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Tag Archives: life

i. non-denial isle

i was talking to my good friend lyle/who was walking his chihuahua kyle/in the midafternoon/when an ICE-y hot goon/pepper-sprayed away my charming smile

after that my recollection’s misty/but i must’ve got a little fisty/what with ICE-man on the ground/and a wannabee hound/yapping that there were yet more fascisti

so we beat it to the subway tunnel/where the thug squad wasn’t apt to funnel/and we got to my place/and I washed off my face/but my left eye wept a salty runnel

manhattan is a ravaged isle/often wonderful and often vile/but the new mayor’s cool/and he’ll take us to school/to learn how to practice non-denial

ii. hot hand

ace of diamonds

ace of spades

sweet mariah’s mons

three queenly maids

iii. got it get it got it get it good

my mom like so many a scold on a tear

claimed if she told me once

she told me a thousand times. au contraire:

’twas only nineteen (said the dunce).

thoughts about how fragmented all our personalities must be to navigate our roles

led to a memory of latin class at glendale high school in the late 60s

miss nelson discussing the commentaries of the gallic wars by gaius julius cæsar

and that they began with “all of gaul is divided into three arts”

going to google translate and typing english to latin “all humanity is divided into four parts” yielded a sentence-cased version of this poem’s title

chosen because the evils of the world are divided into four parts in the revelation of saint john the divine

as famine, pestilence, war and death, called “the four horsemen of the apocalypse”

and it may be argued that our personalities are faceted by our response to these four phenomena:

when we seek sustenance we hunt and/or gather

when we are sick we shun our kith and kin and seek medical help

when we contend with rivals and other challenges we alter our blood chemistries as if arming ourselves

and when we face doom we cloud up, deny, negotiate, grieve and accept

..

all of these mindsets will be flavored by love or the absence of love

the big challenge is to integrate them all well before your last meal

summoning the four non-horsefolk kindness, awareness, reason and truth

for a wealthy shift of focus and a well-finished race

there’s a guy i know

who bought a quiche lorraine two days ago

and gloats that he still has half of it left

and thinks he’s deft

because pressing the microwave number one

renders it perfectly done.

.

there’s a guy i am

who feels like I am on the lam

from death herself

so food that’s disappearing from the shelf

is replaced by say oat bran and sardines

because i am learning what degenerative diabetes means.

.

the thing about devil-may-care

is that a metaphorical devil is really there

and what they care about is closing my account

by zeroing out the dwindling amount

of elan esprit de vivre vitality spark

and gearing down from drive

to neutral

to park.

.

one thing about old age

you can rail and weep and rage

pound your fist against the brick

but there’s brief daily ecstasy to be had when you awaken with a pulse and awareness and you hear the lovely affirmative sound of the internal odometer clicking itself another click.

some potters call their clay mud/and themselves mudslingers/the way servers are hashslingers/and firearm duellists are gunslingers/and let’s digress jauntily a bit more and have some fun and call the rumored slayer of goliath a slingslinger

but back to clay also known as mud

there is low-fire clay also known as earthenware/suitable for fire pits but not conventional kilns/unless a freeze-dried puddle instead of a vessel is desired

there is high-fire clay also known as stoneware/that can take a max temp of 2361° F or so,/also known as cone 10

and there is a lot of mud in between

some like porcelain is slick and buttery

some like soldate 60 has some grit

the color range is from chalk white to charcoal black/with red tan and brown also common/and reds and blacks often make for a messy cleanup

according to seven clues to the origins of life without clay we would not exist

and so i say

i am one with clay

was am and will be/nigh unto eternity

life/hive life/the vile defile/the child denial/vilification informed by style/guile

time/climb time/the trial decrial/the tiled parietal/ossification with viaduct bile/aisle

here is your life here is your time preheat and bake with twists of lime and meet defeat as tenured strife and victory’s continued life

(First published in the Facebook poetry group Poets All Call)

Coda

Loves are lost
And irretrievable
Notions tossed
And blurred but grievable
Etched, embossed,
And I believe a full
Life is a song that winds down with a coda
Neath chupah or ceiling or scrolls of pagoda.

