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Yesterday I wrote this, based on something that had just happened:

two dog day

we have now dixon the dog
and cookie the cat
and misty the mutant
who plays a cat on tv

six years ago there was a dog named bill
and i thought of him today
because i said to dixon “you are a good/pooch/dog”
exactly the way i used to say it to bill

and i got a chill and a fear that i had betrayed bill
because once i said it only to him
and i had a new pang of loss
but it quickly unpanged and warmed

because i wouldn’t have said “you are a good/pooch/dog”
if i didn’t miss bill
irreplaceable bill
with the waggy tail

and i have missed saying “you are a good/pooch/dog”
and it is good to say it again to a worthy dog
and the things i did with bill remain intact
and bill will always want me to have fun

It got a good reception on Facebook, but I felt there was more to be said, so today I did this:

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The words to the triple acrostic:

The spirit of Good Dogs will serve us in need
Whenever we’re hurting or face a rough sea
Of heart they have given unfailingly

The theme of this spot-welded image and acrostic poem is that it’s a crying shame when evangelical parasites use deific archetypes to bleed believers dry. It is an old, old message, but it still needs to be told, based on what I saw on certain TV channels when I was working graveyard this year. I hope I have told it in a new, engaging way. I hope also that it is not viewed as a slam against any particular creed–just of the ghouls who use the faith of innocents to further their base ends.

The iambic-septameter double acrostic goes like this:

Decisions made by A will leave B’s dreams unrealized
Incentivizing dalliance so often proves unwise
Suspension of one’s disbelief seems currency for bliss
Propinquity of doom will shrink contentment to a wisp
Upending some unending preconceptions on a dare
Takes chutzpah and charisma and a messianic flair
Alliterative declarations guarantee a yea
Tumultuous extravaganzas untrue a parfait
Inside insane aquaria there’s no need to be koi
Osmundium earth’s rarest when it’s found in an arroyo
Unctilio if left unchecked defrauds the citizen
Sedition-sanctified denial scratches up the lens

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A doodle became a roselike flower. One of the leaves refused to be filled in. I pretty much sat back and watched as pretty much everything BUT the albino leaf got filled in. It ended up whimsy, with the punchline of a joke I heard fifty years ago as the last word, and not-whimsy, bringing up the issue of the genetic cards we get dealt.

pigmentlessness
oft afflicts
when the Trickster
interdicts
normalcy
with biobleach
chromosomal
underreach
did it choose to be albino?
it’s a hybrid: elephino.

There’s a poetry interpreter out there who looked at Pablo Neruda’s “Si Tu Me Olvidas” (“If You Forget Me”) and broke it down stanza by stanza, relating the words to Neruda’s European exile and his pursuit of Wife #3 while touring the continent with Wife #2. I owe most of what I know about Neruda so far to a few poems I’ve read, and the blog post about “Si Tu Me Olvidas.” So I don’t feel qualified to acrosticize Neruda; but I did do a portrait with some possibility.

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Less than an hour ago “In a relationship” became “In a domestic partnership” in my Facebook settings. Some hours earlier my partner, Denise, made a lovely blog post, about our trip to the Pinetop-Lakeside area, in which she referred to “My partner, Gary.” (Here’s a link to that post: http://aintnoninny.wordpress.com/2014/10/25/autumn-in-the-white-mountains-apache-country/ ) So we have made our partnership semi-online-official.

I liked the idea of slicing Relationship into Relation Ship. Sometimes there is a ship to steer, and for sure there will be chopwater, sandbars and squalls to navigate. Much depends on choices of battles or compromises, the rheostat setting of respect, and the prioritization. Denise and I have a long way to go. But we have come a long way together as well, and love is there.

Here are the words to the double acrostic:

Retro-fitting tastes & likes
Efforts, ventures, dips & spikes
Leaves a couple mixed to match
Applesauce with kaffeeklatsch
Tenderness & tetrazzini
Intimacy conjures djinni
Offline lovers loop the loop
Nestled in the Primal Soup

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A duodecahedron is a twelve-faceted figure, each facet of which is a pentagon. It is one of five volumes possible in our Universe that has sides made up of the same “regular polygon” (sides of equal length and interior angles all equal). The other four “Platonic solids” are the tetrahedron (four facets), the octahedron (eight facets), the ocosahedron (twenty facets) and the hexahedron (six facets). The hexahedron is much more commonly known as the cube. And the duodecahedron is much more commonly known as the dodecahedron.

