beam of shadow
in this myth
a trickster was unseated
from her chair in the council of Hell
and spitefully
she invested the looming
SHADOW of her RAGE
with an echo of her malefic mind
and a mandate of
i n v a s i o n
and that is why
we feel awful sometimes
when there is
no reason
unsouled merchandise
the plastic form, the plastic grin;
the blurbs beneath the bubble wrap
commit a pleonastic sin:
they don’t seduce, but do entrap.
ideas, feelings, memories;
the message in a loved one’s eyes:
you are the one i long to please.
this plastic is a ghoul’s disguise;
its maker knows we love to give
and do not trust a home-grown gift
will pass the is it worthy? sieve,
and ads sow seeds of doubt. short shrift’s
conferred to those who do not spend.
thus money’s love’s analogy,
and thus the moneychangers lend,
and then collect rapaciously.
let’s from this artificial pit
retreat, and up a true path climb;
we’ll learn that ultimately it
means most when we give love plus time.
g. bowers, agent of ARROYO (alternate reality rectangles of youth ordained)
the funnies, to answer no question,
like NANCY and PEANUTS and such,
made windows to buttress the bastion
a kid needs to starsky his hutch.
in book form were comics like X-MEN
and BATMAN and HERBY and PEP
realities strange as a henchman
DICK TRACY would trace and–nab?–yep!
some funnies were crack-us-up laughable:
UNfunny but suited for sneering,
some wisecracking dialogue affable,
some action distractive-to-veering.
some artists belonged in asylums,
and some of their work in the Louvre,
some classics were seek-ems-&-buy-ems,
some stuff from the Sixties a grouvre.
the best should be well-wrapped in plastic
and kept from acidity’s harm;
leave stretching to Mister Fantastic;
seek Scarlet[t] (Johansson? Witch?) charm.
the kid in us all is eternal.
the youth is within to arrange;
it’s true just as Springtime is vernal;
just DOCTOR with touches of STRANGE.
(Afterverse note: I admit to a strong Silver Age Marvel bias.)
Blunt Object, Blunter Mind
Once upon a time there was an object.
It was colloquially known as a Sap, or a Blackjack, or a Cooler.
It was leather and it was filled with birdshot or some other form of lead
And it was used as a weapon.
You’d read about it in detective/crime magazines.
Doing an Internet search on the keywords Sap Blackjack Cooler
One finds that “Once upon a time” includes today,
And that there’s at least one discussion forum
Where the relative merits of Saps, Batons, and Sap Gloves
Are fervently discussed.
The phrase “Dojo bunnies” cracked me up.
The brief synopsis of effective strike zones
By a fellow from Tennessee
Gave me the willies.
The Nutritional Vacuum
Some things are put in food
To make it look or taste better.
The hue of the paint that is used for the interior of some prisons
Is chosen to induce docility.
Prior to the digital enhancement of photos
A popular men’s magazine would apply
An all-purpose surface cleaner to the flesh of their nude models
In order to enhance the sheen.
Recently it was discovered that the weekend’s worth of love donations
Of a television evangelist
Was in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Many of us think that those rectangles of paper
With a certain ink pattern on them
Have intrinsic value.
Some of us make patterns of our own
And a rat-a-tat-tap noise as we make them
And then a clicking noise
That sends the patterns out into the world
And we hope our patterns are translated
Into a connection with others.
Why?
Because, as comfort- and contact-seeking animals,
We need one another,
And as emotional, desperate expressives,
We want to feel,
And what we feel to be felt by others,
And understood,
And acknowledged.