Woe-infused
Yet laughter-adjacent
Doom-bemused
Though joy’s ever-nascent
Thrice-accused
Of tales somnifacient
The weary composer welds landmarks with themes
With a filter of dreamstuff and not-as-it-seems.

If a song
Has many verses
Overlong
And laced up with curses
Quell the throng
Until it disperses…
You’ll find common threads in the lilting and lulling
And capstone that ending with smooth-water sculling…

Birth comes with cymbals
And nimble progression
Toddling percussion
Concussive succession
Wrought adolescence
Will test your endurance
Fledgling adulthood’s
Long stood in demurrance
Then the adventures!
The dentures can wait
Yearning and romance
And slow dance and Fate.
Now violins
For the sins and the story
Now muted woodwinds
Rescinding vainglory.
Soft notes that dwindle
Unkindle the flame
Your life’s coda ends
Yet ascends
All the same.

2022 0209 bowl nest

Last I heard there were five different kinds of Life–Plants, Animals, “Protists,” and two kinds of algae. Maybe. Probably not. My brain is in cognitive decline, and I don’t have time to look it up, and the point anyway is that within the strictly-biological definition of “life” some enormous variation is possible.

But there’s non-biological life too. Human beings have developed a self-replicating form of mechanism. Maybe. Probably not, but something like that. My dim memory says it’s chimerical, and much like the “biots” Arthur C. Clarke presciently described in his rollicking, imaginative novel Rendezvous with Rama.

We also speak of artwork as if it were to some degree alive. We use words like “vitality” and “animated” to codify our viewing expderience. If the work of art is representative of wildlife, we may judge is in comparison with what it is meant to represent.

So we come to this, one of my recent creations. It began when I finished my oatmeal and took a second spoon and put it in the empty bowl with the first. I liked the way the spoons and bowl looked, so I took a pic and made a drawing based on the pic. It seemed to want a bone, so I drew a bone, and shadows. I decided to construct a double acrostic, “bowl/nest.” When I came to the second line the word “owlish” suited the meter, and it was an easy link to the endword “scene.” (Acrosticist’s Tip: ALWAYS start with the endwords, if you want your poem to rhyme AND scan AND make sense!!)

And then I looked at my drawing again, and I saw that I could make bowl, spoons and bone a literal manifestation of an “owlish outlook.” BOOM, I was in Surrealsville, where dwell Auguste Redon and Sal Dali and Tanguy and other guys and gals. And I’ve had years of sculpting birds of chimerical DNA. So, to use a wretched pun involving a letter of the Greek alphabet, a Chi-Miracle occurred, and suddenly the bowl/nest was nested in the eye socket of an improbable owl. I made the other eye a teakettle to preserve kitchenality.

Weird? YES, WEIRD.  I’ve laid the foundation for Weirdness in my first paragraph: LIFE IS WEIRD. And Art sometimes demands creation beyond the initial notion of the artist.  Here we see what happens when we let Art call the shots.

bowl/nest

bone & spoons & mindset clean
owlish outlook makes the scene
when the Elements amass
link your arms & hold on fast

2021 0124 nes171

What this quasi-fable is really about is the way we magnify things. I plowed a little of this ground in one of my earliest blog posts, but another peek through the magnifying glass couldn’t hurt.

Did a fly affect the 2020 United States Presidential election? Is it really a good idea to put a marriage proposal on the Jumbotron? Is Bernie Sanders still the same guy he was before his seated mittened image got ubiquitized? What does all this say about us?

Once Laurence Olivier and Dustin Hoffman were having dinner, and Hoffman asked Sir Larry what lit him up as far as acting goes, and (if memory serves; I’ve been trying to find the Hoffman interview and so far no dice) Olivier said, “My dear boy, it’s like this…” and he gently grabs Hoffman by the back of the neck and pulls him till they’re eyeball to eyeball and continues, “Look at me, look at me, look at me.

Scrutiny has gotten screwier and screwier lately. I don’t envy people in the spotlight. Skilled editors would be able to take all the raw video footage of my life and make two intensely entertaining movies, one that would make me look like a Hero, the other like Hellspawn. Dear reader, how about you?