
Strum
Folk music folks
Manipulate picks
Patter and jokes
Scenes to affix
Moments that hum
Delicious in sum
Strings in accord with the chord of a strum

Strum
Folk music folks
Manipulate picks
Patter and jokes
Scenes to affix
Moments that hum
Delicious in sum
Strings in accord with the chord of a strum

Driving to work/A piano piece by Johannes Sebastian Bach plays/On K-Bach Radio/89.5 on the FM dial/The cultivated- and accented-voiced Charlotte Wilson presiding
I know little more than crap about music/But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about this composition
I do know about prolificty/And I know that to keep the rocket-burner fires burning/The creators must surprise themselves, entertain themselves, delight themselves first
And in this piece Bach seems to lull and then startle his audience/Building his tone structures with logic/Then opening up a trapdoor of slight dissonant strangeness/Then adjusting the off-putting with new structural logic/To put things right again
He keeps making and breaking these patterns/And in the end he breaks the pattern-breaking too/And ends his tinkling journey with a perfect landing
Joe, I tell his vagabond spirit, that was a party and a half. Thanks.
(to Brenda Anna)
the doc lulled me then
twist-snapped my head. a
ver
teb
ral
ar
pejh
jhee
oh!
Afterword: this faux haiku is based on a doctor’s visit I’d had over twenty years ago, a first visit with a doctor in my PPO network. I had reported neck problems of pain and severely limited range of motion. He had me lie face- up on the examining table and positioned himself behind my head, gently rocking my head as if it were a bowling ball, saying a few lulling words in a monotonous voice, and just as I became 100% relaxed he quick-as-lightning twisted my head at least 75 degrees. My upper vertebrae crepitated big time, both audibly and tactilely. Flash forward to about an hour ago, and the sudden remembrance of that event, and I wondering if I could synopsize it in seventeen syllables with the last two words being “vertebral arpeggio.” That musing turned into what you have just read.
Once upon a time there were these two guys, Jeff and Gary, who worked for a safety equipment company run by Gary’s dad, and sometimes after work or at lunch Jeff would break out his guitar and a few songbooks
And they would sing Beatles songs or Tom Petty or Bob Welch or The Who or some of Jeff’s original songs or Jeff’s brother Danny’s stuff (“Cord Whippin Mama” was a real saga)
And then one day in 1983 Jeff suggested that Gary buy a guitar and a little Gorilla amp
And he did and some more songbooks too like Great Songs of the 60s and Jackson Browne and another bigger Beatles book and Bob Dylan
So they played stuff and then Marty K came back to town and he had what he called a Good Smellin Bad Guitar and he joined in
And the fledgling band was christened The Snot Dogs and Marty who couldn’t always be there took to saying “We are The Snot Dogs/The Snot Dogs are we/Sometimes there’s two/And sometimes there’s three”
And fellow GHS alumni Charlie and George got the word from Marty and there started to be get-togethers mostly in Jeff’s living room
And Marty went off to law school and before long fellow law school students Karen, who played fiddle, and Vicki, who played flute, started coming to the sessions
And one fateful night at Jeff’s the heavily pregnant audience member Joni, who was Gary’s wife at the time, let Gary know between songs that she had felt something that may have been a contraction
So Joni and Gary left to give birth to their daughter while the band played on
For many years.
How does an Inkster draw Music without relying on easy props like musical instruments or famous musicians? The Inkster simply asks, “What does Music Look like?” and draws what he sees in his mind.

This page is dedicated to my deceased friend Karen Wilkinson, who vigorously and unforgettably fiddled her way through songs like “Angel from Montgomery” and “Queen of the Roller Derby.” She made a different kind of music for the National Public Defender’s Office, writing policy and defending the downtrodden. She was called “A light in the darkness” by one Guantanamo inmate.
The intersection of Music and Electricity.

Music and Drawing. Riffs and Motifs.
Let’s have an Overlap, Truths and Beliefs.

Long ago my dear deceased friend Karen W gave me a book. I think it was called Owning Your Shadow but I don’t know for sure. The book was about facing down your dark side and making of it a tool for your betterment.
So, Karen, if you’re still interacting with the living, and checking in on your friends from time to time, this one is for you. The aspect of my dark side I wrestle with today is Arrogance. Arrogance manifests itself in being parental and dismissive of people who don’t meet up with my sometimes-arbitrary standards.
I do this today by taking one of the worst things I ever wrote, a mansplaining essay on how to be a better poet, and overlaying it with a self-portrait. (Arrogant artists do lots of self-portraits. Picasso did dozens and dozens.)

I also stuck a feather in there, a feather long discarded, as a reminder that even miracles of Nature get discarded for obsolescence.
The cure for arrogance is humbling experiences. The older we get, the more they occur.
I feel another Mansplanation coming on, so I will close with best wishes and humble thanks to you who read this.
Back in the Spring of 1974, if memory serves, I had one semester of Class Piano at Glendale Community College. My recital piece was Bach’s Minuet in G. A few bars before the end my mind blanked and I froze. Almost instantly it cleared. When I resumed, it was on the beat, as if I’d inserted a rest to build up suspense. The relieved crowd applauded heartily.
Backlit Sonatas
Bonus Footage, mete Duress
Brahms and Bach, relieve our stress
Airs as light as toasted Eggo®
Aspirate our woes allegro
Cantos and concertos drawn
Catch the aspect of a Swan
Knowledged folk, from Quite to Nada
Keep–some can, and some cantata
Languid chords with which we’re blest
Let us f l o a t and pass the test
In a world of Pain and Mess, a
Taste of tunes may decompress
Usually when I select words of seven-letter length for the acrostic bookends it’s because I intend to write a sonnet. Sonnets are fourteen lines. I may well have intended to do so when I originally laid out this page, but when push came to crunch today I used the KISS principle. No matter what you’ve heard before, the civilized KISS stands for Keep It Simple, Sweetheart. This layered, necessarily-murky page needed, I felt, all the Simplicity it could get.
There are two awful puns in the poetry. You, dear Reader, are welcome to ignore them if you wish.

Inktober is over, but it would be a mistake to get out of inking practice. Thus this trifle, a semi-obvious pun with a little serendipity in that an anatomical drawing and a bit of faked musical notation counterpoint each other harmoniously.
It is good to learn the heart. Like a city, the heart does not make sense without its inlets and outlets. That goes for the metaphorical heart as well. ❤