Serving Size 1 Post
Servings Per Container 1
Calories 0
Total Fat 0g*
Cholesterol 0mg
Dietary Fiber 0g
Protein 0g
* disputed
“Victory in defeat, there is none higher.” –Robert Heinlein
“When a man finds that it is his destiny to suffer, he will have to accept his suffering as his task; his single and unique task. He will have to acknowledge the fact that even in suffering he is unique and alone in the universe. No one can relieve him of his suffering or suffer in his place. His unique opportunity lies in the way in which he bears his burden.” –Victor Frankl
“I’m getting too old for this shit.” –Danny Glover
Victory Declared
Vicissitudes may leave us both bedraggled and bedecked
It went so for the legend horn men Bird and Beiderbecke
Catastrophe’s the catnip of the studio exec
The scoffing sounds of nature may belie the overall
Our honeybee’s a humbug & our sheep are wont to baa
Remember there were never any roars from ‘Lion’ Lahr
Ye GODS who made both Yggdrasil & trees of lesser grade
You’ll hear us sing REGARDLESS of how badly we’re dysplayed
(Calligraphed image to follow in the near future)
(Neologism: dysplay, verb, transitive and intransitive: to be made by malign, superior force or forces to do unnatural things)
the last paperboy
printing presses still make newspapers
but they are smaller and thinner-pulped
and the edges of the pages curl up
they seem unnatural
and people in trucks still take bundles of those papers
not in nearly the quantities of yore, mind you
and it’s much more an independently-contracted gig
and the hirees are insomniacs with dependable trans
and thus i the front desk night clerk of an independent living retirement community
greet bob the distributor some time between two and five a.m. and give him the cookies
that i no longer have for dessert of my chef-prepared meal and bob gives me a stack
with a lot of az republic and a few ny times and ws journal and usa today
and i divvy the onionskins into three sectors first fl n and w second n and w and east
and i slip some under doors and put some on ledges
and after sector two i take the aprons out of a second fl dryer
and put them in the activity director’s office
it’s the good part of the paperboy’s job as there are no collections any more no stubs
to be given when the resident coughs up
(i remember calvin the paperboy a soft touch for a quarter dispensed from his change machine)
and climbing the stairs is good exercise and i get to look at the fireside lounge copy before putting it there
but it won’t be many years when there will be no paperboys and i feel like a mutant as it is
i may go nuts soon and buy a stack of soontobegones
stand on a busy corner in a busy city and retroshout
EXTRA! EXTRA!! READ AAAAALLLLLL ABOUT IT!!!
avalanche of life
there’s a traffic jam on the corpuscular freeway
platelets block the venous road
and the bacterial taggers are snagged by the whiteys
in microville
joy in microville
the patch did its job and will dissolve
project lumberaround is in no danger
all the littleys are constantly jerked around
but no notice is taken
it’s a matter of random and into each sublife
brownian movement falleth
sublife in its avalanche
teeming flora jazzedup fauna
dart and swish and skid and slide
consume and subsume disappear with no goodbye
no questions asked
nor submind to ask them
but you’d swear someone’s nodding contentedly
I’m delighted to report the existence of SAID BEAUTY TO THE BLUES, which contains over a hundred poems by the unbelievably droll and incisive bill campana. (Faithful readers of the blog know that I deem him the Funniest Man On Earth.) Bill also designed the cover, a throwback to his high school yearbook, including the duct tape. (That’s a photo, not actual duct tape, Folks.)
In this book you will find the pith of Stephen Crane and the vinegar of H. L. Mencken–but the vinegar is used sparingly and the pith advances great, hilarious storytelling. Go to Amazon if you must for some examples, and I’ll provide you a link to do so, but the best way to sample bill’s spoken (and occasionally yelled) word is via live performance in the Valley of the Sun. (“How hot was it?” he asked the Caffeine Corridor audience of the Valley weather. “It was so hot, I filled my beanbag chair with frozen peas.”) And here, with bill’s gracious permission, is my illustrative embellishment of bill’s “fall programming”:
Long story short: the best way to Support The Arts, folks, is to get yourself a copy of this terrific book, get yourself into a frozen-peas-filled beanbag chair, and read and laugh and think and enjoy.
Here’s the link, as promised: http://www.amazon.com/Said-Beauty-Blues-Bill-Campana/dp/1938190173/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1397598140&sr=8-1&keywords=said+beauty+to+the+blues
My dad was a Gamblin’ Man, and it negatively impacted both his marriages. He also had an appreciation for the unadorned female form–impact unknown, to me at least. I have inherited both these proclivities, and have found through the school of hard knocks that the healthiest way to deal with them is to own up to them, avoid casinos (three-plus years of gambling sobriety and counting!), and love the one I’m with to the exclusion of others, physically anyway. But I still itch, and I still look, so sometimes I “own my shadow” and take a look at one or the other of them, or, in this case, both.
Here are the words to the Gritlock acrostic:
Gamblers fly high then hit the wall
Rise & shimmy & slip & fall–O
It’s a harrowing story arc
Taut with tragedy; tawdry; stark
Here are the words to the Gridluck acrostic:
Got three squares in the office pool
Righteous fare for a Looky-Lou
Idle eyeful of tawny chic
Dares not touch but he’ll take a peek
One with Clay, Image and Text 