HEY, WAKE UP!!! That goes for me too. Sorry to throw such dense Solid Geometry into the mix so early, when the subject really is Testicles.

Testicles occur mostly in males. They are responsible for the manufacture of DNA-headed wiggling bioforms known as spermatozoa. Figuratively, Testicles are a symbol for male bravery, integrity, and effrontery. The word testimony is rumored to derive from the notion that in Roman courts, witnesses swore, not on their honor, but on their manhood. The hand that in American courts goes on the Bible went, so the rumor goes, elsewhere when a witness was sworn in.

In my drawing, the fellow in the tuxedo standing on one of the facets of the duodecahedron, looking somewhat like Antoine Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, only with a goatee and a number of girls clinging to him, is Valley of the Sun poet and impresario Ernesto Moncada. He is also known as “Ernasty.” I have drawn him to metaphorize the idea that he is a Chick Magnet.

Ernesto showed up on my drawing unexpectedly, but as it turns out he is absolutely essential to this image/text. Some years ago at a poetry reading I saw Ernesto recite and perform a lengthy Paean of Praise to, of all things, his testicles. Cojones. Huevos. Balls. He rang many changes on descriptions of his testicles, and you could almost hear them clang. He had the audience laughing, gasping, and OMGing uncontrollably. His performance compelled me to do a page on him with the double acrostic ERNESTO MONCADA/THE POTENT FORCE. Interested parties will find the page in my chapbook LIVES of the Eminent Poets of Greater Phoenix, Arizona (Vol. I).

Years later, this morning in fact, I imagined a remake of Sam Peckinpah’s BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA starring my colleague in poetic ribaldry. It would be called BRING ME THE BALLS OF ERNESTO MONCADA. You might say that with this page I have brought them to you, and to the world. World, you’re welcome.

Words:

Difficult whilst dining on a plate of fresh Fatoosh
Underwriting policies & playing Scaramouche
Omnipresence brings with it a need to act unscripted
Dune & Brashstreet now require a qualified encrypter
Evangelicals still YES! as skeptics NO! NO! NO!
Custom-facet everyone & all will be très bon

Today Laura, the human owned by Lena Furbena, gave me another picture of her. I used it to fiddle with an old nursery rhyme. Part of the fiddling was to remove the reference to a fiddle, replacing it, sort of, with a ukulele.

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I’m delighted to report that Lena has accepted my Facebook friend request.

Here are the words to the retooled rhyme:

Hey dilly daily,
The moon’s ukulele
No-handedly played for the spoon.
The little dog’s distance
Due to nonexistence
Was deemed by the cat quite a boon.

What did the uke play to the spoon? Why, “Some Enchanted Evening,” of course. [smile]

Hidder Midst says nothing and thinks bubbles–a true Superhero in search of an Origin Story. Meta-Man may have more to say than Spielberg’s A.I. or Asimov’s “The Bicentennial Man,” but he may just be all about a pose occluding text. The Book of Ecclesiastes says both “All is vanity” and that there is nothing new under the Sun. But that second one is a trick answer, as far as we mere mortals go. We are NOT “under the Sun.” We are OVER the sun, just as the Moon is over us. Should we fall into the Sun, we’d be falling down.

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Half a Secret

If there were such a thing as half a secret
There would be such a thing as half aloof
So goes the half aloft and closet peeklet
Entangled in the clothing of the proof
Less entropy prevents a leaky roof
Ferality unmeeks the meekest meek pet

Reveiled

In veils we find
The mystery
Sought by the blind
Encounter. We
Leave type and kind
For History.

A long time ago, Gahan Wilson drew a cartoon of two Asian monks or lamas hovering over a cauldron of stew. One has just tasted with a ladle. He says, “Enough yin. More yang.”

Similarly, the idle sketcher will start with a doodle and then the two sides of the brain wrestle over it. “Enough intuition. More logic.” Suddenly it is no longer a doodle but a start on something more. All too often for the impatient or attention-deficited, it doesn’t amount to anything.

I have stacks and stacks of such, and much more has been discarded. This one is on the bubble:

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Next post will either have a completed version of this, or something completely different, or both. Depends on whether I run out of yang. [yinnish grin]