died, and he hand-wrote “Keep the faith Gary” in it. Keeping the Fate is as close as I can get: keeping vertical, plugging away for betterment, trying to enjoy and engage and become to create the best Fate I can. Here’s hoping you also do joyful Fate-Keeping, Friends.

Some time ago I wrote the three-stanzaed double acrostic that is featured on this page. It needed some visual enhancement, but what? So I put it aside. Then today I was looking for a blank page in my sketchbook and here it was, and it was remindful of the Monty Python “nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more” routine in which Eric Idle was so incredibly smarmy. I ink-sketched my mind’s-eye Eric Idle, but since I wasn’t using a photo source, it looks only vaguely like him. That’s OK. I will do a good job on him some day, and the double acrostic will be ERIC IDLE, because happy Fate has decreed that his first and last names both are four letters long. Meanwhile:

2021 0122 make mark

MAKE (over easy over easy) MARK

Mahalo holiday Yom Tov — O
Arthur Clarke & Asimov
Kaput kerfuffle Truth or Dare
Envision Bliss & climb a stair

Omnipotence purports to be
Vociferous as raging sea
Engage an engine in a chassis
Rev up peel out fast-fury classy

Embarrassments may Stunt & Jam
And keep a ❤ behind a dam. A
Sasparilla soda jerk or
Yarrowstalks may do the work

You can seek meaning in these verses if you want, and you will find some, but I wrote it and now enjoy it as if it were a video game with little obstacles and challenges and bad guys to leap over and meet and obliterate. The acrostic is a suggestion to make your mark. That doesn’t and shouldn’t mean to cast a shadow of OMG that the world will never forget. When you make ONE person you love feel a little better for your being here, you have made your Over Easy mark, and bless you.

001

One reason there are lots of instruments in the cockpit of an airplane is that sometimes pilots cannot rely on their senses. Their semicircular canals tell them one thing, the view out the window another, and the instruments contradict both. To stay alive, a pilot often has to literally fly in the face of what the body says.

In life, a sense of well-being may just mean that the brain chemistry is literally on the high side of the manic-depressive cycle. Ingesting alcohol or other drugs often imbues the user with undeserved confidence. If you don’t have instruments, like a penlight for the Nystagmus test or a Breathalizer for the measurement of blood alcohol, when in doubt, don’t, no matter what wonderful sense it seems to make, whether it be calling that lost love at three in the morning or shaving/tattooing  your head or entering the wonderful world of amateur day trading. (Sorry to be so parental.)

Here are the words:

Fate denied me being pharaoh
And you say, it’s best that, Gair-O
Lap up your courvoisier
Lapdogs may include Sharpei
Salvage peace/shalom/La Paz
Serenity is no palazzo
Eternity by daw-do-zen
Ernest earnestly got bent
Rovers flying o’er alfalfa
Race past baffleds on El Al

Image

Many years ago, in Mr. Richmond’s Senior English class at Glendale High School, I wrote an essay in which I admitted knowing almost nothing about the subject. Milnor Richmond, in his profound wisdom, circled the admission in red and wrote “Don’t admit it.” I have never forgotten that…

…but I haven’t always taken his advice, literally, literarily, or figuratively. About this page I wish to admit that it has serious flaws. It doesn’t say all that much; what it has to say is confusing; and the face that is supposed to represent Rage doesn’t: it just looks like a guy about to sneeze.

All that said, I don’t think the page is a waste of time to look at. As another wise teacher, Darlene Goto, former Drawing & Composition instructor at Glendale Community College, would often say to a student, “It has possibilities.” I am creatively arrogant enough to say that if I ever take a decent amount of time to realize the page’s possibilities, I’ll have a text/image for the ages. (Now I hear Mr. Richmond’s gravelly voice saying, “Don’t declaim it.”)

Hear are the words to the two acrostics:

Cold fury’s touch will sear
A blast of HATE is near–a
Lunatic–don’t beg
Methinks Fate will renege

Thoughtful speculators dream
Essays to assay a meme
Many wingbeats tax a swan
Pray consult a clairvoyant [French pronunciation, not American]
End with panicked dash, mach schnell–a
Runaround leaves us unwell